In her column DYKE DRAMA, GT’s own ‘sapphic Carrie Bradshaw’ explores a new, very online era of lesbian visibility. 

WORDS ANYA SCHULMAN

IMAGE ‘A REFLECTION’ BY ALBERY HENTRY COLLINGS (1919)

Lesbian Visibility Week may have been and gone, but everyone’s favorite lesbians seem to be…married? Kristen Stewart and Dylan Meyer, Gabby Windey and Robby Hoffman, and Tanner Fletcher’s  Bridal Fashion Week show this month had no shortage of real queer couples. 

After all, the easiest way to be visibly gay is with a partner. As a femme-presenting lesbian, as soon as I came out I wished I could have a hot girlfriend to save me from having to explain myself. Saying “my girlfriend” casually in conversation at work rolls off the tongue a lot easier than “I’m gay,” Ellen’s Time cover-style (we still don’t claim her). I once went home with a girl whose name I don’t remember just to prove to the guys hitting on us that we were really on a date (I was 23). 

[Redacted] years later, less assumptions are being made on the daily, partially thanks to better lesbian representation in media (Lorde’s recent outfits count, I guess). But straight actresses are still being cast in gay roles, and most people are still surprised when I tell them I’m a lesbian. 

 

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There’s plenty of intelligent discourse out there about why we need to cast queer people in queer roles. So I’m going to talk about a different kind of lesbian visibility: we were never meant to know this much about each other and our exes. They are far too visible online and (depending on where you live) IRL. That person you talked to once in 2020 but never met? They’re on your FYP looking for a wedding venue with their fianceé abroad. Your college one-night-stand has a baby now, it’s in the alumni newsletter. Someone who hit on you at a party once is this week’s Vogue Weddings Instagram post. The person you sent your sex playlist to (it was very well received) but never actually met just celebrated one year with their girlfriend via the requisite carousel post on grid.

Lesbian visibility on a macro level is necessary, urgent now more than ever. But on a personal level, it feels like the first time we’re forced to confront how the romantic and professional choices we’ve made manifest into visible consequences. Being part of the first generation of dykes online from the time we came out to settling down with serious partners means watching each other’s lives unfold in real time. We’re in a golden age of lesbian visibility, but is our one year anniversary Instagram carousel grid post the new Christmas card? 

And even if someone ripped your heart out and left it to be trampled on the patio at June PAT, there’s something to be said about a fellow dyke finding love and proudly displaying it on the internet. Over time, a post that feels like a gut punch can morph into a “good for them,” maybe even outfit inspiration. There’s a definitive shift in lesbians of a certain age nearing the end of their Saturn Returns. What used to feel like a great, percolating, chaotic mass of potential pairings in certain scenes is quieting and turning into couples or polycules before our very eyes. Being a lesbian has long meant a thorough and constant knowledge of your cohort’s doing. But only recently has it become so very visible via those who choose to share it online. 

 

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This isn’t a phenomena unique to the sapphic set. Before the internet, curiosity sometimes turned into yearning. It still does. Nobody yearns better than us. But instead of seeing people move on via marriage announcements in the paper, word of mouth, chance encounters, or maybe even a stray voicemail, we’re sharing everything in real time. And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel incredible to start posting about being happy with a hot girlfriend on TikTok instead of sobbing over finding out I’d been dumped via an Instagram Story of my situationship kissing someone else. It feels good to switch from individual lesbian visibility on the internet to coupled lesbian visibility. The switch from thirst traps to lover girl content has been so apparent on my end but who cares, Christmas came early! It is a gift to not care who sees or likes or responds to your story. Being visible for fun and not in an extremely specific way designed to capture a couple people’s attention (c’mon, we’ve all done it) is…peaceful.

Any lesbian who’s been out for more than a month knows one of the most universal lesbian experiences is emotional turmoil and social proximity, so maybe some multi-part TikTok series can be held in equal esteem with blue chip art in our cultural canon. It’s what made The L Word so entertaining and real even though so much of the show was pure fiction. It’s the common ground you can find with just about any other dyke (the breakup of course). And it’s what makes finally finding someone worth celebrating online however much you want to. Seeing Gabby and Robby’s courthouse wedding on Instagram almost healed the years-old wound Shane abandoning Carmen at the altar created.

It kind of feels like a cop out to rely on a partner to prevent everyone who sees you from jumping to straight conclusions or lend greater meaning to sharing your life online. But the outfit wasn’t gay enough so I needed an accessory (usually, a more masculine-presenting partner) trend by predominantly femme lesbians on TikTok shows this feeling is still very common for lesbians who “look straight.” For a while, my own lesbian visibility meant challenging people’s perceptions of what a lesbian looks like. And the ever-growing lesbian internet has helped so many people figure out what presentation feels most authentic to them, learn about sex, and feel seen even without someone’s hand to hold. 

 

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So it might be self-indulgent to make edits of me watching my girlfriend play hockey at Chelsea Piers as if we’re in a movie or romance on ice book (it is an established genre) for a couple of seconds. But sharing snippets of actual, possible, joyful lesbian life is arguably more meaningful to our community than watching Margaret Qualley play gay for the second time in a new movie. And this being shared along with exes and friends and everyone in-between sharing their visibly lesbian lives in parallel is praxis. Maybe we don’t always need more highly produced lesbian visibility (don’t get me wrong, ‘Be With’ from the Bottoms soundtrack is on the sex playlist), but more everyday examples. It’s so exciting to see other queer people in the wild or online. Especially if you don’t already know them. The gay nod is held in such high esteem for a reason. And it’s absolutely a privilege to be able to subvert assumptions and the effort flagging can take by just holding someone’s hand or kissing them.

By sharing our lives on the internet, we are creating one of the greatest living examples of lesbian visibility in front of other queer people. TikTok lesbians have their faults, but they single handedly helped so many people discover their sexuality during the pandemic. When ‘representation matters’ became a queer colloquialism and shortly thereafter a punchline, I don’t think we envisioned 15 second clips of people touching the tops of door frames necessarily being the lesbian visibility that rivaled Kate Moennig’s casting on The L Word in impact. But the sudden ability to see each other with an immediacy and scale we’d never experienced before was a revelation. So maybe coming across your situationship’s new girlfriend on your FYP due to the strength of the algorithm was worth the sting for the greater good. 

Being gay on the internet, whether you’re single, partnered,or poly, is important. I promise, if you’re a lesbian online, the visibility will follow. We’ve always known how to find each other. And if you’re more of an observer, that’s hot and necessary, too. Some of us like being watched. 

Honorable Mentions 

In the spirit of nostalgia for party coverage columns, some new and notable sapphic happenings: 

• Jennifer Beals’ book signing at the Union Square Barnes and Noble last week for her new book, The L Word: A Photographic Journal, with Ilene Chaiken and Rachel Shelley (Peyton Dix tried to get her to sign the book “To my lover Cindi” but it wasn’t allowed).
• Cat Burns joining the Celebrity Traitors UK cast.
• Lorde’s chain.
• Juliana Ramirez’s new Substack, Search Terms, with occasional input from her girlfriend, Jane, has impeccable taste and recommendations re: queer style and design.
• The Lesbian Herstory Archives in Brooklyn is free to visit for anyone who books a time slot on their website.
• Pride and Prejudice being re-released to theaters to celebrate its 20th anniversary is a really great opportunity to wear a suit to the movies.
• Fun Home author Alison Bechdel’s new book, Spent, is out.
• And if you need a new gay haircut for spring, go to Tommy @axebodypray.

Catch up on previous instalments of Dyke Drama below:

Is being an (actually) hopeless romantic the best way to find love this Valentine’s Day?

Even as a lesbian, is it ever safe to show your full, ‘crazy’ self in a relationship?

Should lesbians get a guilt-free ghosting pass?

The post Lesbian Visibility Week may be over, but a generation of sapphics is more visible than ever appeared first on GAY TIMES.

Ruby Rare speaks to GAY TIMES to celebrate the release of The Non-Monogamy Playbook, a modern guide to navigating the world of non-monogamy.

Sometimes it can feel like there isn’t a single queer person who hasn’t tried non-monogamy at some point – but of course, as a polyamorous person myself, this is what I would say. While folks are certainly more aware of non-monogamy than ever before, and a thriving online community has cropped up of polyamory influencers creating educational content, it can sometimes be hard to know exactly how to begin, and continue to navigate, your non-monogamous journey. 

Specifically, it’s easy to feel uncertain when it comes to finding the answers to questions plaguing us at different points of our non-monogamous journey: from how to close an open relationship to advice on navigating whorephobic non-monogamous partners (hint: dump them!), or even tips on coming out as polyamorous to your family. 

