By M.K. Noir, Contributor, Emerson College
When I was in 6th grade, I used to watch Sucker Free Countdown on MTV because I liked the way the girls’ boobs looked. I was a 12-year-old girl who didn't think twice about the fact that I didn't care about the music videos or the rappers, but was exclusively fixated on admiring the large, round, bouncing, and mostly exposed breasts.
Then, when I was in middle school, I remember deciding that movies without attractive female leads were objectively boring. I didn't think anything of it, I just found myself getting bored when I didn't have a pretty girl to look at.
In 9th grade, girls started to use the term “girl-crush,” implying “a heterosexual but like slightly more than platonic but like totally not lesbian crush on a female-bodied famous person.” I suddenly had a girl crush on everyone – Emma Watson, Hayley Williams, Kim Kardashian, P!nk (figures), Violet Baudelaire – the list went on. And on. And on some more.
In retrospect, the peculiar thing about all these moments and time periods was that I never once considered that I could be a lesbian. It all felt normal and natural. I felt that women were important because I could relate to them. That’s it. I was straight, had always been straight, and from my perspective, lesbian girls and gay boys were rare.
But one day in 11th grade, absolutely out of the blue, I fell in love with a girl. It just happened. That’s not a simplification or an understatement. I just fell in love with a girl. “Oh,” I remember thinking to myself. “This must mean I’m not straight.” Of course, it wasn't all straightforward (ha). I did think, “I could be bisexual.” But that didn't quite seem right. I had never liked another girl besides this one. I thought, “I could be pan,” but gender was important to me. “I could be a lesbian,” but uh, no. So I settled for “she’s an exception. I’m straight, but she’s the exception.” It felt right, and I was completely OK with that. I was completely OK with her being my queer-girl dream come true and completely OK with being a straight girl romantically in love with a girl.
But now, over two years later, I’m in love with the same girl and though she was initially an exception, there isn't a single part of me left that could be called “straight.” I identify as a queer woman, occasionally lesbian, but mostly queer. Sometimes I think the girl I fell in love with catalyzed this part of my identity. Sometimes, I think she completely unlocked it. Sometimes I think she legitimately caused it. It’s a fascinating question and one that I will never be able to answer. There were an infinite amount of alternate paths my life could have taken – who knows if they all would have ended here.
Was I born this way? I don’t know. There were indicators from a relatively young age that there may have been something going on there, something that started to blossom during puberty and staggered a little before reaching fruition. But those indicators could also be my 20/20 hindsight, which will naturally be biased in favor of providing me with clean-cut, reasonable explanations for why I am who I am today.
Was it a choice? Think back to the first time you felt anything for anyone. You didn't actively evaluate a pool of potential lovers for the best fit. You felt a flutter. A tingle. A spark. You felt it everywhere and nowhere, inside your body and in the air around you but also inside the other body, also in that person’s lungs and fingertips and smile. You transcended the language of love used in music and poetry – no, Shakespeare and Sappho had it all wrong, their words weren't good enough and their experience was dull – love was more than anything they could ever say about it. Even if I had wanted it to be a choice, the pure magic of the feeling was far beyond anything a human could choose to feel. Far beyond anything I could make up on my own.
Was it genetics? Was it upbringing and environment? They say there are some genes, like the gene for depression, that people are born with that can only be accessed in a proper environment. A person who is predisposed to depression but has a healthy and happy life might never develop it. Nature or nurture - the argument is obsolete. We know now that the two work together.
More importantly, though, does it matter? Does it matter if I’m coded for it, if I somehow chose it, or if I’m queer for some other reason entirely? My love for her is real. You can’t feel but I can. Your validation or lack thereof will never change that. Your speculation, your science, your religion, or your opinion, negative or positive, will never change that. This just happened to me. The before is irrelevant, the history is irrelevant, “she had no father figure” is irrelevant, “did she play with trucks as a kid” is irrelevant.
I'm in love with her and that’s all that fucking matters.
