“Am I Gay?” A Dive Into My Very Straight Brain

You know those existential thought spirals you can induce at 2AM? The ones where you're lying in bed thinking about life, death, the future, and whether or not that one praise you gave to a woman in 2018 means you're kind of gay?

Yeah well, welcome to my Wednesday night.

Let me start with the facts. I am a woman. I am attracted to men. I’ve dated them, had sex with them, argued with them in Kmart, blocked them, unblocked them, re-followed them on Insta months later. I've done the whole emotional labor, give and receive shit until I gave myself a fucking brain hernia. Men, unfortunately and fortunately, are very much my type.

But, here’s the part that always trips me the fuck up. I can find women attractive. I can look at a woman and think, she is beautiful. I can love her style, the symmetry of her face, the way she exists in the world like some kind of fabricated animal who actually drinks water and washes her face. When I look at some women, I want to cry and punch a wall at the same time. Sometimes, I can say to myself, “Damn she’s pretty,” and not immediately want to climb her like a tree and bite the branches.

That’s confusing me now. I feel like I've hit a point where if I acknowledge another woman’s beauty, I'm supposed to call myself gay and make a slideshow for my family about my coming out journey, and maybe buy a fucking crystal.

But, surely finding women beautiful doesn’t make me gay. It makes me observant? Socialised in a world where women are encouraged to compliment or criticise each other’s eyebrows like it’s fucking currency?

I am a woman, so I know women. The group chats are like CIA operations, screenshots are critical evidence and one wrong emoji could be declaration of war. The passive aggression? Venomly. 

And their smiles? Aren't kindness, its weaponry. They're the kind of smiles that say, “I will compliment your eyebrows while actively bulldozing your reputation in three separate friend groups.” Women don’t argue, they fucking assassinate. Quietly and strategically. And with enough tact to make you doubt your own sanity.

No woman on this planet is actually chill. That’s a myth made by men who have never seen a woman fully lose her shit. We are unstable goddesses with abandonment issues. And I say that with deep respect and lived experience. 

All women are on SSRIs. And if they’re not, they just haven’t been diagnosed yet. That’s why after a breakup, they’ll start a lash business instead of burning your house down

I’ve had women flirt with me and kiss me. I’ve had friends suggest that everyone is “probably bi and just repressed.” I’m not confused I just think women can be ethereal. And fucking crazy. But, are they right? I know it’s easier to be gay on the internet than straight. I feel like there's more gays, furrys and trans than there are straight and cis people now.

But at the end of the day, I know myself. I know what desire and lust feels like. And I’ve never once looked at a woman and thought, “Yes. That’s who I want in my bed, messing up my sheets and ghosting me after.” In fact, having a woman in my bed revolts me.

So no, I’m not gay. I’m just a straight woman who knows when another woman is looking fine and sometimes I'll say so, because I’ve lived long enough to know that confidence isn’t a threat, and neither is praise.