Scientific curiosity compelled me to change my sexual orientation on OkCupid. It was originally set to Bisexual, because that seemed appropriate, although I did not have any attachment to the term, and I had never come out as bi. (Hi, Mom!) Its not a secret that I enjoy intimacy with men and women, but I have always been reluctant to discuss it, even with friends. In my experience, bisexuality is not the kind of conversation starter that leads to a closer relationship, or even an engaging dialog. Often the term invokes creepiness, hostility, disappointment, revulsion, anger, fixation on my sexual history and practices, condescension and, of course, requests for threesomes. This seemed to hold true online, as well. My inbox was full of examples.
A 2010 report from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention states that when 9,000 were surveyed, bisexual women reported higher levels of all types of sexual violence and inter-partner abuse than heterosexual and lesbian women. This was groundbreaking work, as previous studies had always lumped bisexual and lesbian women in the same demographic category. I read about these measurable differences in life experience just after I reactivated my OkCupid account. They rang true to me. I considered both self and science and decided to choose another option that would signify an interest in both men and women. I ticked the box marked Queer.
Immediately, I noticed a decline in the number of messages I received, as well as a change in their quality. Almost all of the creepy missives fell away. I still fielded the occasional explicit request for sex, but even these became more general in nature, rather than the detailed descriptions of specific sex acts I was subjected to when identifying as bisexual and when identifying as straight. And, although OkCupid gives non-heterosexual users the option of allowing ones profile to be visible only to other non-heterosexual users, I elected to continue to receive messages from men who identify as straight. Gods be praised, I had somehow sidestepped into a higher quality stripe of straight dude. My overall experience improved. Queers, and those who woo them, turned out to be a much more polite and interesting bunch than the general online dating crowd.
As an epidemiologist, the researcher in me wondered: Is identifying as queer a protective factor against online harassment, or is identifying as bisexual a risk factor for it? Its possible that the queer label designates me a waste of time to the kind of dickwad who describes many of my favorite physical expressions of intimacy in ways that make them completely unappealing. Perhaps hes confused by it, or worried the queer might rub off in a way the bisexual wouldnt. Then again, I always suspected the bi in bisexual of signaling to the same type of fellow that I walk through the world both continuously aroused and perpetually willing.
Either way, it felt like cracking a code. I wanted to shout it in the streets for the benefit of all of womankind: Change your OkCupid orientation to queer! No more threesome requests from men who assure you their wives are into it! No more threats of violence for not immediately responding to explicit descriptions of acts that sound more like assault than affection! Join me, sisters, under the umbrella term that will shelter us from the shit-storm of dude-bros who think bisexual is another word for pornstar, and your online dating profile is a search ad for someone to practice on. Declare yourself queer, my friends! Queer! Queer! Queer!
I cannot, however, prescribe such action for others without raising some questions for myself. Can I invite myself into queer spaces, even just online, and make myself at home? Am I changing labels because queer better describes me, or am I being chased from an identity, and am I OK with being a sexuality refugee? Is coming out as queer, as opposed to bi, truly safer in the real world? And am I abandoning my fellow survivors? Moreover, for all my complaints that my orientation is over-sexualized in the straight male mind, it is my (possibly biased) opinion that this sexuality truly is the hottest of them all, and the evocative label bisexual embodies that sensuality more so than the more politically-oriented queer. One feels like a description, the other a declaration; neither quite correct.
Its a lot to consider in the pursuit of meeting someone for coffee and awkward conversation about what TV shows were both into. And while Im quite adept at both handwringing and navel-gazing, neither activity seems the appropriate anatomical focus for such an encounter. In the end, I decided to deactivate my account and give it some more thought. Alone.
This article appears in November 30, 2016.