I used to pride myself over how *good* I was at being a gay in this cruel, cold world. I discovered Ani Difranco at age 11, decades before my peers even knew who she was (they didn’t get wet for Ani until their second semester at whatever East Coast liberal arts school they’re now 100,000 grand in debt to). I practically came flying out of the womb demanding the “vegetarian option” on the menu. “We shouldn’t eat animals, it’s not right,” I preached to my kingergarten class through my dramatically buck teeth at age five.
I’ve always defended Birkenstocks as the premier, casual-chic summer shoe, long before Vogue published a piece showcasing Gwenyth Paltrow effortlessly rocking them whilst toting her toe-headed kids around the Pacific Palisades.
I couldn’t help but alienate myself, in high school by covering my locker in controversial stickers (ABORT BUSH in all caps being one of many) and by telling everyone who would listen that “I liked girls” which culminated in girls being afraid of me, thinking if I spoke to them I would hit on them. (They wish!)
So yes, baby. I thought I was an amazing lesbian. Even though I suck at softball, I’ve seen Melissa Ferrick live in Provincetown, MA during “women’s week” four times. That counts for something, right?
Not anymore, apparently.
Recently it’s come to my attention that I’m one bad dyke. Whether it’s the twitter police publicly scolding me for posting a picture of my mom posing in a cigarette ad in 1970 or baby queers telling me I’m VIOLENT for loving my queen Lady Gaga or straight publications writing think pieces about how lesbians don’t really scissor (it’s my favorite position!) — I’m starting to think I’m not very good at being a lez. Obviously, I can’t like, “switch teams” as I’m a diehard lez — but I do think the time has come to acknowledge the glaring, increasingly apparent reality that I suck at this whole lesbianoic thang.
Here are some signs that the masses seem to be convinced makes me one BAD LESBIAN.
1. I don’t like to have sex on my period.
I wish I was one of those lezzies that shamelessly indulged in period sex, I really do. I wish I had it in me to write amazing, empowering think pieces like Corinne does, about the fabulous art of sapphic period sex. I appreciate all the pro-period sex content penetrates the internet, incessantly. I really do.
However, I’m problematic, baby. I feel horrendous on my period. I feel swollen (which is also problematic, because I shouldn’t shame my swelling, I should embrace my swelling), my tits hurt and I’m an emotionally unstable wreck, far too sensitive and demonic in attitude to ever get laid anyway. I would rather cry tears of red wine into a bowl of carbohydrates while watching “Riverdale” and spiral into darkness about the calories I’ve consumed and how out of control my eating habits are than have sex on the rag. Sad!
2. I like the aesthetic of long nails, but I still keep them short, because I’m a victim of the lesbian patriarchy.
I long for Lana Del Rey stiletto nails, as deeply as I long for a flattering full-length mirror that snaps a selfie for you and then uploads it to your phone. I long for them as deeply as I long for a car that has a U-turn signal!
But guess what, babes? I cut them short despite how much adore their razor-sharp aesthetic. Because despite article after article forever being published across the great expanse of the world wide web, I still feel it’s my duty, as a lez to have short nails. I’m a victim of the system. I’m a self-hating femme. I’m the problem.
3. I don’t give a fuck if you call me queer.
I don’t know if you’re all still arguing about this mess, because I had a bit of a mental-shutdown and tend to blackout when I come across twitter threads that are still droning on and on an on about this boring argument, but here goes: I’m a lesbian who isn’t remotely offended by the word queer. Do I call myself a lez? Yas. Do I feel the word lez best describes me? Yas. Will I harass you, taunt you, and be overcome with overwhelming sweeps of hateful emotion if you dare call me queer? No.
I think the word queer is pretty sexy. I like that a lot of younger people have found a term that empowers them. Sometimes I use the words “lesbian” and “queer” interchangeably! Gasp! I know, I’m the worst. I should be tried for lesbian treason for identifying with both words and for not wanting to fight in the lesbian internet war over the word queer.
I would just like, I don’t know, prefer to talk about other things? Like, how are we going to fix the escalating epidemic of antisemitism and racism in America? Where should we go to dinner Friday night? What are your thoughts on plus ones at weddings? Should tampons be taxed? Shit, I’de take almost anything over spending an evening hate-tweeting about how one term is more evolved than the other. I’de rather go out dancing with the party girls!
4. I loved the sex scene in “Blue Is The Warmest Color.”
I understand now, that the director was an alleged monster to work with, and as a former actor I can assure you I don’t condone his behavior, but I must be honest with you (please feel free to hate tweet me on this one, I deserve it): I thought the sex scene in “Blue Is The Warmest Color” was hot. And realistic.
These were my primal thoughts and feelings as I watched it on the couch whilst in the throes of a painful breakup, sobbing, dry-heaving and fully captivated, having no clue that the director was a man. That was my pure, honest, raw reaction to the film. I also thought the movie was a beautiful piece of art that made me cry so intensely I lost three liters of water in the duration of the film.
Call the lez police and file a report! I’ll turn myself in at this point!
5. I love “The L Word” and can’t wait for the reboot.
As a far more educated grown-up, I now know that “The L Word” wasn’t perfect, perfect, perfect. There was definitely some mishandling of issues that are very important to the community. However.
I fucking loved and still love that show with every fiber of my dyke being. I started watching it as a depressed, bulimic junior in high school with an escalating pill problem. I lived in Florida. I felt trapped in the swamp. Destined to a closeted life of faking orgasms.
And then I put on “The L Word” and suddenly my world was cracked wide open and all this gorgeous light came beaming (like heaven!) into my dull, dark, bleak world. The fact that a major network like SHOWTIME could get the green-light on a show about a group of lesbians empowered the hell out of 90 pound me. Not only that, but I thought the acting was brilliant, the storylines were fabulously soap-y and the show made me excited about being gay. For the first time.
