Homo Is Where the Heart Is

On seeking what you already have.

Welcome to another edition of Love, Peace, and Tacos, a weekly newsletter where I share what I’m feeling, loving, and eating. My podcast, We’re Never Doing This Again will be returning in September with brand new episodes. Stay tuned!

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Hello friends,

A couple of things have happened recently:

1. In July, I went to an Alice in Wonderland-themed, RuPaul’s Drag Race All-Stars 8 viewing party, aptly named There’s No Place Like Homo which was hosted by the House of Jimbo (our very own hometown hero!). Stephanie Prince (Canada’s Drag Race season 2 and Canada’s Drag Race, Canada Vs The World) did a lip sync to Tove Lo’s Disco Tits and killed it. See photographic evidence below.

   

   I always joke that I watch RuPaul’s Drag Race like other people watch sports (try and convince me that doing the splits while your genitals are bound in duct tape isn’t a sport. I’m waiting.) Watching the show in a large group setting (with cheap wine and popcorn within arm’s reach) was like how I imagine a Yankees fan feels when they catch their first live game. You could feel the electricity and anticipation in the air, and the jokes just hit differently (in a good way).

2. I finished reading Greedy: Notes From a Bisexual Who Wants Too Much by

   Jen Winston
   . This memoir in essays follows Winston’s journey of self-discovery — from her childhood “girl crush” to their enduring fear of being bad at queer sex. While the book is peppered with a lot of internet-speak to the point where it felt distracting at times (Winston is an excellent writer on their own!), it made me feel seen in a way that I didn’t even realize I needed to be seen. Winston perfectly encapsulates the delight and confusion that comes with living within an identity that much of the world doesn’t think “is a real thing” (“All women are a little bit bisexual!”) (“Bisexuality is a stopover to Gaytown!”) and what it’s like to feel gay, but also never gay enough. To be both, but neither at the same time.

These two things, paired with the fact that I’ve spent the past month catching up with old friends in Canada, Los Angeles, and San Francisco have given me ample space to reflect on what queerness and community mean to me.

Like Winston, I’m a late-blooming bisexual. Although I’ve known since I was 19 that I was most likely bi (after a chance encounter at The Guvernment that involved a shit ton of MDMA, some very sparkly clothing, and one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen in real life), it wasn’t until my later thirties that I decided to come out and really own my sexual identity — an event that was so lowkey and devoid of fanfare I hesitate to even call it a coming out (see above re: not feeling queer enough.)

What followed was a brief, second adolescence where I tried out a bunch of different women-focused queer spaces, only to come to the conclusion, similar to Winston did, that the local bars & events geared towards lesbians and other queer women weren’t really my jam.

Instead of experiencing the instant sense of “finally being home” that many queer people say they experience when they enter a gay bar for the first time, my first lesbian event felt like the social equivalent of showing up to a party in an outfit that doesn’t quite fit you properly — it’s pulling and tugging in all the wrong ways, but you’re committed to wearing it, at least until the end of the night.

In my case, I thought identifying as bisexual meant I had to seek out a new community of queer women to spend my time with in order to be worthy of the label. When I didn’t find what I was looking for initially, I once again questioned my own queerness.

While I now have more queer women friends than ever before, I’m still searching for that mythical femme-seeking-femme queer space that feels like home. Or at least, I thought I was.

Recently, I mentioned this to someone close to me and they said, “Maybe you don’t need to find a new community because you already have one.”

The more I thought about it, the more I realized he was right.

Since I was a teenager, my social life, interests, and pop culture references have been — intentionally or unintentionally — very queer. As a tween and teen, I was obsessed with Madonna, Andy Warhol, George Michael, and Tennessee Williams. As a twenty-something, I spent many hazy, sweaty nights on the packed dance floors of Toronto’s gay clubs, dancing until the early morning alongside my closest male friends. Queerness was everywhere, whether I understood it explicitly or not.

It was through these friends and the many nights we spent together at places like The Barn and Woody’s, that I developed the confidence to be myself. The things I’d tried to tamp down in myself — my quirkiness, my sexiness, my love of bold colors and prints — these friends embraced wholeheartedly.

Yet, when I started going on dates with women who exclusively hung out with other queer women, I often wondered: what does it say about me that the majority of my queer friends are cisgender men? (Cue: more feelings of not being queer enough.)

Reading Winston’s book was the perfect reminder that when it comes to my identity and the people I choose to surround myself with, I get to make the rules.

I mean, of course I do!

I’ve been reminded of this again and again this summer.

Since going to There’s No Place Like Homo, I’ve caught up with one of my oldest & dearest friends, Trevor, and spent a dreamy few days in San Francisco with my bff-slash-favorite-work-husband, Mark (& his lovely real-life spouse, Allen).

Driving around the city in my friend Amber’s convertible with Mark riding shotgun (and the Barbie soundtrack and Taylor on repeat), I was overcome by the feeling that I was with my people and therefore, exactly where I needed to be.

This all goes to say that there’s no right or wrong to be queer, bi, or however you choose to identify (currently, I identify as “chaotically bisexual"). All you really need is a handful of people who love and accept you for who you are. I’m privileged to have found that, even though my community is scattered across the globe.

Maybe homo is where the heart is.

Love, Peace & Tacos,

Simone