M.K Noir is a pen name.
When I was in 6th grade, I used to watch Sucker Free Countdown on MTV because I liked the way the girls’ boobs looked. I was a 12-year-old girl who didn't think twice about the fact that I didn't care about the music videos or the rappers, but was exclusively fixated on admiring the large, round, bouncing, and mostly exposed breasts.
Then, when I was in middle school, I remember deciding that movies without attractive female leads were objectively boring. I didn't think anything of it, I just found myself getting bored when I didn't have a pretty girl to look at.
In 9th grade, girls started to use the term “girl-crush,” implying “a heterosexual but like slightly more than platonic but like totally not lesbian crush on a female-bodied famous person.” I suddenly had a girl crush on everyone – Emma Watson, Hayley Williams, Kim Kardashian, P!nk (figures), Violet Baudelaire – the list went on. And on. And on some more.
In retrospect, the peculiar thing about all these moments and time periods was that I never once considered that I could be a lesbian. It all felt normal and natural. I felt that women were important because I could relate to them. That’s it. I was straight, had always been straight, and from my perspective, lesbian girls and gay boys were rare.
But one day in 11th grade, absolutely out of the blue, I fell in love with a girl. It just happened. That’s not a simplification or an understatement. I just fell in love with a girl. “Oh,” I remember thinking to myself. “This must mean I’m not straight.” Of course, it wasn't all straightforward (ha). I did think, “I could be bisexual.” But that didn't quite seem right. I had never liked another girl besides this one. I thought, “I could be pan,” but gender was important to me. “I could be a lesbian,” but uh, no. So I settled for “she’s an exception. I’m straight, but she’s the exception.” It felt right, and I was completely OK with that. I was completely OK with her being my queer-girl dream come true and completely OK with being a straight girl romantically in love with a girl.
But now, over two years later, I’m in love with the same girl and though she was initially an exception, there isn't a single part of me left that could be called “straight.” I identify as a queer woman, occasionally lesbian, but mostly queer. Sometimes I think the girl I fell in love with catalyzed this part of my identity. Sometimes, I think she completely unlocked it. Sometimes I think she legitimately caused it. It’s a fascinating question and one that I will never be able to answer. There were an infinite amount of alternate paths my life could have taken – who knows if they all would have ended here.
Was I born this way? I don’t know. There were indicators from a relatively young age that there may have been something going on there, something that started to blossom during puberty and staggered a little before reaching fruition. But those indicators could also be my 20/20 hindsight, which will naturally be biased in favor of providing me with clean-cut, reasonable explanations for why I am who I am today.
Was it a choice? Think back to the first time you felt anything for anyone. You didn't actively evaluate a pool of potential lovers for the best fit. You felt a flutter. A tingle. A spark. You felt it everywhere and nowhere, inside your body and in the air around you but also inside the other body, also in that person’s lungs and fingertips and smile. You transcended the language of love used in music and poetry – no, Shakespeare and Sappho had it all wrong, their words weren't good enough and their experience was dull – love was more than anything they could ever say about it. Even if I had wanted it to be a choice, the pure magic of the feeling was far beyond anything a human could choose to feel. Far beyond anything I could make up on my own.
Was it genetics? Was it upbringing and environment? They say there are some genes, like the gene for depression, that people are born with that can only be accessed in a proper environment. A person who is predisposed to depression but has a healthy and happy life might never develop it. Nature or nurture - the argument is obsolete. We know now that the two work together.
More importantly, though, does it matter? Does it matter if I’m coded for it, if I somehow chose it, or if I’m queer for some other reason entirely? My love for her is real. You can’t feel but I can. Your validation or lack thereof will never change that. Your speculation, your science, your religion, or your opinion, negative or positive, will never change that. This just happened to me. The before is irrelevant, the history is irrelevant, “she had no father figure” is irrelevant, “did she play with trucks as a kid” is irrelevant.
I'm in love with her and that’s all that fucking matters.
M.K Noir is a pen name.