Unpopular opinion, but the term “visibility” infuriates me. I think it’s overused and hailed as a panacea to fix the world’s social problems. It doesn’t help that I see classically masculine gays on Instagram claiming their thirst traps are visibility. Don’t get me wrong, I love seeing your cum gutters on my feed, but what are you making visible? Being hot? The CW has been providing hot male visibility for nearly two decades. You are way behind, my friend.
Nevertheless, I believe that visibility is a form of activism. In fact, it’s a necessary first stage of activism. Essentially, visibility posits: “Look, we’re real! We’re not this tiny group. There are a lot of us, and we want you to acknowledge our existence, and treat us with a little respect.”
Of course, visibility isn’t just for a majority group to recognize that a minority group exists. It’s also for the minority group to learn that they are not alone. I can sum up my years of writing with one insight: I am not special. Yes, I’ve probably attended more sex parties than you, but my struggles with defining my identity are not unique. I have received hundreds of messages from bi folks across the globe thanking me for sharing my story. Though they hadn’t met an openly bi man, many of my experiences mirrored theirs. Hearing my story—as well as my struggles—helped them realize that they’re not alone.
This matters. A constant refrain from those who think of or turn to suicide is loneliness, especially among queer people. It is incredibly damaging to feel like you have no community, no one to talk to, or that you’re a pariah in a straight world that discriminates, bullies, and harasses. “Being LGBTQ alone does not put a young person at higher risk for suicide; the discrimination, rejection, fear, and harassment that may come with being LGBTQ in an unsupportive environment are what increase the risk,” the NYC Department of Health website states eloquently.
The numbers are still staggering, despite how far we have come. Gay and bisexual men are four times more likely to commit suicide than straight men. Today, suicide is a cause of death for more queer men than AIDS.
And don’t even get me started on bi women. Bi women are nearly twice as likely as straight women to experience sexual and physical assault. Bi women also have much higher rates of drug addiction and abuse. Not to mention that lesbians are really mean to bi women. At least gay men still hang out with bi men. Yes, they’ll talk shit behind our
backs, about how we’re in denial, but they’re not as blatantly antagonistic as lesbians who make bi women feel like gender traitors for breaking up with a woman and dating a man.
And let us not forget that roughly a third of trans people identify as bisexual or pansexual. Roughly 20 percent identify as queer, which could also indicate an attraction to multiple or all genders. Whereas only roughly 15 percent of trans folks identify as straight and roughly the same number identify as gay. For a woke generation who throws the word “intersectionality” around like hotcakes, I’m shocked that I’ve seen no individuals or studies address the relationship between biphobia and the violence trans women face.
All right, please excuse my impassioned rant, but there is a point to all this: As much as I hate visibility as a buzzword, I understand how crucial it is in the beginning of any movement. And yes, bisexuals are having a goddamn movement.
Excerpt from the new book Boyslut: A Memoir and Manifesto by Zachary Zane published by Abrams Image ©2023
Boyslut is available from Amazon and Bookshop.