No one can tell my girlfriend is gay.
An example: About two years ago, Jenny and a gay male friend went to San Francisco in June. They were excited to celebrate Pride.
But first they were hungry, so they approached a short gay guy wearing leather. "Anyplace around here we can get Mexican food?" Jenny asked.
The man looked them up and down and then said with a condescending sigh, "The Mexican neighborhood is a few blocks over. This is the Castro. I just want to let you know that there will be a lot of people here, because there's a thing happening called Gay Pride, so if you really want to stay in the neighborhood, there will be long waits." Jenny and her friend stared at him in disbelief.
"I am a lesbian standing with a gay guy in the Castro," Jenny said to me later. "And even then, no one knows I'm gay."
I think this is funny, because to me Jenny is obviously gay. Sure, she keeps her curly hair long. She wears makeup. But she tends to gesture like a boy, she talks low in her throat and her nails are short. In these post-'L' Word glamour lesbian days, those should be all the cues another gay person needs.
But no.
Not even gay people can tell that Jenny is gay, and it makes her sad.
"How can you be part of a community if no one can see you?" she asks.
Humans are a tribal animal, and if you're gay, the LGBTcommunity is your tribe. We want other gay people to recognize us, because it makes us feel less alone. It makes us feel like part of something.
"Also, being gay is more fun," Jenny says.
Back in the early '90s era of identity politics, recognition was easy. We wore rainbow rings around our necks, pink and black triangles in our ears, shirts with slogans like "No one knows I'm a lesbian" on our torsos.
When we came out, lesbians automatically cut their hair and stopped wearing makeup completely.
But as the movement has gotten older, lesbians - and gay men, too - have stopped conforming to a narrow (if highly recognizable) stereotype and instead have found ways to be both gay and deeply ourselves. We now know that if we like the feeling of long hair against our shoulders, if we like the way our eyes look when rimmed with mascara, if we like the swish of skirts against our knees or the brisk click of heels, then that's OK.
We can be butch all the time, sometimes or never. Whatever we choose to wear, we're still lesbians.
But while society has gradually grown more accustomed to the idea that gay people can be flamboyant or perfectly ordinary, we in the gay community don't always recognize our more subtle brothers and sisters on the street. We assume heterosexuality. Even in our own neighborhoods and our own shops.
Yesterday, Jenny walked into a cafe. "Feminist Salads" was chalked on the menu board. Ani DiFranco growled over the sound system. And the woman behind the counter, pierced and short-haired, was so clearly lesbian she could have been wearing a name-tag.
"I kept joking with her and talking to her, wanting her to know I was gay without actually saying, 'Hey, I'm gay!' or 'Hey, I have a girlfriend at home!'" Jenny told me later.
"I looked at her and felt a sense of connection - and I wanted her to have that sense of connection, too. But of course she didn't."
So Jenny left, feeling more isolated than if the barista had been straight. Because the woman didn't see her.
5 Comments for “Open—But Invisible”
posted by george on
and for those of us who are only beginning to step out, it is incredibly hard sometimes to recognize and be recognized as gay. yes, we can take it for granted (mostly) that when we go into Gap or Starbucks, we’ll be on common ground, but other than the flamboyant ones, it’s getting too difficult to tell.
yes, in some ways, a good thing; in other ways, to be recognized or to be able to identify is critical. i guess we can’t have it both ways, but it’d be sweet to have a nice, common middle ground.
posted by tavdy79 on
Your friend’s experience in the Castro mirrors one that I had in my local gay bar, the Clarence, a few years ago. Matt, a gay-friendly (an uncommonly gorgeous) straight friend, was visiting for the weekend, and we went to the Clarry on the Saturday night. We arrived early, and chatted to a girl at the bar who I’d not met before. Actually, it was mostly Matt who was chatting – I think he fancied her and was hoping she was bisexual; a lot of the women who went to that bar were bisexual. During the course of the conversation she referred to me as Matt’s “straight mate”. You can imagine our reaction. I can understand her mistake though. I’m not exactly the world’s most neatest dresser, whereas Matt could make Gok Wan look scruffy.
posted by Jimbo on
Gay people have always come in different sizes, shapes, colors, hairstyles and clothes. Over the years I’ve watched many people come out and it is always a little sad to watch someone stop being and looking like themselves to adopt “the gay uniform” (whatever it is that particular decade) and put on specific affectations to fit in. Being queer is about being who you are and dressing and acting how you want, not how “they” want you too. Gays used to embody true individuality, not being a clone. The fact that the lesbian waitperson didn’t “connect” with your friend might only mean she was very busy or that she’s a jerk or a million other things. More importantly, why does your friend feel so alone because of such an experience?
posted by Thomas on
I can understand this feeling. I’m one of those most wouldn’t be surprised about after finding out I’m gay, even if some would, but few would guess it otherwise. I remember once passing a couple holding hands, one of them looked nice and ended up instinctively turning my head. A little rude, yes, but I realized from their reaction that they probably presumed I was staring at them in a negative way. Kind of time I’d like there to be some way to say, “No, it wasn’t that, I’m gay too. Sorry for staring though”.
Or if there’s someone I like. If I was to tell him that I’m gay, it sounds like I’m being incredibly forward, what has it got to do with anything unless I’m interested in him? I’m not into group identity, or going out of my way to advertise it, but at the same time it would be nice if people knew.
posted by Lymis on
Yes, it is absolutely wonderful to make that “I’m in a community” connection. And it doesn’t take a lot of empathy to understand why people want that and miss it if they don’t have it.
I’m pushing 50, and my coming out experience was (hopefully!) a lot different than the coming out experience people have today.
I think most people understand the idea that “my sexuality doesn’t define me; there is a whole lot more to me than that.” We don’t want others to negatively stereotype us just because we’re gay. And yet, we want people to positively stereotype us because we’re gay.
As I said, I’m pushing 50, I’m legally married. One of my husband’s 20-something daughters lives with us while in college. We have a dog, a mortgage, and are well aware of the fact that our bodies aren’t 20 anymore. I’m proud to be out in every aspect of our lives and careers, and to be (and have been) a contributor to the gay community.
And there is no reason whatsoever for a hot young gay waiter or clerk to particularly feel that we connect, unless he has a thing for Daddies. I wouldn’t expect a straight young pierced goth barrista in the trendy urban area to see a lot of solidarity from someone who looks like the are from the suburbs just because of a presumed shared heterosexuality, why a pierced obviously lesbian young woman in San Francisco should feel a connection to an out-of-town visitor similar escapes me.
One of the fascinating things about San Francisco to me is that it is a great example of what not having being gay matter at all looks like. Gay people are so common that it simply doesn’t occur to people to notice. My guess is that the barrista would not have given you the warm connected feeling even if you did have short hair, piercings, and some sort of identifying clothing – it simply didn’t matter to her. It would take some sort of actual connection to create that feeling of connection. And that is not only reasonable, it is wonderful.
Yes, older fogies like me do really remember a day when simply being gay created that kind of connection, even if it was only eye contact. But don’t forget that it only happened that way in a hostile world, when being gay WAS the connection, because no matter what else was true about career, education, interests, background, religion, or class, just being gay was enough to get you fired, harassed, blacklisted, and in too many cases, assaulted.
The fact that simply being gay doesn’t automatically create effortless (!?!) community is not something to be mourned, it is something to be celebrated. There are still things that are unique and wonderful about being gay, things that daily make it clear to me that I wouldn’t change if I could. The ability to blend in without having to be in the closet isn’t a loss, it is a vibrant sign of progress.