Recently, I saw a TikTok from a creator who identifies as bisexual. From the opening line alone, I struggled with the tone of where the conversation was headed:

“So I am bisexual and I do like women, but I would never date a woman.”

And honestly? That statement alone didn’t bother me.

I understand sexuality is nuanced. I understand some bisexual women strongly prefer men. I understand some people enjoy sex with women but only see long-term futures with men. None of that is what upset me.

What bothered me was the way she talked about women.

The way she talked about queer sex.

The way she talked about masculine women.

I’m paraphrasing here, but the overall message was that strap “just isn’t the same,” and that if she wanted masculinity or that kind of physical dynamic, she’d rather just be with a man.

That’s the part that hit a nerve.

Not because masc women are owed attraction. Not because anyone is obligated to date women. But because the language itself felt degrading. Like queer sex and queer masculinity were being framed as lesser versions.

Masc and butch women are not knockoff versions of men.

Queer sex is not an imitation of heterosexual sex.

That rhetoric matters because queer women (especially masculine queer women) have heard versions of it forever. The idea that sex between women is somehow lesser. That masculinity only matters when it belongs to a man. That relationships between women are missing something essential.

People kept defending the video by saying: “She’s allowed to have preferences.”

And yes. She is.

And to be clear, not everything she said bothered me. A lot of it simply sounded like her own lived experiences, preferences, and frustrations with dating. The parts that struck a nerve were the moments where that language drifted into broader ideas about queer intimacy and masculinity.

There’s a difference between: “I’m bisexual but ultimately see my future with a man.”

and queer intimacy being framed as less fulfilling or less complete than heterosexual intimacy.

Those are not the same sentiment.

I think part of why this bothered me so deeply is because the way she described women sounded conflicted, comparative, and emotionally different from the way she spoke about men.

I also think people oversimplify sexuality sometimes. Having sex with a gender does not automatically tell you the depth or nature of someone’s attraction to that gender. People have sex for all kinds of reasons — validation, curiosity, loneliness, attention, experimentation, physical release, emotional closeness. Human behavior is complicated. So when someone says, “Well she has sex with women, therefore this conversation ends there,” I don’t think it’s actually that simple.

I’m not trying to declare someone else’s sexuality for them. I just think there’s a difference between experiencing attraction to women as something emotionally and physically whole versus constantly framing women and queer intimacy in relation to men.

As queer people, many of us experience attraction to women as something emotionally and physically complete in itself.

Not as an imitation.

Not as a side category orbiting men.

Not as experimentation.

Not as conquest.

Not as “close enough.”

Complete.

That’s why many queer women reacted so strongly to this.

Because even when people try to frame it as harmless preference, it still reinforces the old idea that relationships between women are somehow less real, less fulfilling, or less legitimate than heterosexual ones.

And whether people want to admit it or not, language shapes the way we see each other.

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I shudder every time I hear it. Because I know what it means.

People say it’s just descriptive, representing a simple sentence: “I’ve never slept with a man.”

But it’s never that simple. We don’t give things names like that unless they carry meaning.

It doesn’t just describe experience. It ranks it.

I’ve heard people say they get hate for being a “gold star lesbian.” That people mock them— “Oh, do you want a gold star for that?”

And I can understand why that feels dismissive. But I’ve also experienced the other side. Where the term isn’t just descriptive— it’s weaponized. Used to quietly (or not so quietly) invalidate lesbians who have slept with men.

To suggest, even subtly:

more authentic

more true

more resilient

based on their navigation of comphet.

And that’s where it stops being neutral. Because you can’t say “I stayed true to myself and didn’t cave to pressure,” without implying that someone else did.

“Gold Star Lesbian”

It doesn’t feel like queer culture

like liberation

but rather, repackaged purity culture.

We’ve seen it when virginity is treated like virtue and when sexual history is used as a measure of worth. I refuse to let it infiltrate our community.

Your sexuality is not something that gets diluted based on your past. A lesbian who has slept with men is not less real, less valid, less authentic. She just has a different story.

Picture this:

Two people became stand-up comedians. One of them always knew. They resisted pressure, didn’t follow expectations, and went straight into comedy.

The other didn’t. They followed the path laid out for them— school, career, stability— before eventually finding their way to the same place.

We wouldn’t call one of them the “real comedian.” We wouldn’t say one is more authentic, more legitimate, more true.

So why do we do that here? Why do we create language that separates people not by who they are, but by what they’ve done?

If someone wants to say “I’ve never slept with a man,” that’s completely valid. That’s their experience. But the moment we turn that into a label, a category, a thing to be compared— it stops being neutral. It becomes hierarchy.

I don’t think identity should be something we rank. Not by experience. Not by timeline. Not by how closely someone’s path matches “ideal.”

“Gold Star Lesbian.” I’ve never liked the term. Because the moment we start ranking people within our own community,

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