That’s where the community’s love of relationship handbooks comes in: whether it’s picking up a well-thumbed copy of The Ethical Slut, lending a friend a copy of Polysecure to navigate some metamour drama, or downloading a PDF of legendary guide The Short Instructional Manifesto for Relationship Anarchy.

The latest entry into the canon of non-monogamy advice? The Non-Monogamy Playbook, from writer, educator and veritable icon Ruby Rare. Accessible, thorough and distinctly unpatronising (an important quality in self-help books, believe me) the book provides necessary context about the non-monogamous community, while succinctly explaining some of the subculture’s key terms. But it’s not all talk and no action – there are a range of prompts and thought-starters to help readers deepen their understanding of non-monogamy and begin to put these teachings into practice. 

Below, we catch up with Rare to discuss her own non-monogamy journey and explore the intersections between the queer and polyamorous communities. 

 

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Great to meet you Ruby! First off, how would you describe your own polyamory journey and how do you currently identify? 

I’ve been non-monogamous in some form or other for a decade now, and it’s been a ride. During the early years, especially, there were a lot of mistakes made and mess – to be honest, I think that’s an unavoidable part of the journey. After about three years, things started to level out and be less turbulent. I’m currently somewhere in between solo polyamorous and practising relationship anarchy. I’ve got a handful of loved ones that I share beautiful and filthy connections with, and I’m enjoying treating my relationship with myself as my ‘primary’ partnership.

I know that sounds a bit Eat, Pray, Love but it’s honestly doing wonders for me at the moment. I tend to use the phrase ‘non-monogamy’ because it’s the broadest term and gives an indication of how I do things without having to specify details straight up. It’s kind of like how the word ‘queer’ gives a general flavour of how you may identify in terms of sexual orientation, without you having to ‘prove’ exactly what that looks and feels like to you.

What are some of the biggest ways you’ve come into your queer, non-monogamous identity over the years? 

For me, non-monogamy and queerness feel very woven together as aspects of my life, because they both define how I create romantic and/or sexual connections. They also play a big part in shaping my politics and how I root myself in community. It’s quite hard to distinguish between the two, to be honest, which is why writing the ‘Queering Relationships’ chapter in my book felt so important. For me, non-monogamy aligns a lot with queer theory, and invites me to question rigid social scripts and learn to embrace fluidity and the unexpected.

How do you think that your book builds on the history of beloved non-monogamous how-to guides like The Ethical Slut and Polysecure?

There are some incredible books out there already, so I really thought hard about if and how I wanted to add my voice to the mix. In the end, I thought it was important to speak about non-monogamy from a UK perspective, because so many of the books and resources available are from the US. I also wanted to weave more personal experiences and informality into my book, along with introducing more political and theory-based ideas in an accessible way. Ultimately, I feel proud that this is my contribution to the wider conversation, I want more books available so that curious people have more perspectives to learn from.

“I’ve been non-monogamous in some form or other for a decade now. It’s been a ride”

Within the queer community, there is an expectation that bisexual and fluid sexual identities are more likely to be non-monogamous. What have you found in your personal experience?

On a personal level, I do see a lot of bi+ people who find that non-monogamy affirms their sexuality and can be a beautiful way of expressing it. However, there are so many bi+ people in happy monogamous relationships, which we need to celebrate and not discredit!

Anecdotally, there seems to be an overlap between kink and non-monogamy. Why do you think that is? 

There’s for sure a link between non-monogamy and kink communities. If you start questioning social norms about sex and relationships and begin exploring, there’s a good chance you’ll dip your toes into both of these spaces. The last kink event I was at was pretty much exclusively polyamorous and non-monogamous people, they don’t necessarily go hand-in-hand, but they often do.

As a last question, let’s get stuck into a classic question of  ~non-monogamy discourse~. What do you think on the age-old question: is polyamory is an orientation, like queerness, or whether it’s more of a lifestyle informed by choice?

This is a tricky one! My thoughts on this change often. For a lot of people, probably myself included, non-monogamy feels like an additional element to the way they do relationships. We’ve also got to acknowledge there are others who feel this is an inherent, non-negotiable part of their identity. Ten years in, this started out as a choice for me but now I really don’t think I could go back to being a monogamous babe. 

It’s important to listen to that and respect it, and acknowledge the real stigmas faced by non-monogamous people, most pressing around child custody, employment and housing. But I start feeling wary when this is put at the same level as systemic prejudice tied to racism, transphobia or ableism. There’s some perspective needed to be aware of how discrimination linked to non-monogamy sits alongside, and within, other forms of discrimination.

Get your copy of The Non-Monogamy Playbook here.

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In her column DYKE DRAMA, GT’s own ‘sapphic Carrie Bradshaw’ explores what it really takes to find love when you least expect it. 

WORDS ANYA SCHULMAN

When I started writing this column a year ago, I’d never told anyone I loved them. Which was fine for editorial purposes, because this is a sex and dating column. I wanted love from people who kept me at arm’s length. I thought if love was hard won, it would last. That if love was universally acknowledged as rare because it was coming from someone who didn’t offer it readily, that it would be less likely to fade or disappear. 

Rare love as some sort of karmic reward was something I held out hope for and slowly gave up on. I was disappointed and blindsided over and over again. Friends, acquaintances, and coworkers were surprised to hear I’d never officially been in a relationship (yes, I am in therapy). You know that time tried, certifiably annoying line of “it happening when you least expect it?”

That is easier said than done. A crush or situationship would fail, and I’d try to least expect it as quickly as the usual grieving process allows, so I could finally be completely and utterly taken by surprise with actual love, only offered to unsuspecting recipients. 

You see, when you are thinking about least expecting it, even if you are throwing yourself into hobbies and work and healing and are not on dating apps anymore… expectation is still with you. Because doing things to distract or better yourself is rooted in the original hurt. It’s hard to forget. Doesn’t matter if the expectations are wholly your own or society’s or a powerful suggestion from people who make their relationships public online. 

Expectation is a sticky shadow. I thought I could will it away, but the only way I ended up least expecting love was being absolutely hopeless. This state of genuine “given up” followed a couple years of trying to heal individually (impatiently, with expectations). I made progress, but I was still sad. I still am. Love doesn’t make your trauma go away. But it certainly makes the experience of living with it less lonely.

I’m not saying this is a universal truth. Point being, when someone tells you love happens when you least expect it, they may be omitting the fact that the easiest way to least expect it is to kind of be in the pits of despair. 

I always pictured when-you-least-expect-it as a time closely resembling the ‘girl who is going to be okay sequence.’ She finds herself in some new passion. Volunteering, running, or ceramics are classic. She throws out her ex’s t-shirt. She locks in at work. She initiates plans with friends or family again. And this is partially true. These things help. But it’s hard to let go of expectation of any kind when it’s connected to the self-improvement we’re told should immediately follow romantic disappointment. 

I’m not endorsing depression or stress or overwhelm as a way to detach yourself so much from when-you-least-expect-it, that you least expect it because your mind is consumed by sadness and leaves no room for anything else. But let’s introduce some nuance to rom-coms, books, magazines, strangers in club bathrooms and on TikTok telling us the moment lonely people find love is when they have given up because they found their own individual happiness. 

There is no great moment of enlightenment followed by the reward of romance. I had done enough work to be in decent enough shape to give it a try. But I didn’t think I had because I was still sad. 

I met the person I’m in love with during one of the worst weeks I have ever had mentally. It still doesn’t feel real. I followed the script first: I deleted the apps except one, pretty much stopped going out, and spent the past year throwing myself into (very queer) line dancing and adult ballet classes.

Nobody is more surprised than me that it worked. I ended up meeting the first person I’ve ever loved through the hobby I took up to try and literally move through trauma, get some endorphins, and decenter going out as my main source of community: at Angela Trimbur’s Dirty Dance Camp. 

Part of me hates that the cliché was right. Mostly, I’m relieved I just had to be patient. Still giddy that patience was rewarded with a love story that sounds made up. When I deleted Hinge, it was because the story of meeting someone on there felt mechanical, anti-climatic, and sad. I never wanted to permanently lose hope. 

My girlfriend and I actually crossed paths three times before I really took notice. But the day the best relationship of my life began, I almost didn’t get on the bus that took me there. I was so overwhelmed with work I hadn’t slept all week, I’d cried in public almost every day, and spent the entire bus ride on calls in the back, even though I was a bus captain (gay). 

