Greedy: Notes from a Bisexual Who Wants Too Much

by Jen Winston

While normalization has many upsides, it can also have a silencing effect, perpetuating the assumption that being bi is “not a big deal.” Bisexuality tends to feel ubiquitous and thus irrelevant, as if the subject isn’t worth our time.

While normalization has many upsides, it can also have a silencing effect, perpetuating the assumption that being bi is “not a big deal.” Bisexuality tends to feel ubiquitous and thus irrelevant, as if the subject isn’t worth our time.

If we’re saying, ‘No, we’re not confused; no, we’re not promiscuous; no, we’re not greedy,’ then we accept that it’s wrong to be confused, it’s wrong to be greedy, it’s wrong to be promiscuous. And I want to ask, why do we have to work by their rules?

If we’re saying, ‘No, we’re not confused; no, we’re not promiscuous; no, we’re not greedy,’ then we accept that it’s wrong to be confused, it’s wrong to be greedy, it’s wrong to be promiscuous. And I want to ask, why do we have to work by their rules?

The problem isn’t promiscuity—it’s patriarchy, which vilifies sex and dismisses non-monogamy. The problem isn’t confusion—it’s binaries, which encourage us to make finite decisions (usually between two constructs that we never got to choose in the first place). The problem isn’t being greedy—it’s that systems function better when we don’t demand what we deserve.

The problem isn’t promiscuity—it’s patriarchy, which vilifies sex and dismisses non-monogamy. The problem isn’t confusion—it’s binaries, which encourage us to make finite decisions (usually between two constructs that we never got to choose in the first place). The problem isn’t being greedy—it’s that systems function better when we don’t demand what we deserve.

Greedy is about a lifetime spent thinking that I wanted too much, and how that made me want even more.

Greedy is about a lifetime spent thinking that I wanted too much, and how that made me want even more.

Bi culture is everything. Which means bi culture is nothing. As annoying as this logic loop might be, it reflects exactly what it’s like to be bisexual: to be told simultaneously that you are asking for too much and that you don’t exist.

This taught me that bisexuality was something you do, rather than something you are. And since I hadn’t “done it” yet, I figured I was straight.

So I did what white women tend to do when we show up late to a movement: I took up space, eager to relay the recent revelations that had changed my life.

But it’s worth remembering that empowerment isn’t the end game, because for anyone to feel free in the bedroom, everyone must feel free outside of it.

These bars proved that having glory holes didn’t disqualify you from being a holy space—on the contrary: they were temples and then some, offering forgiveness, providing confessionals, and granting everyone permission to show up exactly as they were.

I now know that no sexuality requires proof, and that you don’t have to hook up with anyone of any gender for your identity to be legit. I also know that bad hookups don’t always have a deeper meaning or implication about your sexuality—they can even happen with someone you love. Many factors can influence your level of enjoyment (e.g., the person you’re hooking up with, whether that person puts on music, the extent to which that music is Dave Matthews Band because it “reminds them of their first kiss”).

This was a dark era for my self-respect—a time when I used the MyFitnessPal app on a daily basis and still thought music festivals were fun—so it checks out that I conflated being fetishized with being adored.

Of course they didn’t need me—they were busy being in a relationship with each other.

unsure how to define consent when we ourselves aren’t sure what we want. We wonder if it’s okay not to know—can we decide later, or is that a decision in itself? Some people say “consent culture” means they’re expected to “read someone else’s mind.” But what about me, Laney, and all the others who can hardly read our own?II

sybaritic

drenched in a pride that turns to shame when it dries.

In our late twenties, we manage to confront our own histories and find our rage, but soon realize our anger exists less because of the horrors themselves and more because of their mundanity. By this point we’ve tolerated and accepted the fact that “not okay” things happen every day. We recognize that Cole Craig essentially coerced us, and sure: He should probably rot in hell. Yet for both of us he’s a blip, background noise—his existence and wrongdoings rarely cross our minds. I hardly think about that night at all, and when I do, the sting isn’t because of what happened as much as because it was so unremarkable. I haven’t even told my therapist, and I bet I never will.

the pursuit of equality was inherently a flawed mission, since it encouraged us to chase milestones that were only important because straight people had deemed them so.

For the first time I considered that, when given space to flourish, queerness could be understated. A mediocre diner. A shitty bar. A way of life.

She’d always been terrible at boundaries and now she knew why: because setting them came with the risk that someone might actually observe them.

English is far from a perfect language, but could there be a more perfect encapsulation for loss of individualism than this shift from one letter to two? The “I” character stands tall and defiant. It autocorrects itself to being capitalized, no matter where in the sentence it lives. But when transformed to “we,” it shrinks down, both letters making themselves smaller to meet at the other’s eye level. Sure, w and e are still unique—a consonant toward the end of the alphabet and a vowel near the top certainly make an unlikely pair. But no matter who these letters are by themselves, at this point they’re nothing without each other.

love is often happy, and happiness, as they say, does not stain the page.I

After I understood basic feminism (which I credit entirely to a rousing listen of P!nk’s M!ssundaztood),IV I realized how deeply the idea of True Love had manipulated me. For women, the indoctrination starts early and never lets up—one minute we’re watching Sleeping Beauty, the next we’ve finished nineteen seasons of Say Yes to the Dress. The True Love industrial complex feeds us grandiose dreams to occupy our dainty brains, hopeful that wedding planning will distract from thoughts of uprising and masturbation.

Sure, a feminist can still “fall in love,” but she should do it only if it’s what she wants. But where’s the line? There’s things we want, and then there’s things the world tells us to want. But how can we determine where one ends and the other begins?

David Halperin writes, “Love has seemed too intimately bound up with institutions and discourses of the ‘normal,’ too deeply embedded in standard narratives of romance, to be available for ‘queering.’ ” Queer Love then requires us to create something entirely new—it must be different than the heteronormative, patriarchal tropes from whence we came.

When I say Queer Love, I mean love that makes its own rules. Love that exists without borders and thrives without clean lines. Love that creates more space than it takes up.X

Maybe we’d all fall in love fast if we thought we were allowed.