The Day I Realized Lesbians Could Look Like Me
No one told me you could be girly and into girls. That was the first time I realized how limited my idea of queerness had been.
When I got dressed in the morning for high school, I had a tendency to make sure that I didn’t look “too lesbian.” I didn’t wear my hair up too many days in a row, I made sure at least one article of clothing was skin-tight, and I dreaded the days when my field hockey team would wear our jerseys to school to signify that we had a game because I thought it screamed, “DYKE!”. But it wasn’t because I thought I was a lesbian. It’s because I thought all lesbians had a specific look, and in the late 2000s and early 2010s, “lesbian” was still an insult.
Because of this twisted comp-het, I also didn’t believe that lesbians could look like me. I had an openly queer friend in high school, but her style fit. There was a lesbian couple, but one was masc, and the other one was one of those “I’m only gay for her” types. In media, I saw mostly butch lesbians pining after straight girls, and the femmes I saw were doing it for show. It’s important to note, though, that I didn’t watch Glee, or Buffy the Vampire, or Friends, or The L Word, or Grey’s Anatomy, or any of the early representations of lesbians (that might actually be the end of the list).
So I walked through life believing the lesbians that exist were only the ones I could see with my eyes based on stereotypes, and I didn’t fit those stereotypes, so I didn’t look into it any further than that. But luckily, there was a day that shattered this illusion that gave me permission to think, “Could I actually be gay?”
To set the scene, my first writing job was at a college humor blog that was centered around Greek Life. It originally started as a frat-centric blog, but it became so successful that it had a sorority spin-off. That’s the one I worked for. It was so much fun leaning into and making fun of the culture of femininity that came with being in a sorority, but it also meant it was a very, very, VERY straight space.
One day, we were tasked with coming up with the ultimate Never Have I Ever Drinking Game. The goal was to come up with 101 wild experiences for players to choose from. If you’ve never played the game before, one person announces, “Never have I ever…” and then usually says something ~crazy~. Then, the other participants have to drink if they, in fact, have done that thing. It’s a fun and sexy way to expose your friends’ deepest, darkest secrets.
All of the writers and our editor, Veronica, sat in a circle, discussing each topic at length so as to only include the most scandalous entries. Never have I ever been arrested, never have I ever blacked out, never have I ever cheated on my boyfriend, never have I ever had a threesome, which led to the most scandalous of all, never have I ever hooked up with a girl.
“I’ve kissed my friend at a party once,” one of the writers said. I flashed back to my short phase where I would kiss my friends on the lips for pictures. As a joke, though.
“I’d totally make out with a girl. I’d just never go down on one,” another writer chimed in with mild disgust on that second part.
“Oh yeah,” said the first one, “it would just be so gross, I feel like. Blow jobs are so much easier.”
The two kept talking, and I sat with her words, deciding if I agreed or not. People say going down on girls is gross, but it’s usually guys who are trying to get out of it. Then again, I never really thought about doing it myself. Would it be too slimy? Would the taste really be as funky as we’re told? Also, if you think vaginas are gross but you’ve only seen yours, shouldn’t you go to a doctor?
“Are you serious?” Veronica said, snapping me back into the conversation. “Blow jobs are the WORST! We literally talk about that all the time! A vagina is flat, so nothing is going in your mouth. That must be 100 times easier and less gross.”
I stopped staring off and turned my head to look at her, surprised. She was making an excellent point. This long-haired, fake-eyelashed, pink-wearing, long-nailed sorority sister just admitted out loud that hooking up with girls is not scary and, in some ways, preferable to hooking up with guys. Maybe everyone else in the circle should shut up right now and let this woman speak!
The debate of Do Blow Jobs Or Eating Out Make You Want To Throw Up Less continued on as I watched, locked in, soaking up each side of the debate, realizing that this was the first time I had ever consciously thought gay thoughts before. My memory flooded with subconscious thoughts I brushed off, but now I’m seeing them for what they really are: gay! And what I really am: also gay!
It took almost a year of unpacking to actually come to terms with my sexuality, but that moment was the first real crack in the egg. Not because I suddenly knew, but because someone who looked like me, talked like me, and was me in a lot of ways, casually said something that challenged everything I thought I knew. It wasn’t dramatic. No one gasped. No one made it weird. She just… existed. And in doing so, showed me that maybe I could exist that way, too.
That was the first time I realized how limited my idea of queerness had been. Not because I was sheltered, but because I just hadn’t seen it. No one told me you could be girly and into girls. No one showed me that being a lesbian didn’t have to come with a specific haircut or outfit or aesthetic. And when no one shows you those possibilities, it’s hard to imagine them for yourself.
But once the window cracked open and I caught a glimpse of something familiar reflected back at me, I couldn’t unsee it. Suddenly, there was room to wonder. Room to try things on. Room to ask existential questions like, “Would I think going down on a girl is actually better than giving a blow job?”
I didn’t have a single lightbulb moment or dramatic coming out, but I started noticing, listening, and trying. Eventually, I found myself on the other side of those questions with a quieter sense of certainty. One that said: “Ohhhhhh ok yeah that makes sense.” You can’t be what you can’t see, but once you do, you start to realize how big the world actually is, and how much space there is for you, too. And to answer your question, yes, both Veronica and I are married to women now.