My memories of the girl who noticed that I was not wearing a bra with my white tank top due to both queerness and the chaos of the week are fuzzy. I was buried in my laptop for most of the weekend. My friend Caileigh had to tell me to just get myself on the bus when I admitted I wasn’t sure if I could do anything other than collapse on my floor at the end of my week from hell. 

And that was how the universe caught a skeptical air sign by surprise with zero expectations. I had truly given up, I felt hopeless. And you need a little bit of hope to have an expectation you’ll eventually find love. 

I do not think hopelessness is the best way to relieve yourself from the pressure of a world that places partnership in equal (often higher) esteem with individual accomplishment. But I want to be honest about the fact that “giving up on love and dating” ultimately felt really fucking lonely. It took months of disappointment to reach a point of feeling so hurt I didn’t care anymore, I didn’t want partnership. I just wanted to feel better. 

And that was what finally made me lose hope in ideas of people. It made me lose hope in the same crowds magically being different and crushed dreams of people showing up at airports and my doorstep to apologize. Wanting to be the exception and expectation are cousins. 

I had to lose hope in the things that had been letting me down all along to create space for something that wouldn’t.

People tell you this all the time. What seems to be left out of this adage is that when-you-least-expect it might be ugly and messy and tearstained. I guess 27 Dresses really got it right when Katherine Heigl got a happy ending in part by crashing out and subverting her own expectations in the process.

It happening when I least expected it wasn’t immediate. It was thrilling, but unclear at first if anything more than the best meet cute of my life was unfolding. I was still lonely for a while after we met.

I went on a vacation with my dear friend Alexandra (aka @dykeanotherday) immediately after I met the person I now love, and I felt like I was really supposed to be having certain experiences Alexandra and I shared with a partner. I’d felt this before. That it was impossible to completely enjoy an adult vacation without a girlfriend or romance. I didn’t think or even dare to hope things would work out. She wasn’t my usual type. The part of my brain that really loves Murphy’s Law screamed that was exactly why things worked out. Expectation had left the building.  

Isn’t it weird that you can be on a vacation with one of your best friends but still consider yourself alone because you’re both single? I did have an amazing one night stand, but that’s another story. 

One year ago, I endorsed your situationship being your Valentine––to hell with the risk!––and overnighted a handcrafted sapphic collage (I host a yearly Naughty Valentine’s crafting party)  to a girl in London who never asked me to be her Valentine or sent me a card and made me sob on the floor of my room a couple months later. I stand by this recommendation, but caution tender hearted readers that it’s hard to give a Valentine without a shadow of expectation. 

London girl recently apologized, when I truly least expected it. We’re friends now. My girlfriend is cool with it. She hosted my Valentine’s party with me this year. How much happier I am now than I was a year ago is shocking. I didn’t think it was possible. And that’s exactly the circumstance love seems to be drawn to.  

So, here’s my advice this Valentine’s Day: be chaotic if you feel like it. Show up at your lover’s apartment wearing nothing but a dramatic coat and lingerie. Send a voice note sext if you’re so bold. Buy a stud flowers if they like them––this doesn’t happen enough! Femmes aren’t the only ones who enjoy flowers! 

But the most loving thing you can do on February 14th is be honest with yourself. 

Are you holding onto hope that old patterns or people giving you an inch more than the bare minimum will turn into your when-you’re-least-expecting-it? They’re not going to. 

Maybe I’ll say I’m wrong next year (I hope not, I’m so in love), but the only way you can least expect it and not feel dusty candy heart disappointment is by doing the opposite of what has left you lonely in the first place. When-you-least-expect-it isn’t finding a final boss avoidant who chooses you and really is different this time, catching you by surprise. When-you-least-expect-it isn’t the party with the same forty people suddenly being different, subverting your expectations. 

When-you-least-expect-it is giving the person you never usually would a chance, and––finally––having no expectations because they are different. Give it a try. You might just fall in love with someone who hasn’t posted on Instagram in four years after a full year of Dyke Drama.

Catch up on previous instalments of Dyke Drama below:

Even as a lesbian, is it ever safe to show your full, ‘crazy’ self in a relationship?

Post-election anxiety is making me want to u-haul – and I’m not the only one

Should lesbians get a guilt-free ghosting pass?

Why do lesbians love long-distance relationships?

The post Is being an (actually) hopeless romantic the best way to find love this Valentine’s Day? appeared first on GAY TIMES.

Ahead of the release of her memoir ‘Love in Exile’, Shon Faye talks T4T relationships, the universality of heartbreak, and her hopes for her male readers.

WORDS VIC PARSONS
IMAGES SOPHIE DAVIDSON

When Shon Faye’s debut book, The Transgender Issue: An Argument for Justice, was published in September 2021, it blew fresh air into a public discourse about transgender people that had become increasingly stale, repetitive and toxic. The book was an instant Sunday Times bestseller, won awards, and was read by Faye onstage at Glastonbury festival, to an adoring crowd.

Now, she’s back. Faye’s hotly anticipated new book Love in Exile promises to upend our notions about romantic love, examining the political and economic forces that push us to compromise ourselves in pursuit of idealised yet unrealistic relationships. A memoir, the book takes the personal from Faye’s life – addiction, gender transition, sex, a slew of chaotic relationships, heartbreak – and uses it to shed light on the politicisation of our love lives.

Writing about love is an ancient practice, yet Faye brings a sharp, warm and illuminating analysis to the contemporary state of affairs – with some unexpected diversions, like her relationship with Catholicism. Already endorsed by the likes of Maggie Nelson and Torrey Peters, Faye’s Love in Exile is set to be the must-read book of 2025. GAY TIMES met Faye ahead of the book’s publication to talk about love, breakups and her work as a writer.

Your new book is called Love in Exile. How did you come up with the title?

Shon Faye: The title came early on in the process. I was fundamentally interested in this idea of my own relationship to heterosexuality, this odd juxtaposition of my relationships with men [being] modelled on heterosexual relationships but then me being trans complicating that picture. That was where the title began, and as I started planning out the book the term ‘exile’ became a much richer metaphor, and it was actually about this way in which we understand romantic love to be this particular kind of love that conveys value, and we treat it very politically, all of us, not just trans people. I realised that a lot of people feel very excluded from this ideal and there are very clear political and economic reasons for that. So, exile became a way to describe this particular feeling or belief that seemed to be very widespread and affects a lot of us.

It’s already getting rave reviews on Instagram from people who got sent advanced copies. I’m seeing a lot of buzz about it. How does that feel?

It feels good. This book was a creative challenge, because I don’t think it was necessarily what people expected. There was an element of risk with Love in Exile: would the readership I built with The Transgender Issue follow me, and would I be able to expand what the perception of me as a writer is? And it’s nice to know that that seems to have been effected somewhat successfully and people aren’t like, ‘What the fuck is this?’

This was also about moving myself into a space as a writer that wasn’t just about trans apologia. I feel like I’m being seen as how I see myself a bit more closely with this book and the reception it’s getting.

You write about the personal in this book much more than you have, I think, in any of your other work. And it makes sense because you’re writing about love and it’s not only romantic love, but self-love and friendship and familial love. What was it like for you to revisit your early formative relationships, particularly with your Mum and your Nanny?

When I recorded the parts about my grandmother, who I called Nanny, in the audiobook, I actually had to have a break and do it sentence by sentence. Which is funny because I was seven when my grandmother died, but clearly it unlocked something very deep, having to relive that. 

Having to be analytical about the most intimate relationships of your life and childhood is not the same as being analytical about what’s wrong with trans healthcare. It is like taking a scalpel to your own life and memories. It was very challenging, but also beautiful in its own way because it made me realise how many connections there were between my grandmother, my mother and me. There was a lot there that was about femininity and power.

One thing you didn’t write about in the book was T4T, which is a term that carries some weight in the queer cultural discourse. I was wondering if it was something that you considered including; something you thought about in the writing process?

No, because I’ve never had a substantive [romantic] relationship with another trans person and I wanted to talk about what I know. I’ve been on a first date a few times with another trans person, but it’s not progressed. I always joke about this: the trans men I meet, they’re all gay. But it’s interesting, T4T, sometimes I feel like that is held up as ‘This is so much more affirming and better.’ And to be honest, I know some T4T relationships, and they have the same fucking problems as everyone else. 

You wrote, and I’m really glad that you did, about your friendships with men and how this has helped you to avoid a trap that I think a lot of queer people who aren’t men can fall into, which is to kind of generalise that cis men are terrible and to leave it at that without further introspection or attempt at understanding. I wondered what your hopes are for male readers of the book. What do you think they might take away from reading Love in Exile?

