Outed as Bisexual in High School: Ignorance, Objectification and Otherness

By Grace Hussey

Things I never expected during my final year of high school: for it to be shaped by a sexuality crisis; for that crisis to cause me to experience so much scrutiny; or for the year to be shaped by homophobia and social rejection.

At seventeen, I finally felt and understood Simone de Beauvoir’s theory of ‘otherness’. Walking into rooms full of people, I felt as though they were all watching me and thinking the same thing; that I was different and separate from everyone else. While I was never particularly popular growing up, this was the first time that something set me apart from the crowd. I no longer fit seamlessly into the fold. 

I never got the chance to come out as bisexual. It was something that was discovered and passed around like a scandalous secret – a dirty whisper. I had no control over how people found out about my sexuality or how they perceived it. In an ideal world, discovering that someone isn’t straight wouldn’t be a piece of gossip, and it shouldn’t be shocking. But this is not an ideal world, and attending a religious private school highlights the darker sides of tradition and elitism.

Patriarchy forces women into being the ‘other’ sex. We are not the default and not the main focus. This mirrors the way that heterosexuality is the default; people are assumed to be straight and all emphasis is placed on straight relationships. This is far from new information but witnessing it in real life at seventeen while coming to terms with your own sexuality is extremely disconcerting.

Continuously, I was asked whether I was ‘really bisexual’ or if it was just alcohol, just a mistake, just a phase. As though sexuality can be erased with a simple ‘just’. Before this, I had never had to explain whether I genuinely liked someone I had met at a party or gone on a date with. Bisexuality remained something that needed to be proven, something that couldn’t be believed. 

From the men in my year group, I received mixed responses about my bisexuality. Half of my male classmates thought it was ‘hot’ while the other half was disgusted. I was sent messages asking for threesomes, messages telling me how sexy they thought it was that I was bisexual.

Overhearing real-life snippets of conversations was also a thing. In these conversations, my classmates branded me as gross and unlovable. One memorable comment overheard in my school library was that I would only be interested in a girl because I was desperate. If I wasn’t desperate, I would obviously be looking for something better: a man. I didn’t go into the library again for a long time after hearing that. It was months before I returned, the day before my graduation.

Bisexuality is constantly sensationalised and used to further sexualise women. My sexuality became less about what I wanted as an autonomous individual and became another way for me to please men. The boys that were describing my sexuality as ‘hot’ or asking for threesomes were reducing my identity to something perceived through the male gaze, something orchestrated for their enjoyment rather than my own. Something that only involved me and the other women in my life had become dominated by the male gaze, something objectified.

In high school, sex always felt like a performance carried out for the boys that I was with. Discovering more of my identity and sexuality initially felt freeing, as though it could be more than just a performance. Maybe it could actually be something I understood and resonated with. However, the reductive lens placed on female relationships undermined this.

In hindsight, I wish I had more control over coming out. I never wanted a big declaration of my sexuality. All seventeen-year-old me wanted was to be able to mention my sexuality in passing conversation, for the first time, before it became a piece of gossip.

To this day, I feel a sense of empowerment whenever I tell a new person that I am bisexual. I feel stronger and freer describing myself to strangers without others describing me first. We should all have the power to accurately describe our identities without those identities being sensationalised, objectified or called into question.