By Delilah Kaufman, Staff Writer, Emerson College
My first semester of college was relatively successful: I met the most amazing people, I beat the Freshman 15 and actually lost more than twenty pounds, I found being an “adult” pretty manageable, and I discovered some pretty interesting things about myself - the most interesting being, I wasn’t as gay as I thought I was.
I never came out as lesbian, but rather, I just always was one, and that was fine; I liked girls, I dated girls, I fucked girls, and the only time I’ve ever been in love - it was with a girl. Growing up in New York City with liberal white parents, the whole “questioning” phase of my sexuality never occurred, and I never feared the wrath of my family or friends. There was a brief moment in 2010 when I did fool around with a few boys from my summer camp, but at the end of the day, I found myself bored and not at all attracted to them. They were hairy, with sharp corners and certain smells I could not identify (nor particularly liked) - and then there was, of course, their dicks, which I feared to see, and hoped to never have to.
I don’t know what happened, and in retrospect, it doesn’t make sense how my stance on boys changed. I got to college, I made friends, and then one night found myself being eaten out by this guy with a beard and totally dug it. A month later, I was no longer a Gold Star - that is, I could no longer claim I’d never had penetrative sex with a guy. But I had made the conscious decision to do those things, and I really didn’t give a shit. Being away from all the people who knew me allowed me to craft a new identity, although most people here at Emerson knew me as gay anyway. There’s a rainbow flag I got from NYC Pride hanging on the back of the door to my room; I’ve got short hair and a slightly masculine walk that I suppose strikes some people as “dykey”. But here I was, scoring more D than V and everyone in my social circle was aware of the difference. I knew - and my friends knew - that being gay was something I could no longer claim to be, and I realized I had to do something about it.
Shortly before New Year’s, I posted the following to Facebook:
My first semester of college was relatively successful: I met the most amazing people, I beat the Freshman 15 and actually lost more than twenty pounds, I found being an “adult” pretty manageable, and I discovered some pretty interesting things about myself - the most interesting being, I wasn’t as gay as I thought I was.
I never came out as lesbian, but rather, I just always was one, and that was fine; I liked girls, I dated girls, I fucked girls, and the only time I’ve ever been in love - it was with a girl. Growing up in New York City with liberal white parents, the whole “questioning” phase of my sexuality never occurred, and I never feared the wrath of my family or friends. There was a brief moment in 2010 when I did fool around with a few boys from my summer camp, but at the end of the day, I found myself bored and not at all attracted to them. They were hairy, with sharp corners and certain smells I could not identify (nor particularly liked) - and then there was, of course, their dicks, which I feared to see, and hoped to never have to.
I don’t know what happened, and in retrospect, it doesn’t make sense how my stance on boys changed. I got to college, I made friends, and then one night found myself being eaten out by this guy with a beard and totally dug it. A month later, I was no longer a Gold Star - that is, I could no longer claim I’d never had penetrative sex with a guy. But I had made the conscious decision to do those things, and I really didn’t give a shit. Being away from all the people who knew me allowed me to craft a new identity, although most people here at Emerson knew me as gay anyway. There’s a rainbow flag I got from NYC Pride hanging on the back of the door to my room; I’ve got short hair and a slightly masculine walk that I suppose strikes some people as “dykey”. But here I was, scoring more D than V and everyone in my social circle was aware of the difference. I knew - and my friends knew - that being gay was something I could no longer claim to be, and I realized I had to do something about it.
Shortly before New Year’s, I posted the following to Facebook:
hey-ya! 2014's quickly approaching and i wanted to take this "new year new you" opportunity to say: i'm coming out as queer.
a few of you know i'm queer already, far more know me as lesbian, and then a troubling amount have called me lesbian without me even telling them so. labels are a tricky thing, and it certainly isn't your fault if you've mislabelled me as or assumed i was lesbian, but college has taught me a thing or two about sexuality and how people regard it and it's high time for me to set things in order.
i am queer, not bisexual, not pansexual. i respect those who use the latter terms but i personally associate "queer" with specific people i look up to and admire, so i would like to use the term to describe myself as well. i make this distinction because i would like to end all mislabelling, because apparently some people are confused, and while i don't necessarily understand why folks care that much about what to label me as, at least i can have a say in what that label is.