That’s such a good question. It’s not there to necessarily educate men or to tell them things about themselves, but I hope it gives a certain perspective – what I have always found is men have been very unaware of female interiority, whether that’s trans or cis, and what hopes and aspirations are being projected onto them, somewhat unfairly sometimes.

I’ve heard male friends say that they were having sex with people because they wanted intimacy, and they actually didn’t really want to have sex, they had sex to get intimacy. I hope that there are parts of [the book] that [help] men understand that their masculine conditioning is probably cutting them off from other forms of love. I hope that some men that read the book see some of themselves reflected, and I also would love some critique in a good faith way; I would love some critique from men where they perhaps disagree.

When you’re writing about the end of your relationship with B, you have this really great line: that, for once, people didn’t need DEI training to be able to sympathise with you. You could just say, ‘I had a bad breakup’, and that was enough for people to understand what was happening for you. Why is it that you think that breakups are such a universally understood experience?

I think it’s just one of the great human experiences that the heartbreak and pain and loss in love is uniquely agonising, and it feels so individual and bespoke and all-encompassing. It is bizarre that we go to work the day after a breakup, and we are like, ‘My life is ending,’ but you have to just carry on and do your job. It feels like you’re in this kind of tank of pain and sadness that’s so isolating, but it’s actually not; it’s the most common experience in the world. 

That experience was oddly affirming because for so many years, a lot of my stuff… I’d struggled with addiction, I struggled with dysphoria, with accessing healthcare on the NHS, surgery and all the trauma that trans people go through. And most people who aren’t trans or who aren’t addicts just won’t get it. Whereas if you’re like, ‘Oh, I had this boyfriend, and we’re still in love with each other, but we have to break up because we’re not compatible,’ people are like, ‘Oh my god, that sounds awful.’ People just get it. It feels like being human-neutral. It must be what being a cis white straight woman feels like, where it’s like you are woman-neutral. And it was very connecting, actually. So there was a strange affirmation in it, in the pain.

You are two books in to what I think we all hope is going to be a long and illustrious career as an author. Would you ever write fiction?

I used to always say no. What I’ve realised is that I prefer the challenge of new projects as a writer, and stretching myself, far more than clinging to doing the same thing. When you do memoir, you strip out a lot of dialogue to protect the identity of other people. You start to see how people make a leap from memoir to fiction because you can take it anywhere in fiction. Torrey Peters once said to me that the thing about fiction is you can be a lot more honest. I increasingly see the attractions of fiction. 

It’s been an absolute pleasure to chat. We’re speaking three weeks before Love in Exile comes out. How are you feeling about seeing it out in the world?

It’s a strange thing because I wrote a book so personal, you have to almost forget the fact that anyone’s ever going to read it. I think I am happy it’ll be out in the world. I feel like, from the early readers, it’s going to connect with a certain kind of reader very deeply. 

Love in Exile by Shon Faye, published by Allen Lane on 6th February 2025.

The post Shon Faye: “We treat romantic love very politically” appeared first on GAY TIMES.

The London sex-positive event series is putting class back into the kink conversation and challenging gendered norms in the sex party scene.

PHOTOGRAPHY @heavyconsumption

London’s sapphic nightlife scene is thriving – with nights like WET and new venues like La Camionera, celebrating dykes, bi femmes and the FLINTA community. For those looking for something more adventurous, One Night Parties is a need-to-know. 

Founded informally in 2016, before running from equipped spaces in 2019, the party was born out of a “love for sexual spaces, but a disdain for entitled men”. Originally a play party, One Night has grown into an event series for women and non-binary people to explore their sexuality, yes, but also form friendships and connections without any expectation of sex. Now, for over five years, the One Night community has been a powerful force within the city’s sex-positive community. 

Kicking off 2025 in typically kink-positive style, on 10 January One Night launched its first party of the year. This time, with a difference: a sportswear dress code. But breaking from the traditional latex, leather and lace associated with fetish, doesn’t mean that One Night disagrees with the idea of sex party dress codes. “We strongly believe in the concept of dress codes for a sex party, as they are important for a multitude of reasons. They create an atmosphere of unity, and dressing for pleasure can provide guests with a sense of purpose and belonging within a space,” explains Miss Gold, the party’s founder. 

However, One Night is keen to expand what a sex party dress code can look like, a process which can prompt important conversations around class that are often overlooked in the sex positive world. “One Night started out in 2016 with no budget, in a less desirable house in Shadwell. There was no kink equipment, and the drink of choice was Lambrini,” Miss Gold continues. “There were no airs or graces, and not a piece of latex was in sight – yet the absence of perceived kink attire did not hinder our exploration. One Night has working-class roots and was founded by a sex worker who was a teen mother and council-housed.”

While acknowledging the significance of more traditional sex party dress codes  – “the fabrics [in fetishwear] carry meaning and symbolism, and we are in no way attempting to diminish the importance of these expectations in our spaces” – One Night also wants to recognise the financial pressure they can put people under. “As younger, working-class individuals, we often felt alienated by [sex party] dress codes,” she explains. 

“We were unable to afford fabrics like lace, latex, or leather, and we sometimes felt embarrassed by the idea of wearing the same outfit repeatedly – although we do not believe anyone should feel ashamed of this, such pressures are harmful, but they affect us all,” Miss Gold continues. “For a long time, purchasing an outfit that could only be worn in one specific space, on top of a ticket, felt impossible. We are certain there are others who share this experience. It feels right to centre clothing that is often worn by the working class and to celebrate it. And fuck in it.”

Where there are parties with sportswear dress codes, they’re predominantly aimed at men – meaning that sapphics and marginalised genders don’t have space to explore certain kinks. “We also recognise that many people have genuine trainer fetishes and find sportswear sexy,” adds Miss Gold. “We feel there is a lack of spaces in the UK FLINTA party scene to explore these preferences.”

One Night Parties aren’t open to the public, with tickets instead being released privately to their verified mailing list. While you apply to sign up, you can check out images from One Night’s recent sportswear party below.

The post Inside One Night’s sportswear party, celebrating sapphic scallies in all their forms appeared first on GAY TIMES.

Post-Covid, cruising has experienced a serious boom. Here’s how to navigate the age-old sexual tradition as safely as possible.

WORDS BOBBY BOX AND GAY TIMES EDITORS

While cruising dates all the way back to Ancient Greece, it experienced its greatest boom during the 70s, a time of queer liberation when the gay community was able to experience some semblance of freedom. This was greatly impacted by the HIV crisis in the 80s, which fundamentally altered our relationship and approach to sex.

The same could be argued for Covid. The virus prevented people from going out in public, let alone being physically intimate with another human being. Dating app usage and sex toy purchases surged as a result, offering an alternative to the connection we so desperately craved. But we quickly grew tired of both, and became desperate for physical intimacy.

During the pandemic, many folks deemed cruising a safer option, as sex would be taking place outdoors. With assistance of map-based cruising apps like Sniffies making their mark around this time, cruising not only felt safer, but more accessible. Sniffies really took off following Covid in 2020. The timing was perfect, people were exhausted with endless chatting on apps, preferring n0-strings sex, which Sniffies offered. The app has only continued to grow since. For example, London saw a staggering 475 percent growth in usership from 2022 to 2023. 

It would seem that for many, the queer response to an epidemic is going back to basics, and we keep finding ourselves in the same woods, parks and open spaces as the queer generations before us, where we can be free to enjoy ourselves until the next public health crisis comes along. 

Since cruising has become commodifiable and as publicly accessible as ever, it’s especially important we stay safe; not only from the law, but from the possible dangers or hazards that may occur in more casual sexual environments. 

Cruising harm reduction advice

Cruising has an important role in queer history and in today’s community, but it does come with risks. That’s why we’ve assembled some harm-reduction tips for staying safe and having a cordial cruise.

Read up on the law in your country or state

Cruisers might be vulnerable to public indecency or trespassing charges depending on where they are in the world and the individual circumstances of how they are hooking up, so it’s important to be aware of any relevant legislation in your country or state and remain out of view of non-cruisers.

In the UK, there is no law against outdoor sex if you are concealed from the view of other individuals – though having sex in public facilities (such as toilets) is against the law. 

Keep sexual health in mind

When it comes to sexual health, the official advice will always be to wear a condom for casual sex as a form of protection against STIs such as HIV, gonorrhoea and chlamydia. However, we know that this advice doesn’t always match the community’s sexual realities.

We recommend regularly getting tested so that you know what your status is and can share it with any prospective partners before casual sex. With cruising, as with all sexual encounters, it’s important to be able to converse – however quickly or informally – with prospective sexual partners regarding the use of condoms or PrEP and to use that information to inform whether you want to proceed.

