Lesbian-x

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Lesbian X: With Aidra Fox, Tori

I am not opposed to the bisexual label or here to negate its validity. I dream of a world without labels at all. But some time ago, I chose to start identifying and living as a lesbian. I was empowered by a rising tide of lesbian visibility to take the plunge into an identity I had previously believed was lonely, restrictive, or puritanical.

I fell for some propaganda, I fear. Becoming a lesbian opened new portals in my heart and life. I am still untangling its beauty. It sounds silly to say, but my last straw was a pregnancy scare. Although I primarily dated women, I had, in some way, accepted occasional violence as an occupational hazard of dating men, of the sexual liberation I was lucky to have.

I thought I could roll with the punches, stay in the ring. But I had to take a Plan B because of a dumb man who had bell hooks on his bookshelf. My stomach was cramping like an omen from God, and I thought, never again. This was shortly after the fall of Roe v Wade, putting everyone with a uterus at the mercy of men and the state, and I felt, with sudden certainty, that men were no longer worth it.

I did not want to play this incredibly rigged game. When I moved to New York, I was determined to be gay, as a lifestyle. To join a long lineage of women and queers who make tender love and mischief, build worlds against violence, towards equality, until even the slurs hurled against us lose wind, can be recast, joyously, like confetti. I enjoy the gender buffet in a way that feels similar to my enlightened bisexual sisters.

The ones who move with a touch of the otherworldly, their gender alien — they make you look twice. I love the push-and-pull of courting and being courted. The mercy of the first kiss. I discovered lesbian culture online, through screens, but it is different when you can touch, feel, thumb through lovers like the pages of books. Indeed, this world I previously only read about, it has scooped me in its jaw, stuns me with its vibrancy.

I love women and queer people, but the things I love about them could feasibly belong to any gender. There is little these people have in common — not their bodies, energies, or personalities — except the condition, in some way, of refusal. It is a condition of existing in opposition to patriarchy — as its victim, or mortal foe, depending on who you ask, rather than its perpetrator, or beneficiary — that I find incredibly hot.

Not all women are enemies of patriarchy. There are many women, sometimes due to race or class identities, whose interests feel unsexily oriented towards the patriarchy. There are, similarly, men who have a stake in dismantling it, or at least can recognize its effects, and with these men, I can usually catch a vibe. Decentering is not demonizing. Although you will not catch me spilling ink over men — at least not since my pre-pubescent diary — I see their humanity.

The dignity of fathers in Palestine, protecting and grieving their children amid unfathomable violence. The sort of grown men who give their seats, speak up, help carry heavy things.