Heteronormative and stories: Why “that’s so gay” is not okay

A transcript of the speech by Jayde Ellis at the 'Homophobic bullying: That’s So Gay is Not Ok' forum



“You want to be one of those people whose stories are told” – right there, there’s a bit of insight into the experiences of young SGD people.

There are many experiences we share that are not understood by those who haven’t has the same experiences. Most of these are things that happen in the every day, things that become “normalised”.

One of these experiences is identifying with a term that is seen as a put down. This is subconsciously telling a young person who may be realising they are same-sex attracted, or questioning their gender identity, that the thing you are realising about yourself is wrong, unnatural, in need of fixing.

I often catch a lot of the young people I work with outside of Wear it Purple with “that’s go gay” and when I pull them up on it: “you know I love gay people, I don’t mean anything by it!”

I understand that, and I’ve learnt to take no offence, but the main problem this incurs is assumptions. It assumes that nobody around them is gay, so nobody will take offence to it. It assumes that everyone is just like them. I haven’t seen anyone running around going “that’s so straight”, “that’s so wranga”, or “that’s so Asian” – it would be outright offensive and I struggle to think of how it would start.

Why did “that’s so gay” become a thing? Because teenagers have always made a mockery of things that they deem to be below themselves, and it became a habit. 

And now, even when a lot of them don’t necessarily have an aversion to sexual diversity, “gay” is used synonymously with negativity. Funny that “gay” is now used so flippantly – on one level, we are used in daily language, and on another we are invisible.

“Heterosexism” or “heteronormativity” has been given a big media plug over the last few weeks, but I think it simply means to be made invisible if you are not heterosexual.

Heterosexual as a really broad term referring to being attracted to opposite sex and adhering to expected gender norms. It means that if you don’t fit that mould, you don’t exist in mainstream society, classrooms, lunchtime conversations, and the media.

I’m not saying that it hasn’t got better, but still, the world that we see around us is predominantly straight, and teaches young SGD people that they don’t fit in, or that they will stand out. There is a problem with that.

I’m not talking about outright bullying today – I’m not denying that it is a huge problem, but in 20 minutes, and on the topic of “that’s so gay” – I really wanted to address the hidden, underlying and (in my opinion) the other most dangerous element for our young people: invisibility.

In reality, I probably had my first crush on a girl at 7 – but when you’re growing up, and the game played is “catch and kiss” or then only question in the playground is “which boy do you like?”, the concept of liking girls just doesn’t exist.

At 7 I also connected better with guys; in some ways I wanted to be one of them. I didn’t identify as a boy, but there was something about them that I felt suited me more than the girls.

In coming to terms with my identity, the impact of unintentional homophobia, or heteronormativity, was the thing that took me the longest to overcome. I realised I was gay when I fell in love with my best friend – when we realised we felt the same and started seeing each other, it just naturally became a secret.

I had to deal with what that meant: what does it mean to be the odd one out, to rebel against something I’ve assumed to be the truth for so long? For the first time in my life, I really felt like ME. When we were alone, we couldn’t be happier, and the prospect of friends not sharing my excitement with me was heartbreaking. It was easier to not tell anyone, than to have people respond to my happiness with disappointment, confusion or sadness.

I’ve had friends cry because they’ve said how much they were looking forward to our kids growing up together and having family BBQs when we were both married. The assumption that we can’t have kids, the assumption that we won’t get married. I have to tell them outright out that we aren’t breaking up and that their choice for that future of our friendship is to embrace our relationship, or lose it. I haven’t heard from them in a while.

The fact that I have friends who felt they had to tell me that they “knew about us” when my partner and I started seeing each other, implies it is some dirty little secret that I had tried – and failed – to hide.

The fact of the matter is, it was a secret for a while. I was “straight”, I was conservative and the thought of being attracted to a girl had not crossed my mind… since I was about 7 and learnt that I would be weird to not like boys.

As a young person, you don’t usually want to disappoint your parents and we all know that parents aren’t usually the most straightforward people to navigate: how can you even be sure what they will say?

You’re trying so hard to navigate your own feelings, and adolescence is such an awkward time anyway. Often, people that are bullied or feel isolated for other thing – different cultural background, hair colour, etc. – can go home and typically be consoled by their family, who usually share the aspect.

SGD YP can’t necessarily do that. They go home where this fear of “coming out” is perpetuated, or in too many cases, keep getting bullied. Quite often, SGD YP are trying to decipher how they will be responded to at home, once they “come out”.

It wasn’t even that I had outright homophobia around me – I had no reason to think my parents would disown me, they have gay friends and are some of the coolest people I know. But I wasn’t sure and it took me a really long time to tell them.

Luckily, our family is great and wanted nothing more for their kids than the kind of happiness and commitment that we share.

I don’t tell you my story because it’s special – I realise that I am incredibly lucky, and it’s a minor experience in comparison to some – but I tell it you because it’s real. The problem is that, even with my “easy” experience, there were challenges not usually faced by young people who don’t have to come to terms with the “gay thing”.

I still had to accept myself – how many of my straight friends have to accept their opposite-sex attraction?

How many of them have had to try and fight against their natural attractions, because in the eyes of some, it’s “wrong”?

How many of them have to come out as being straight? Break it to their friends and family that they are in love… with someone of the opposite sex?

How many of them have their relationships belittled, ignored, looked down at and not even have the option to be legally recognised yet? 

My partner recently got invited to a wedding. I didn’t. This friend of hers decided that she didn’t condone our relationship and, therefore, I wasn’t invited to the wedding.

She said that she genuinely wanted Steph to be there – that their friendship was so important to her that she really wanted her to share in her special day. It took for Steph to tell her straight that it was deeply offensive to overtly deny the validity of our relationship, and still I wasn’t invited. So, much to my partner’s respectability, she only attended the ceremony but said she wouldn’t go to the reception because she didn’t want to be there celebrating their love, without being able to hold the hand of the person she loves. Would that have happened if we were a straight couple?

There is still a problem that my relatively boring story is still a story to tell. There is a problem that people feel a need – societally imposed – to “come out”.

The term “come out” is inherently detrimental, implying there was an initial reason to be ashamed or hidden. I am not ashamed. Nor should anybody be made to feel that they should be.

There is a problem that WIP still has to exist, because the world still does not fully embrace us.

When young people who are exploring their sexuality and gender feel invisible, they feel worthless. So, we made this video. Then we can show them that they aren’t alone and we know what it feels like, they feel like they matter.



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