In situations involving unprotected sex, where you’re not sure of a partner’s status, we recommend accessing PEP – a short course of treatment which reduces your risk of contracting HIV when taken within 72 hours (though it is most effective when taken within 24 hours).

In the UK, PEP is available for free on the NHS via your local sexual health clinic, whereas in the US you can use the HIV.gov Locator to find PEP services near you. 

Research your cruising spot

Staying safe while cruising starts before you leave the house. Do a little research on the area you plan to cruise before heading over to the spot. A quick Google search on common cruising spaces in your area will return with reviews and the types of people you can find there. 

However, Race Bannon, educator, activist and author of Learning The Ropes: A Basic Guide to Safe and Fun BDSM Lovemaking, says that sometimes the information from search engines can be inaccurate, especially in terms of safety. He believes the better option is to speak with other cruisers in the community. Be it face-to-face or over an app, like Sniffies.

“To make it even simpler to cruise, Sniffies allows cruisers to check-in to and post updates to Cruising Locations on the map – that means you can see who else is there, and what they’re looking for before you leave home,” CMO & Creative Director of Sniffies, Eli Martin, adds.

Let someone know where you are

We all have the friend who knows when we hoe. So make sure you let that precious pal in on where and when you’ll be cruising prior to leaving and how long you expect to be there. And, of course, send them a text when you’re home safe.

“It’s best to discuss this arrangement with a friend ahead of time so when it comes time to send them said information, they’re ready to receive it,” Bannon adds. “You should also ask the friend to respond to make sure they’ve received the information before you leave.”

Depending on your comfort level, may also want to use a location-sharing app like Find My Friends, so your friends can get accurate information about your whereabouts.

Travel light

You’re not going on vacation or a camping trip, so leave any unneeded cash, valuables, and jewellery at home. “You’ll want to keep your phone, wallet, and keys somewhere close at hand, but secure; something like a fanny pack is a great option,” Martin says. 

You’re also going to want to bring some lube. Since most lube bottles are rather large to keep on your person, opt for a travel-sized bottle or lube packets. As an added effort, you can lubricate your hole with a lube applicator prior to leaving, and re-apply as needed throughout the experience.

Survey the environment and gauge your safety

Most cruising sites are busiest during the dark, so keep an eye out on your surroundings. Does the environment feel safe? Does it feel cruisey? If not, leave or play it cool for a while, until you spot other cruisers. 

Get the vibe on the area before acting on anything. Sometimes the spot may feel too public, too empty, or perhaps the people cruising aren’t your type. All of these reasons are valid for saying no or fleeing the experience. What’s most important is you don’t do anything you aren’t comfortable with, and not to let others pressure you. “If at any point the feeling of fear outweighs excitement, it’s time to disengage,” Martin says.

Let cruisers know you’re interested

“Eye contact will always be the first sign that someone’s interested in messing around in a cruising environment,” Martin says. “You’ll know they’re into you if they catch your eye and maintain eye contact for just an instant longer than expected – if you’re really unsure, it’s usually about a count of three.” 

However, signs and signals might vary based on your environment. For example, in a sauna or steam room, a guy might perform a suspicious amount of towel adjusting to let you know they’re into you. 

If the cruising spot is busy and there’s heavy traffic, Bannon recommends giving this person the “cruisy look”, walking ahead 10-20 feet, then stopping and looking back for a moment. “If they look back too, there’s a very good chance they’re interested.”

Reject cruisers respectfully

There’s not often a lot of talking during cruising, but a verbal “no” is the easiest way to convey your disinterest in another cruiser. Don’t be afraid to turn someone down, but don’t be rude either. Rejection is par for the course, and just as it’s important that others respect your rejection of their advances, always make sure the other person is interested in you before making your next move. 

“When you’re cruising, a ‘no’ is just as important as a ‘yes,’” Martin says. “If you’re trying to catch their eye, and they won’t maintain that all important shared eye contact, that’s a surefire sign they’re not into it.” 

Some ways people may say “no” via signalling is by moving away from you, avoiding your glance, shaking their head “no”, double tapping their body, or moving your hand off of them if you reach out. 

“Generations of cruisers have figured out how to speak this language; you’ll pick it up too,” Martin assures.

Reporting crime

Unfortunately, cruising is not exempt from issues in the wider world. As cruising mostly takes place in secluded outdoor areas instead of  a monitored venue, cruisers can be vulnerable to crime.

If you have sadly become the victim of an attack such as a hate crime, robbery or sexual assault, you should feel assured in your right to go to the police and report it as you would any other crime.

Regardless of whether you report an incident to the authorities, you may want to spread the word to the wider community via social media or simply by word of mouth. This can help other cruisers be aware of potential threats in specific locations.

There are dedicated resources to help you if you have been the victim of sexual violence or hate crime which will be available at your local LGBTQIA+ centre or sexual health clinic. You can also find details of resources for the UK and US below.

US:

RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network). Hotline: 800-656-HOPE

NCAVP (National Coalition of Anti-Violence Programs). Hotline: 212-714-1141

The LGBT National Hotline. Hotline: 888-843 -4564

UK:

Switchboard (The UK’s national LGBTQIA+ Helpline). Hotline: 0800 0119 100

SARCS (Sexual Assault Response Coordination Service):

Find a SARCS centre in England via the NHS England website.

Find a SARCS centre in Wales via the NHS Wales website.

SARCS Scotland Hotline: 0800 148 88 88

The Rowan (Northern Ireland’s SARCS centre) Hotline: 0800 389 4424

The post A harm reduction guide to cruising appeared first on GAY TIMES.

 In her column DYKE DRAMA, GT’s own ‘sapphic Carrie Bradshaw’ explores the pros and cons of presenting a more ~palatable~ version of yourself to a prospective partner.

WORDS ANYA SCHULMAN
IMAGE MEDUSA BY CARAVAGGIO, 1595 – 1598

It’s a New Year, the world grows scarier for queer people by the day, and grapes are only just now coming back into stock at my local bodega.

Usually we try to enter January serene, healthy, and hopeful. But 2025 is not a year to “protect your peace” by being quiet. I’d argue that protecting our peace now actually means being quite loud about what we take issue with, especially at a global scale. And actually doing something about it. Who cares if you come across as too passionate, so long as you look back on the year and know you stood for what you believe is right? 

We’re often told it’s important to wait to show your full self to a potential partner, lest you scare them away. But over the past few years, I’ve realised that litmus testing someone this way can actually be helpful. Do you really want to be with someone you give the ick by speaking your mind once in a while, or with someone who’d go down swinging right besides you? What got me thinking about this was an ~ interaction ~ I had on Fire Island over the summer.

This past Labor Day, I went to Fire Island to help produce Doll Invasion, a celebration designed to bring trans women to Fire Island. As it happens, Fire Island Pines isn’t a particularly welcoming place for anyone other than a cis gay man. **With notable exceptions, like the team behind the gorgeous Visitor’s Center store – their dairy-free soft serve is a godsend for any lactose intolerant lesbians in the vicinity. People always think I’m vegan but I’m just deeply lactose intolerant and gay.** 

 

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Anyways, a group of ~5 cis gay men were rude to my dear friend and I back my girls, so our two interactions resulted in them hurling all sorts of speedo-clad vitriol my way. As the words ‘f*cking bitch’ and ‘c*nt!’ (not in the fun way) reverberated off of the Pines’ wooden sidewalks, I shouted back; ‘Thank you, I’m a dyke so that happens to be one of my favourite things in the world!’

Verbal sparring with entitled circuit party regulars aside, the exchange got me thinking about how my (hypothetical, very much on my mind given how lonely I felt in this environment) partner might respond if she were standing there too. Ideally she’d get it when I yelled back that they weren’t being very intersectional in their queerness, and not judge me for responding, rather than disengaging, Meredith Marks-style. 

So I’m wondering whether it’s worth showing your whole personality to someone you’re talking to, seeing, or matching with etc from the jump. Not everyone wants to be with someone who yells back. 

As Anna Marie Tendler says, Men [may] Have Called Her Crazy but have lesbians? Because we have a pretty high threshold for the dramatic. Barring any true interpersonal harm (we are collectively looking at you, unnamed perennial student athlete), I’m going to let you in on a little secret typically reserved for sorority test banks: demure may have been Dictionary.com’s 2024 word of the year, but your true colors are going to come out sooner or later, so why not weed out the people who can’t hang from the jump? 