I’m also teeming with excitement about the pending reboot. I’m not one of you cool kids, that is all “blah” about the reboot, I’m a loser uncool lez who is counting down the days until I can freely lust after Bette on-screen again. Oh, Bette! Don’t tempt me with Bette Porter.
7. I’m allergic to Brooklyn.
I’m sorry. But. My eyes itch and burn when I go over the bridge and enter the beautiful borough of Brooklyn. These things can’t be helped. I’m a Manhattan woman by blood, and seeing as Manhattan is predominately made up of gay men, trust-fund babies with “galleries” in Soho, corporate bitches and hangry fashionistas, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here either. But for some reason, I can’t quit Manhattan. Brooklyn is like the sensible girlfriend who is perfect on paper and Manhattan is the bratty, toxic, narcissistic girlfriend who is your downfall but you can’t seem to stay away from her because she’s like, so good in bed?
8. I think the Fire Island SNL skit is hilarious and quite frankly TRUE!
Not only is it funny, it’s real-ass shit, babes. I think all of those who are so hyper- offended are the ones hosting Annie Lennox sing-alongs! I get that this might’ve been hard to watch. Sometimes comedy is like looking in the mirror and not liking what you see. But hey, sweet lez, don’t be ashamed of it! I personally love Annie Lennox sing-alongs almost as much as I love going to bed early. I say we own our annoying lesbian nature! Let’s all plan a trip where we scream long to the Indigo Girls and go to sleep at 10PM!
9. I love it when you call me “honey.”
I know I should be offended and repelled by the term “honey” because it’s so reductive, but I like the way it sounds when it rolls off the tongue of a gentle, masculine-presenting lesbian. It makes me feel like a tender baby gazelle being cradled in your strong arms. Which is a nice feeling when you spend half of your life fighting to survive the city, the internet, career pressures, money pressures and the complex nuances of family. However, I’m also from New York, where everyone is “honey!” so maybe it’s cultural? I don’t know. Just. Please. Don’t. Stop. Calling. Me. Honey. Purr.
10. I don’t care if Demi Lovato comes out! I think she’s rad regardless.
It doesn’t damage my life in the slightest if Demi Lovato is closed off and coy about her sexuality. I suppose it should (since I’ve seen her coyness described as violent in many an essay), but I can’t muster up the strength to really care all that much. I think she’s rad because she speaks openly about her mental illness, is a total advocate of the LGBTQ community and is like, really hot too. Do I hope she’s a bit queer or bi? Yas! But that’s for selfish reasons (ha, like I would ever stand a chance with Queen Demi! I think Kittens is the only babe hot enough to stand a chance with her).
11. I love gay men.
I love me a sassy, glittery, sharp-tongued gay man more than I love the quilted Chanel clutch I saved two long years to buy! I always have! I was always rubbing elbows with the girly boys who couldn’t help but wear blue nail polish to school even though they knew they were going to get beaten up. For they are my people.
I also think gay men are some of the funniest creatures to ever exist and know how to indulge in unabashed sinful fun (with no guilt attached) more than any other demographic on the planet. It seems to be en vogue to detest gay men in the lez world, but I could never dare harbor unwarranted feelings of resentment toward a wickedly sweet gay boy. Is it annoying that advertisers think they’re better consumers than us lezzies? Fuck yes, it’s annoying. But that makes me angry at the system, not the gay boy. It’s like that old saying: Don’t hate the player, hate the game. Don’t hate the pretty gay, hate the patriarchal system that favors him over us.
12. I love drag queens.
I only recently learned that a lot of lesbians find drag queens to be offensive. Well, duh! Of course, they’re offensive, isn’t that the point? Queens put on fab dresses and adorn their eyeballs with mega-lashes and wreak havoc! As a femme woman I find it empowering to see feminine energy be so unapologetic, so outwardly glam, so fiercely outspoken and so bold! They’re the unsung comedic heroes of our culture. The heartbeat of the movement. The glitter in an otherwise glitter-less world!
On another note: I love it when a drag queen makes fun of me in the most brutal way possible. Which they always do. Because I’m total drag bait teetering around in these silly platforms and stupid outfits. Logan Hardcore can tell me I look like I a mall version of Kylie Jenner any time she wants. After all: It’s true.
13. I didn’t find the picture of Ellen staring a Katy Perry’s boobs offensive.
— Ellen DeGeneres (@TheEllenShow) October 25, 2017
I don’t know the backstory behind this whole thang, but I do know that they’re all (allegedly) friends. My friends sometimes jokingly gawk at my boobs too, and I enjoy the boob attention, because I think boobs are beautiful! And clearly Portia is laughing and I don’t think Portia would dare laugh if her wife was indulging in a disrespectful moment. Portia is a class act, so is Ellen, so I’ll give their life-long history of empowering women, the benefit of the goddamn doubt.
Why do we roast celebrities who have dedicated their lives to causes we believe in, so quickly? It’s not like Ellen has a history of being misogynistic. We don’t know what was happening when the photographer snapped that picture, but honey lez get real. Have you ever taken a picture that could be digested “the wrong way” by a stranger? If you’re over the age of 30, you have. I pinky promise.
I don’t want to live in a world where the appreciation or acknowledgment of BOOBS isn’t allowed! I’m proud of my tits. If Ellen was touching Katy’s boobs without her consent or if Katy was a stranger, that would be a whole different story! This picture to me, personally, radiates a fun energy, which I’m into. I like fun. And I know there are other lezzies like me who like fun too.
SO, SUE US, TROLL US, TELL US WE SUCK! Bad lezzies like me deserve punishment. Only be careful because certain forms of punishment, turn us on. (Or maybe that’s just me.)