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Still, so much of my understanding has relied upon engaging with my queer community. I can only speak to my own experience as a white cis lesbian. I wasn’t sure there were any straightforward answers, and I’m still not. My response - that no one should violate boundaries, regardless of gender - was met with resistance. More than one person asked why I was calling out queer people when we should really be focusing on the harmful behavior of men. The immediate feedback I received was disheartening. “These were conversations had in private, over drinks in our homes or at a low-key bar.” I kept moving, turning in circles, trying to ward her off. The woman stumbled after me, grabbing for my ass. I pulled her hands out - I was singing along to Bon Jovi into a wine bottle microphone - but she jammed them right back in. Everyone in the room laughed, including me. One evening, a woman I’d been friendly with for most of the week suddenly came up behind me and stuck her hands into the front pockets of my jeans. I felt secure in my boundaries and expectations. I’d been out for years by that time I was in a long-term relationship with another woman.
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I also thought it meant that when we drank - and we drank a lot - I didn’t need to worry about men touching my body without my consent. It felt good to be around other people who identified as queer, with no expectation that I should explain my life and my choices. Safe from what, exactly?Īs a fellow at an LGBTQIA writing retreat I attended - one that continues to be life-affirming, from long-lasting friendships to guidance and mentorship from seasoned authors - I found safety in being around those who wouldn’t judge me based solely on my sexuality. Sometimes it’s hard to unpack what we mean by a safe space. I knew this wasn’t logical - real-life relationships didn’t function like this, not in any way I was familiar with - but when I went online or talked to the handful of queer women I met in my night-school classes, I’d hear the inevitable phrases: “She’s such a Shane” or “They’re so in love, like Bette and Tina.”īoundaries in these fictional relationships were crossed and toxic, and they quickly became signifiers of how I thought all lesbian relationships functioned. I learned the stable of jokes that pepper lesbian culture: the idea of U-Hauling, or the one about the turkey baster.
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About lesbian sex, sure, but also about how to interact with other women. I pored over web pages and how-to guides. How does a person learn to socialize as a lesbian when they don’t know any other lesbians? Or when they don’t see themselves represented in media? We look to the places where we do see ourselves. What did queer people bond over? Movies, books, television? Did their interests always have to be queer? I found myself navigating the uncharted waters of a delayed adolescence. It was like puberty all over again: struggling with how to talk to women I was interested in, or even just to other queer friends. So when I came out in my twenties, I had to relearn how to interact with my peers. If I didn’t look at anyone’s naked body, then I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I averted my eyes whenever I changed clothes in a locker room or in a bedroom crowded with friends at a sleepover. While closeted, I was also overly judicious about consent - so afraid that my cover might be blown, and so uninterested in dating men or even thinking about them sexually, that I was well aware of boundaries and how I needed to move through the world. “What am I willing to put up with just so I can be at a gay bar? What boundaries will I let women cross? Do safe queer spaces actually exist?” Indeed, Brown’s glossy version of womanhood - slender, straight, cisgender, white, and upwardly mobile - has always had its others: queer women, women of color, disabled women, poor women, and anyone who didn’t hew to the Cosmo girl archetype that dominated the late 20th century. Notably, the book scarcely acknowledges queer desire, mostly depicting gay men as a pitfall in straight women’s search for love. Her sparkly prose was devoured by an audience who craved something other than domesticity.īut of course, Sex and the Single Girl - and Brown’s revamped, sexed-up Cosmopolitan magazine - didn’t speak to everyone. In 1962, when Helen Gurley Brown published her bestselling advice book, women couldn’t open credit cards in their own name, and Cosmopolitan magazine - which Brown would soon oversee as editor-in-chief - was still running anodyne cover stories like “How to Protect Your Family.” Against this cultural backdrop, Brown urged young women to enter the workforce and sleep with men. In many ways, Sex and the Single Girl was groundbreaking.