I have this theory that a lot of people end up with Diet Coke girls. I can’t take credit for this term, my former roommate Olivia coined it. She is very happily married to a hot man now, so we can take her word as gospel even though she’s straight. The Diet Coke girl is universally beloved. Who is she? Palatable. She somehow is happy in her career. She’s just bubbly enough. She is neurotypical and good with money. She tastes special but in a way that everyone enjoys. She sometimes has bangs but always does pottery or graphic design or cooking or baking. She loves to run or maybe even did yoga teacher training. She doesn’t get her feelings hurt easily, or cry in public, or run late. 

She’s probably a projection of the external qualities of everyone who’s dated an ex after me and doesn’t reflect the obstacles they’ve overcome and struggles they’ve faced. But I might also be a little right. 

Let me be clear––I’m not belittling or judging the Diet Coke girl. Sometimes I envy her ability to sit comfortably in high waisted pants and tendency towards serial monogamy. Being a Diet Coke girl seems peaceful. I can so easily imagine her biting her lip and saying, ‘Welllll…sometimes I do get a little crazy…promise you won’t judge me? I fall asleep to true crime podcasts!’ And off she dozes to a blissful, dreamless sleep. She’s a morning person, of course. 

Don’t get me wrong, even Diet Coke girls end up on their crush’s cousin’s brother-in-law’s LinkedIn page. That’s just womanhood.

The Diet Coke girl is not to be confused with the Diet Pepsi girl, who might have run away from college for a day or two with a girl she barely knew and made out with her in the glow of an abandoned bowling alley sign after taking her non-threesome virginity (virginity is a construct). It was all within state lines – Ohio is a hell of a place. 

 

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I’m going to be very candid with you, reader: I’m pretty sure most people I’ve really liked have ended things with me once they got to know me because of my personality. I’m a Gemini, I always have something to say, I have an extremely high tolerance for conflict (read: eerily calm in a crisis and captain of my high school Model United Nations team), and I’m probably a little too honest and direct (Virgo Mars). The funny thing is, a lot of these girls said they were intimidated before they really got to know me (Capricorn Moon/stellium). 

This isn’t an experience unique to queerness by any means, but small circles have a way of highlighting every little thing that may or may not be interpreted as ‘unusual.’ 

Do I regret showing my cards and deep love of horses two weeks or two months in, instead of two years? No. Someone rejecting your true self after falling in love with just a piece of her becomes more painful the further along you are. Your straight, cis, male cousin who works in finance might call this by its other name, the sunk-cost fallacy. And changing yourself to be more palatable, like the most popular diet refreshment of all time, only means the person who yells back or bites who you’re hiding underneath a fuck me sweater will rear her (very pretty I’m sure) head sooner or later. 

This is a call for anyone who’s (probably) been called crazy to not dilute themselves at the beginning.

Little mistakes I’ve made over years of dating in my early twenties will probably haunt me to my grave. But the hard, honest truth is: someone who really likes you will find your ‘crazy’ endearing. And your crazy is probably just you expressing your emotions or justified frustration or having some unusually specific interests (also could be that you’re an ex competitive equestrian like myself, but we’re just brave and quite intuitive). 

Some real-world examples: One time I made someone a Pinterest board with clothes I thought she’d like on it and I’m pretty sure she hated it and maybe interpreted it as too much. Five years later, I did the same thing for someone else and it received rave reviews. Didn’t work out with her either but I’m pretty sure she did buy some of the things I pinned on there.

I painstakingly made a (very long) playlist for someone who never listened to it all the way through. The girl I dated after her beamed while I danced around her apartment in one of her t-shirts to pop music, Chinese carry out in hand, even though she exclusively seemed to listen to Cher and sixties bossa nova. She objectively had better taste than me, but I’m pretty sure we had just…you know, which probably made me seem more charming.

If someone likes you in a way that has staying power, they will embrace your weirdness and probably find it hot, because it’s an extension of you. A friend of mine recently made plans to attend a natural disaster preparedness expo because her girlfriend is very interested in it (this isn’t crazy, this is actually very smart). Endless queer American couples go to Renaissance fairs.  

At its core, crazy is a blanket statement for words or behaviour we don’t understand or agree with. And the right person (speaking from weeks of experience here) will have the wherewithal to validate you or comfort you or try to understand you better or meet you where you’re at. This year, thanks to Tinashe, we’ve been calling this someone matching our freak.

For me, this looks like someone who understands yelling back…and someone who agrees cultural literacy is being familiar with Chris Lilley and Sarah Schulman’s work. Someone who doesn’t mind making friends wherever you go. Someone who shares a love of horses, or could learn to love them. Someone who will watch as you yell back once in a while and understand anger on behalf of the people you love is, in fact, a way to “protect peace.” 

…And other things I can’t mention because my (very supportive and cool) parents read this column. But you can use your imagination there, you little freak. 

P.S. Call me crazy, but I’ve never tried Diet Coke. I don’t like carbonated beverages. 

Catch up on previous instalments of Dyke Drama below:

Post-election anxiety is making me want to u-haul – and I’m not the only one

Should lesbians get a guilt-free ghosting pass?

The post Even as a lesbian, is it ever safe to show your full, ‘crazy’ self in a relationship? appeared first on GAY TIMES.

In this edition of GAY TIMES’ polyamory advice column, Leanne Yau explores supporting a partner who is struggling with their mental health.  

WORDS LEANNE YAU

Welcome to A Polyamorous Perspective, an advice column where I, Leanne Yau – polyamory educator and trainee sex therapist – answer your burning questions on navigating all things non-monogamy. I’ve been in various forms of open relationships since 2016, and have been publicly sharing tips, personal stories, and resources on how to practise healthy, sustainable polyamory since 2020 on my page, @polyphiliablog.

Hi Leanne

Hope you’re good! Me and my boyfriend have been in an open relationship for nine months or so. We’d always maintained that we were monogamish and would be free to kiss and flirt and potentially sleep with other people if the circumstance was right. However, when I started sleeping with someone else regularly, he really started freaking out. 

Eventually, we were able to patch things up, but he has been really sad and despondent in recent months. He sleeps all the time, has been drinking heavily and I’m not sure what to do. While he has started going to therapy and taking medication, he still has plenty of bad days. I can’t help but wonder, am I the cause of his depression? How do I bring this up without sounding totally self-absorbed?

Regards,

Anxious gf

Personally, I don’t think it’s self-absorbed to be concerned about what emotional impact you have on your partner, someone who you presumably spend a lot of time with and whose mood you have a high potential of affecting. Given that you opened up your relationship less than a year ago and have recently been struggling, it’s not such a wild leap of logic to presume that introducing a big change to your relationship like non-monogamy might be a contributing factor to your partner’s mental health. 

If we were having a dialogue, I would have asked in what ways he was “freaking out” when you started seeing someone on a regular basis, and what you meant by being “able to patch things up”, but I can only work with the limited information you’ve given me. While I can’t fully say whether opening up your relationship is the whole reason why your partner is depressed, I would say it is unlikely. I won’t waste time speculating on what other reasons there might be – only you, your partner, and his therapist/doctors will be able to sort that out – so let’s focus on the non-monogamy part, and what can potentially be done about that.

What does “monogamish” mean in practice? 

As you said, you and your partner agree on a “monogamish” relationship – i.e. a relationship that is sexually and romantically monogamous as a baseline standard, with occasional allowances for other (usually sexual) connections that are (usually) one-offs and considered an exception to the norm.

For most monogamish couples, examples of this could include hooking up with a stranger on a night out with friends, or a brief dalliance with someone you’ll probably never see again while travelling somewhere foreign. Monogamish relationships are popular for couples who don’t want to be confined by strict monogamy and potentially miss out on exciting opportunities, but who also don’t necessarily want to commit to the time and energy it takes to maintain multiple connections so they can keep their focus on their primary relationship.

However, as can sometimes happen when people actually put non-monogamous theory into practice, what you ended up doing looks quite different to what you set out to do. This is relatively common, from my experience – for example, I’ve worked with many people who initially started out only wanting a sexually non-monogamous relationship, but later realised that they didn’t enjoy casual sex and one-night stands, so transitioned to polyamory to make room for more consistent connections and romance to happen. 

While making changes can be scary and cause conflict, you’re allowed to change your mind on what you want out of a relationship if what you initially agreed on ended up not being such a good fit – and this applies to many things, not just non-monogamy. Some partners end up settling comfortably into the changes, and others acknowledge incompatible desires and break up; either option is perfectly valid. Knowing what you want, and having the flexibility to stay open-minded on what your partner(s) might want while also being aware of your boundaries, is key for healthy non-monogamy (and relationships in general)!

