Column: Assigning Labels

Carrie told me that as early as middle school, movies and books about lesbians always prompted this "strange sensation inside." She despised these feelings, tried to push them out of her mind. Later, she went through periods when boyfriends would completely repel her. She could be extremely attracted to them -- then suddenly she would have little desire to share any physical closeness. Though Carrie and I have been friends through all of these stages, I knew nothing of these confusing, troubling times. It seems almost strange to recall that she was the one person with whom I really talked to about sexual activity. We would sit in my living room after school, blushing and laughing as she reported "how far" she went with the guy in my English class -- she always came up with the most bizarre ways of describing her actions. I just sat in awe of her worldliness, her "vast" experience. If I didn't learn the proper terminology, I learned how to be comfortable expressing my own thoughts about sex. I will always appreciate that. But the subjects of lesbianism and bisexuality went unmentioned during those years. When we got to college, she talked about the gay and lesbian organizations at her school -- the rallies, the literature, the men in skirts. I once commented that as a "bi," one would be completely surrounded by "potential interests." For me, it would be an overwhelming and undesirable situation. "I never thought of it like that," she mused. Bisexuality was never mentioned in any concrete or personal terms. Carrie attends a small, extremely liberal college. As she presents it, her school is much more open about sexual preferences than Penn. So I was surprised when she explained that in labeling herself "bisexuality" she risked isolating herself from two large groups. The heterosexuals would brand her as "gay;" the lesbians would perceive that she was going through a stage or was unwilling to completely express her true feelings. These women, she explained, would see her as "betraying their community." I would not have anticipated that her decision would place her in such an awkward position. Unfortunately, according to Carrie, the lesbian community at her college is not supportive of her preferences. These women view Carrie much like heterosexuals view these women -- as a traitor. And whether my friend's perceptions of both groups are accurate or not, they influence how comfortable she is at expressing her feelings at school. What surprised me the most was Carrie's decision to "come out" before becoming sexually active with women. I found it quite odd that she would call herself a bisexual when she had not yet explored these feelings to the level of experience. I could tell that the label gave her a clearer sense of her identity, a sense of control. The feelings that had once troubled her no longer seemed so traumatic. Obviously, her approach was easing her entrance into this new way of life. But what if reality did not live up to her fantasies? What if she didn't like it? I have never been fond of labels. I find them extremely confining. A label simplifies, and often in its very application, molds behavior and perceptions. The label "heterosexual," for example, is a generalization in itself. To be heterosexual does not necessarily mean that one never has sexual fantasies or even experiences involving a person of the same sex. It could simply mean that one has only had a few such experiences or thoughts. Or perhaps it means that one is pressured by society to follow the traditional norms. Although life fails to be as straight-forward and concrete as labels imply, I realize that society has created the need for some of these terms. But I also believe that a label should represent a natural outgrowth of a state that already exists. The term "girlfriend" should be applied to someone who already means a considerable amount to a person, to someone to whom one is already committed. Carrie applied the label of "bisexual" to herself, for her own reasons, before she began having bisexual relations. It is not my intention to imply that my friend is wrong in thinking that she is bisexual. I am not suggesting that she failed to put a lot of time into her decision to label herself that way. But a part of me does wish that she had let the term flow naturally from her actions. Regardless, I will support her as she continues to adjust to the experiences accompanying this new label. Elinor Nathanson is a senior English major from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Just In The Nick Of Time appears alternate Fridays.