Even if these writers concede — with hesitation of course — that us bisexuals exist, now we do so without a cultural identity?
This might as well be the same as questioning our very existence — it certainly translates into real life experiences that do. At it’s best, it’s when I’m viewed as little more than sexual meat by couples propositioning me on OkCupid, or when I’m accused of being too afraid to come out as gay. At its worst, it’s precious media space devoted to how I’m perceived as “dirty,” instead of exploring why 45 percent of bisexual women have contemplated or attempted suicide, why we’re twice as likely to have an eating disorder compared to our lesbian counterparts and why, compared with straight women and lesbians, we have the highest rates of alcohol abuse instead.
But, I don’t have to look to Slate or any other online magazine to know that when I tell people I identify as bisexual, it holds less cultural currency than when I say I’m simply “queer.” Given that the term has been recently reclaimed from its pejorative roots, the political undertones are more obvious. Remove the word “bisexual” from my vocabulary, and I’m instantly more accepted in the lesbian scene; considered more dateable, and trustworthy, even.