The transition from monogamish to non-monogamy

But back to you. By sleeping with someone on a regular basis, you’d now be in what I would consider an “open relationship”, which is a much broader term for a relationship that is (usually) romantically monogamous but sexually non-monogamous, where connections outside of your relationship are no longer considered to be exceptions, but an accepted part of your daily lives. 

Now, I’m not privy to the exact discussions you had with your partner on the parameters of your non-monogamy, but if I had to guess, it was probably that which freaked him out. Monogamish relationships typically see the “open” side of their relationship as something relatively contained – it’s a part of your relationship you play with every now and again, but it can just as easily be put away, and the lack of sustained connections means it doesn’t really affect your day-to-day life. 

Open relationships, on the other hand, involve consistent connections that, while still casual, mean you are more likely to actively make time for them and factor them into your schedule and decision-making, and they tend to have a more significant “presence” in your relationship in general, which can be emotionally difficult to deal with for some. Not to mention, sleeping with someone on a regular basis means you are building a connection with them, and the idea of that can be threatening to a lot of people, especially if they are worried that romantic feelings will develop as a result of having regular sex – which is a valid concern, as it can and does happen!

The importance of clarifying your relationship agreements and desires

Regardless of what else is going on with your partner that might be affecting his mental health, it sounds like some clarification of your relationship agreements and desires is in order. 

Here are some questions for you to reflect on and potentially discuss together:

• Are you still on the same page about what you want? Does your partner just need some time to adjust to you seeing someone on a regular basis – and if so, what support does he need from you, and what concerns might he have that you can address? Or, does he strongly prefer a monogamish relationship – and if so, is that something you can go back to, or do you fundamentally want different things?
• If you were to develop a deeper connection with this new partner (which is always possible), would that be something you were interested in pursuing, or would you want to keep things casual – and if so, how would you go about that?
• Are there practical concerns that are leading to his low mood – for example, could he be feeling neglected in the relationship now that you’re seeing this other person regularly, and is there a discussion to be had about your scheduling to ensure everyone’s needs for quality time are met?
• What else might he need from you while he is going through this difficult period, and how are you going to balance your own energy and capacity to achieve this?

As a final note, the way you’ve phrased your concern as “self-absorbed” implies to me that perhaps a part of you feels wrong or guilty for having a fun time with a new person while your partner is struggling, or maybe even that you feel being non-monogamous is hurting him. 

While I see where this thought is coming from, I feel I need to nip this mononormative thought in the bud. It is never selfish to maintain other connections and have a life outside of the relationship, whether with friends, family, or other partners. Even if it does turn out that non-monogamy (or perhaps this particular style of non-monogamy) isn’t for him and is leading to poor mental health on his end, that still doesn’t mean you are wrong for desiring non-monogamy, or that non-monogamy is inherently hurtful or incompatible with a partner going through mental health issues. 

A big part of responsible non-monogamy is time and energy management, so as long as you are able to meet your partner’s needs and maintain your existing commitments to each other, there is absolutely nothing wrong with being who you are and doing things that bring you joy. 

Everyone deserves time for themselves to recharge, and who knows – maybe engaging in this new connection will help to give you the energy you need to support your partner while he navigates his depression, so it may actually be a benefit rather than a drawback.

 Ultimately, it’s up to you two to decide whether a relationship, monogamous or not, is viable going forward and what you need from each other to make it happen, but it’s important to honour the needs of everyone involved, not just the person who is going through a hard time.

Want Leanne to answer your non-monogamy and relationship questions? Email megan.wallace@gaytimes.com with “A Polyamorous Perspective – Question” in the subject line.

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76% of LGBTQIA+ Hinge daters wish they had seen more examples of healthy queer and trans relationships in the media – here’s the healthy representation we’ve been looking for. 

IN PARTNERSHIP WITH HINGE

Hinge found that 80% of their LGBTQIA+ users had difficulty finding resources to help them date – which is where Not-so-Frequently Asked Questions (NFAQ) comes in.

First launched in August 2022, NFAQ amplifies inspiring voices that share their perspectives on how to navigate relationships, self-discovery, gender, and sexuality – all brought to life across social platforms, brand partnerships and IRL activations. The purpose? To curate a growing collection of conversations and questions which aren’t talked about enough. 

With 76% of LGBTQIA+ Hinge daters wishing they had seen more examples of healthy LGBTQIA+ relationships in the media growing up, the latest NFAQ campaign is about the power of positive representation. Giving daters examples of positive and nuanced lived experiences of LGBTQIA+ dating and intimacy beyond heteronormativity and stereotypes, the campaign puts LGBTQIA+ couples front and centre. 

Hinge has invited real LGBTQIA+ couples to share their takes on milestones both small and big that determine the trajectory of dating, relationships and falling in love. Inviting us into their intimate environments, these couples (including writer Roxanne Gay and designer Debbie Milman, musician Tom Rasmussen and writer Hugh ‘Shugs’ Wyld, and illustrator Ashley Lukachevsky and chef Angel Dimayuga) offer their take on questions Hinge heard LGBTQIA+ daters craved opinions from couples on the most – from navigating open relationships, to experiencing new firsts in a long-term commitment, to creating space for fluid gender expression. 

So, what are you waiting for? It’s time to dive into these vulnerable expressions of queer relationships and the depths that they can span – all with a little help from Tom and Shugs.

TOM AND SHUGS

Tom Rasmussen (they/them) is a musician and patron of Positive East, East London’s biggest HIV charity, and Hugh ‘Shugs’ Wyld (he/him) is a writer. They married in summer 2022 and have been a couple for nearly a decade, transitioning to non-monogamy after six years together. They are parents to Celine Dion, an English bull terrier.

How did changing pronouns and gender identity labels change your relationship?

Tom: I changed my pronouns to they/them and told Shugs I was non-binary six years ago. I was nervous about telling Shugs, especially as there weren’t many non-binary people in our lives or friendship circle back then. I remember him saying; “I love you and I support you.” But he also asked; “What does that make me, in terms of my sexuality?” From my perspective, as the person who changed the pronoun, I hadn’t thought that other people in my life, including  Shugs, would have opinions and feelings on it. I was maybe a little pissed off lol.

In hindsight, I think it’s natural for the other person to have questions. But there’s probably also a line where they do have to support you. And if that support is conditional then they’re not being supportive enough.

We discussed it for a minute and questions did come up. Then you go to bed together and you wake up and you’re just the same people. In the end, very little changed between us, but what did change was that I felt like I needed to get to know more trans and nonbinary people. That was something  Shugs was supportive obviously, and I think that’s a great way to support your partner – by understanding that their needs might shift.

Shugs: I think for the person that’s receiving that information, like me, it’s important and may sound obvious, but to really listen and not immediately start picking it apart. Give that person the space to talk, take it on board, and don’t feel like you have to have an answer or response in the moment. Then do your work on the side as well. Don’t expect that person to teach you about gender identity if you don’t know anything about it. You can also do that work yourself.

How do you keep your relationship feeling fresh and exciting as it evolves?

 Shugs: We’re nearly ten years into our relationship, and we still find it very important to go on dates with one another. Making sure that, because life will get in the way, we are really clear about carving out fun time for each other. Sometimes we genuinely have to get our calendars out, because Tom is a social butterfly and there’s always stuff going on. It can be easy to count group social time as time together, but it is not the same as quality time together. A dinner party with friends is great and fun but it’s not a one-on-one date. So I’d say book in time alone. We also both really value our early morning walk with Celine, our dog. We have that every morning and that’s an hour and a half of just us two talking – about anything and everything.

Tom: I think the answer to keeping things fresh and exciting past those initial stages is much more mundane than “go on a roller coaster or go on a wild, sexy away weekend!” I think your love and your relationship can only continue to evolve if you are attentive with one another. We are both quite busy people, and we both have quite different schedules. Spending time apart allows you to miss one another and that’s great. But I also do think the practice of actually doing something a bit more routine, where you really focus your attention on one another is the key. I don’t mean talking about the relationship, although that can be lovely. I mean talking about what’s on that person’s mind, like; “is it normal to drink 5 liters of water a day?”, what they are interested in, big or small, what you’re doing that week, the way the world and your world is changing around you. Your values. My practical advice is to value those moments, and I think that carving out intentional time to focus your attention on one another keeps the relationship exciting. Also, if you need more to talk about, get a dog, an allotment, or a baby.

As a gay man / queer person, sometimes I feel pressure to be in a non-monogamous relationship. What if that’s not what I want?

