By E.Kamryn (any pronouns)
Content Warning: mentions of homophobia and patriarchal violence, discussions of misogyny
‘That’s my man’. Taylor Swift repeats the line 13 times through my headphones. I cannot listen. My stomach drops and my heart feels like it’s collapsing in on itself. What is this feeling? Grief?
As a tween I didn’t think much about sexuality. But I sure thought a lot about romance.
‘It was so easy to romanticise romance because it was everywhere. It was in music and on TV and in filtered Instagram photos.’
Growing up in the noughties, almost all visible romance in mainstream media was heterosexual. I read Twilight, I watched High School Musical, I sang along to Taylor Swift.
‘It was in falling leaves, crumbling wooden doorways, scuffed cobblestones and fields of dandelions.’
And so, my fantasy future was me in an all-consuming state of transcending love with a faceless man.
‘It was in the touch of hands, scrawled letters, crumpled sheets and the golden hour.’
My soulmate.
In hindsight, my belief in soulmates (‘There’s no way there could ever be more than one man who meets my standards!’) should have been a sign…
I got older, I dated, I learnt more about myself and soon my perspective on heterosexuality shifted.
‘I could see it all, all the time, all around, but when I got closer, I found there was nothing there. A mirage.’
“‘I could see it all, all the time, all around, but when I got closer, I found there was nothing there. A mirage.’”
Being attracted to women and gender diverse people was not a surprise to myself, nor was it difficult to accept. But accepting my lack of romantic attraction to men was far more complicated.
As I discovered my queer identity, a niggling feeling lingered, something I couldn’t place.
I worried it was internalised homophobia and scolded myself for it. This brought me no resolution.
I then wondered if my disquiet was a natural kind of growing pains; a response to my new rainbow future, so different to what I’d once imagined for myself.
I heard other queer people lament their difficulty in letting go of ‘the idea of men’. It resonated on some level, but I couldn’t find the language to fully articulate the particular manifestation within myself.
As time went on, despite being out and proud in my queer identity, that little scratchy feeling persisted on the edge of my awareness. I held within something I was yet to name.
The revelation came to me by surprise as my shuffled playlist sent willow by Taylor Swift to my headphones.
‘I’m begging for you to take my hand’. The melody seeped past my ears and leaked into my chest, coming to settle as a heavy weight in my stomach.
The heterosexual fantasy. The grief of losing it.
“I spared no thought for any specific individual man - I felt no loss there - I grieved losing the protection from misogyny that a male partner seemed to offer. ”
I spared no thought for any specific individual man - I felt no loss there - I grieved losing the protection from misogyny that a male partner seemed to offer.
From a young age, I was very aware of the way in which I was disadvantaged due to people’s perception of my gender. Heterosexuality presented an opportunity through which to benefit from male privilege via association. A persistent man in a night club does not accept ‘I’m not interested’, but immediately moves on at ‘I have a boyfriend’.
I am safer walking down the street holding hands with someone perceived as a straight man than I am alone.
I grieved the loss of safety and privilege I thought I would one day be afforded through a relationship with a man.
Without consciously articulating it, I believed the old proverb, ‘a man is a woman's strength, a woman is a man's weakness’. A man would be my shield from other men and patriarchy as a whole.
Most devastatingly, I am safer walking down the street alone than holding hands with someone perceived as a woman or gender non-conforming.
Love may once have brought safety, now love has the potential to compromise my safety and that of my partner.
But over the grave, flowers have grown. Blossoms of community, culture, authenticity, and discovery colour my life.
I am no longer in search of a shield from patriarchy, rather I seek to dismantle it as an institution. I do so with the strength of my Queer Community at my side.
The future is bright.
The italicised quotes within are from the novel Loveless by Alice Oseman. It follows university student Georgia as she discovers and comes to accept her identity as an asexual and aromantic person. I’d highly recommend the book, particularly to LGBTQ+ readers.