tl;dr: queer, not lesbian. dtf everyone (but only if ur cute). peace. xo d.
a few of you know i'm queer already, far more know me as lesbian, and then a troubling amount have called me lesbian without me even telling them so. labels are a tricky thing, and it certainly isn't your fault if you've mislabelled me as or assumed i was lesbian, but college has taught me a thing or two about sexuality and how people regard it and it's high time for me to set things in order.
i am queer, not bisexual, not pansexual. i respect those who use the latter terms but i personally associate "queer" with specific people i look up to and admire, so i would like to use the term to describe myself as well. i make this distinction because i would like to end all mislabelling, because apparently some people are confused, and while i don't necessarily understand why folks care that much about what to label me as, at least i can have a say in what that label is.
tl;dr: queer, not lesbian. dtf everyone (but only if ur cute). peace. xo d.
The post got 55 “likes”, which, for bragging purposes, makes it my most successful post on Facebook to date. But that’s beside the point: the actual point is that people cared, that people appreciated what I had to say, and that they still respected me. Coming out as “queer” came after a several month-long acknowledgement that I was no longer truly lesbian. It was something I knew about for a while, but didn’t necessarily care about; I was what I was, but the issue still lay with people misidentifying me and feeling the need to label myself for me.
Labels are and are not bullshit; I can respect a person’s decision to either use or not to use them. But when people started appointing labels about my sexuality for me, I caved. “Queer” came about as a kind of compromise. I specifically chose to call myself that because I associated queer identity with the kind of people I looked up to: an old professor of mine who was happily married, my favorite graphic artist Erica Moen, and all the girls my age who were advocates and devoted to LGBTQ causes—they were the kind of people (specifically women) I looked up to. And I’m quite happy now to be apart of that.
There is no doubt in my mind that I was very faithfully gay during high school; I could take the train to Union Square in Manhattan and see the same stock of guys we have here at Emerson, without even noticing them nor feeling particularly attracted to them. I was the horny adolescent girl who laid down her cards in favor of tasting another girl’s vagina, of kissing her on the lips, and all over her body. When I masturbated, I’d think of the prettiest girl I saw that day and I would come easily. I loved women and I loved being one, and my identity as a lesbian was something I embraced. But people change, and I’m certainly no exception. People change in good ways, in bad ways, or in ways that really have nothing to do with their moral character or personality. Those little changes aren’t really changes at all; I’d like to think of them as little quirks that just develop over time. They may seem radical on the surface, but they’re really not. I may now be a “hasbian” - a “has been” lesbian - but I’m still the same. At the end of the day, nothing’s really changed, except for maybe who I go to bed with.
Labels are and are not bullshit; I can respect a person’s decision to either use or not to use them. But when people started appointing labels about my sexuality for me, I caved. “Queer” came about as a kind of compromise. I specifically chose to call myself that because I associated queer identity with the kind of people I looked up to: an old professor of mine who was happily married, my favorite graphic artist Erica Moen, and all the girls my age who were advocates and devoted to LGBTQ causes—they were the kind of people (specifically women) I looked up to. And I’m quite happy now to be apart of that.
There is no doubt in my mind that I was very faithfully gay during high school; I could take the train to Union Square in Manhattan and see the same stock of guys we have here at Emerson, without even noticing them nor feeling particularly attracted to them. I was the horny adolescent girl who laid down her cards in favor of tasting another girl’s vagina, of kissing her on the lips, and all over her body. When I masturbated, I’d think of the prettiest girl I saw that day and I would come easily. I loved women and I loved being one, and my identity as a lesbian was something I embraced. But people change, and I’m certainly no exception. People change in good ways, in bad ways, or in ways that really have nothing to do with their moral character or personality. Those little changes aren’t really changes at all; I’d like to think of them as little quirks that just develop over time. They may seem radical on the surface, but they’re really not. I may now be a “hasbian” - a “has been” lesbian - but I’m still the same. At the end of the day, nothing’s really changed, except for maybe who I go to bed with.
Delilah Kaufman is a Writing for Film and Television major at Emerson College. Hailing from New York City, she is a cat enthusiast, addicted to Mad Men, and can fit her whole fist in her mouth. You can find Delilah on Twitter.