Tom: I understand feeling the pressure, and I think if that’s not what you want, you don’t have to do it! We were monogamous for six years and I loved it and I think it was a crucial thing for us to build trust. Then we decided to open up the relationship. Whatever you decide, I do think if you’re with someone and they’re interested in non-monogamy and you are not, it is better to have that discussion than avoid it, because that could cause resentment.

Shugs: Something I would also say is that, there are different ways to do non-monogamy, and it can be helpful to research what they are in case there is a version that might work better for you. Many people have a preconceived notion that in an open relationship you are constantly sleeping with other people or you’re always on dates, and there can be a bit of a rush for that at the start. But something we said to one another when we decided to go open was that at any point we can put it on ice. We also tried to consciously open our relationship at a moment when we did not feel we had an “issue” to solve. We waited two years because we wanted to feel secure and like it would add something rather than take something away.

Got a Not-So-Frequently-Asked question of your own? Read more takes on LGBTQIA+ dating questions not talked about enough at hinge.nfaq.co

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“Sometimes you just need to intertwine yourself in silence with a (very hot) warm body and ignore the world burning around you for a few hours while your cells regenerate.”

WORDS ANYA SCHULMAN
COVER IMAGE ‘VENUS AND CUPID’ (1626) BY ARTEMISIA GENTILESCHI

This may come as a shock to some of you (I’m pretty sure it is glaringly obvious), but I am American. On 5 November I worked at my local polling place from five in the morning to half ten at night, and started refreshing my phone at seven in the evening to see a worst case scenario unfold. I immediately left to do tequila shots with my new friend, co-election inspector general Angela, as a familiar feeling of dread sunk in. 

Angela told me not to look at my phone, and tried to distract me with a story of an encounter in the aughts with the actor who played Smith Jerrod on Sex and The City as I waited for the person I’ve recently been seeing to show up. Mercifully, she was nearby, and is much taller than me, so is a good person to sink into when everything feels wrong. We walked back to mine, holding hands, and tried to hang onto the shrinking feeling that maybe, just maybe, the next four years would be better, safer, for queer people and the world at large. 

It wasn’t looking good but we still went to bed hopeful. At six in the morning, we somehow woke up without an alarm, and the girl I’ve been seeing for a month just said, “I’m so sorry.” That was how I found out my broken, broken country had elected a convicted felon to lead it.

We hid under the covers for a few hours. ‘If Kamala had won, we definitely would have had sex this morning,” I said. “I thought the same thing,” she said. I instantly thought of the episode of Broad City where Ilana can’t have an orgasm because of the outcome of the 2016 presidential election. “Will we ever feel horny again?” I asked her. “I don’t think so,” she said.

 

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It felt selfish to have these thoughts in the grand scheme of disaster repeating itself a second time. But, as someone with sexual trauma, having a man who seems hell-bent on stripping all queer people, non-binary people, trans people, women and migrants of their basic human rights “whether they like it or not” and who has been accused of sexual misconduct by 27 women elected as president is, to say the least, triggering. Don’t get me started on the fact that the president-elect’s first pick for attorney general, Matt Gaetz, has been accused of sleeping with a seventeen year old girl. 

On a deeply personal, micro level, I have experienced debilitating anxiety since 5 November and have disassociated every time I’ve tried to have sex since. Pretty much every friend I’ve spoken to about this has said the same. It’s hard to be present with your partner when every other thought is the question: “how much longer are we going to be safe to exist as ourselves?” “will there even be an habitable earth for us to birth children into via reciprocal IVF if we so choose in ten years?” “will reciprocal IVF be legal?” “why am I thinking this about someone I’ve been seeing for a month?” (answer: breakdown of democracy, climate apocalypse, and lesbian time being equivalent to dog years) and “why is that seventy six million people we share a country with basically don’t consider us worthy of human rights?”. It feels like just about every US citizen will suffer for the next four years at the hands of a wannabe autocrat. 

It’s impossible to feel excited about your situationship or even wrap your head around more casual dating when you’re seriously considering what it is going to take to survive the next four years as a queer person. The girl I’m seeing caring as much as I do about things going to hell in a handbasket (Tesla) was a good litmus test for initial compatibility. Sometimes you just need to intertwine yourself in silence with a (very hot) warm body and ignore the world burning around you for a few hours while your cells regenerate.

On a macro level, the United States is no longer a safe place for queer people, trans people, and sexual assault survivors, to name just a few groups disproportionately impacted by the outcome. We have always had room to be so, so, much better than we are, but the past four years certainly marked some progress for us (and some enormous losses at the hands of a deeply unbalanced Supreme Court). But now we face the fight of our lives. 

It seemed like a lot of other people on the internet had the same thought. Within twenty-four hours, I was sending the person who broke me the news – let’s call her the ballerina, we met in the incomparable Angela Trimbur’s dance class – a TikTok from @wannabehayleywilliams of them telling their partner: “babe, us having sex would be an act of protest,” with the onscreen caption “queer couple election day vibes,” to which the ballerina responded “good protesting last night.” Having sex the night after the election kind of felt like having sex in a horror movie right before getting murdered. Against all odds, in the proverbial haunted cabin that is the United States, with a disgusting, orange, villain in the wings, queer people are still having sex where everyone c*ms. We’ve always been the final girls. 

That’s certainly more than most Republican leadership can say. Robert F. Kennedy, Jr thinks poppers cause AIDS, and that chemicals in the water turn kids trans, for crying out loud. 

 

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So I wasn’t surprised when the TikToks in between clips of The Handmaid’s Tale in my daily doom scroll turned into people posting about how they “were content being single but now it’s cold out, gets dark at 4pm and the political climate is absolutely terrifying, so all of a sudden you need to be held like a baby at least 3X/week” (@haleygcoaching shared this) and I refrained from screen recording it to share with the ballerina – she’s not on TikTok – because it was…too accurate.

The ballerina slept in my bed for two nights after the election and when I left that Friday morning for my best friend’s Jackie’s first solo show (go see 5th Quarter at Giovanni’s Room in LA, Jackie is bisexual), I missed her. We FaceTimed on the beach as Jackie looked on and I found words I hadn’t uttered in earnest since 2020 coming out of my mouth: “I miss you. It was weird sleeping without you last night.” “I know, it was so weird,” the ballerina said. “I didn’t like it.” 

Normally I’d be hard on myself for UHauling with someone so early on, but I think we get a pass when it feels like the world is (proverbially) ending. This was better and more mature than any pandemic-era relationship I’d had. For starters, we do still currently live in the same city. That is, in fact progress, compared to how my love life shook out in 2020. I used to maladaptive daydream about my college crush and I having to flee our Ohio campus in the aftermath of Trump’s first election win in 2016, forcing us to spend an enormous amount of time in my car where we would then fall in love, so how was this any different? The sheer hope behind those thoughts propelled me with purpose past the anti-gay protesters that would show up on campus from the neighbouring Jesuit college. Besides, our schedules meant the ballerina and I wouldn’t see each other for ten days, so we had to get our serotonin fix where we could. 

I’m still talking to other people, but I think we deserve creature comforts anywhere we can get them as things get scarier. The ballerina and I were both grateful we had each other the morning of 6 November. Even if things don’t work out between us, I’d far rather confront the dark dawn of what feels like a dictatorship with someone’s arms to (temporarily) hide in than alone, like I did eight years ago. 

 

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I’d joked over the summer and in October that I was “girlfriend scouting” when I visited London on holiday in case things went sideways with the election, and it only took a day or two for texts to trickle in with half-joking, half-real offers to cross the pond for good. I’m considering it – honestly, I’m torn. I feel I owe it to my community to stay and fight. But I’m not sure how useful we can be to each other under an administration that promises to essentially destroy the health, finances, and self-determination of anyone other than its leaders. Is self-preservation via individualism the long game here? I don’t want it to be. But ten days of doom scrolling and grotesque cabinet appointments in, I’m starting to think it is.

So maybe my getaway car of choice at what feels like what might be the end of a failed American experiment is a UHaul. Some people have been coping with alcohol, drugs, and visceral screams, so why not cope with someone who responds to your “I don’t want to be stranded in a fascist govt and mad at myself for not doing more” text with “we will figure it out?”

This could be the start of a love story against the bleakest of backgrounds, the absolute worst of timelines. Or it could just be two people showing up for each other in a moment that demands it, like queer people always have and always will. One thing’s for certain: it’s going to take a hell of a lot more than an expired sleeve of Velveeta cheese disguised as a person to get rid of us.

Catch up on previous instalments of Dyke Drama below:

Should lesbians get a guilt-free ghosting pass?

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