I want to bring my straight boyfriend to Pride without judgement

I go to Manchester Pride every year – but I dread the occasional side eye as I walk down Canal Street hand-in-hand with my boyfriend, Tim.  

There’s always a subtle vibe shift when we enter a room, or someone murmurs something and gestures our way.  

To a random bystander, we appear to be a straight couple. But I’m bisexual and I deserve to occupy LGBTQ+ spaces – yes, even when I’m with my hetereosexual male partner.  

I never really ‘came out’ in the traditional sense – not due to shame or lack of pride, but more because I detest very public announcements.   

Today, everyone in my life knows of – and has always accepted – my sexuality, which makes me feel extremely lucky.  

Unfortunately, I have had a few jokes over the years about how it was likely just a phase or a stepping stone to coming out as a lesbian, but thankfully nothing outright hostile.  

I first met Tim in 2012, but we didn’t start dating until roughly a year later.  

He’s always been very supportive of my sexuality, and willing to involve himself in LGBTQ+ spaces as much as I feel comfortable with, taking my lead. I first worked up the courage to take him to Pride in 2021, and we’ve gone together each time since – we’ve even been to drag shows together at LGBTQ+ venues.  

I believe that Tim is not only an ally, but that he is himself in a relationship that is not entirely heterosexual. LGBTQ+ spaces give him the opportunity to celebrate my identity and how our relationship deviates from straight cultural norms.  

Attending specific events like Pride is important to me because it makes me feel seen and free. But I always feel self-conscious about what people may assume about Tim and I, as well as our validity in being there.  

As a result of this sense of exclusion, I often feel I’m perceived more like a straight tourist – when non-LGBTQ+ people treat Pride more like a festival than an important political movement – than a valid member of the community.  

Don’t get me wrong, straight tourism at Pride waters down the event’s rich cultural history, and can be a potential safety risk. It is for this reason that there are also people who believe my partner isn’t welcome at Pride, even if I am.  

While this position is one I can sympathise with, I wholeheartedly disagree.  

At Pride I’ve had experiences where people seem to be subtly judging or assessing us – they throw a side eye or an eye roll our way at what they perceive to be yet another straight couple. Nobody has outright challenged our right to be there, but there’s a feeling of not being 100% welcome.  

I often feel like I’m simultaneously not straight enough and not gay enough for other people to feel comfortable. Strangers do not always read me as queer, especially when Tim and I are hand-in-hand.  

This makes me feel very uncomfortable too, but it wasn’t until I stumbled across the phrase ‘bi invisibility’ – the tendency to ignore, deny, or invalidate the existence of bisexuality, or to treat it as a temporary phase before someone ‘chooses’ a monosexual identity (gay or straight) – that I understood why. 

Being a bisexual woman can be exhausting, as we can often feel dismissed by lesbians and fetishised by straight men.   

For bisexual men, however, the story is different. While polling shows that bisexual women are often perceived by lesbians as straight women in disguise, bisexual men are seen as predominantly gay by gay men.  

The difficulties with people dismissing, questioning or defining for you your own sexuality don’t just happen when pursuing a romantic connection though.   

Bisexual women like myself often feel forced into a situation where they feel they have to prove they are ‘queer enough’, like sharing their sexual history in detail to demonstrate their attraction to multiple genders.   

I’ve even had people look at me with confusion when I reference my bisexuality while holding my daughter, implying my daughter is proof that I’ve picked a side, so to speak. This is frustrating and triggering, but unsurprising to me.  

Let’s be clear: your sexual orientation – no matter what it is – is not up for debate and is not for other people to gatekeep. It’s something only you get to define.   

Being bisexual is riddled with stereotypes. The ‘greedy bi’, the ‘indecisive bi’, the ‘saying it for attention bi’, the ‘cheating bi’, and the ‘secretly straight bi’. All of these add to bi invisibility and make us less likely to feel validated, especially if our current partner is not LGBTQ+.   

Though of course, the other side of the coin is bi privilege, and it would be remiss not to mention this. We can sometimes ‘pass’ as straight, allowing us more safety in LGBTQ+ hostile environments.   

This privilege can breed inherent resentment and tensions with lesbian and gay folks particularly, but sometimes trans people too.   

I wish there was less judgement, stereotypes and discrimination. After all, Pride started as a protest against such notions and an exertion of the principle that all love is created equal.   

So I will be attending Manchester Pride again this year in August – and Tim will be joining me. But I’m sure I’ll feel the usual contradictory combination of self-conscious and free.   

I hope people treat us like any other attendees and that my bisexuality is respected. Respect is the default with which we should treat all other people.   

We deserve to be at Pride and we deserve to have pride. 

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

Share your views in the comments below.