Born This Way

Every queer person has their own story about how they discovered and came to terms with their identity. Some say they have always known, while others finally decide to come out in retirement. I tend to think of gender and sexuality not as static identities we are assigned, but fluid characteristics that change and grow over time with us. There so no right or wrong time to come out, or to start exploring what being queer means to you. 

However, one thing that has always bothered me in public discourse around queerness was the argument used by queer people and liberal allies alike - that we are born this way. It is by far the most common talking point in support of queer rights (alongside ‘animals do it too’, which I also feel iffy about). It is also the title of Lady Gaga’s 3rd studio album, released at her commercial peak. Ooh there ain’t no other way, baby, you were born this way, she sings on the title track.

But as much as I appreciate the sentiment, I can’t help but think that the ‘born this way’ argument feels… reductive. For one, I don’t think it’s properly encompassing all the different experiences and nuances of the queer community. How many queer people (or even some straight people) have gone through phases when they identified one way, but upon further reflection decided to identify differently? 

Some could argue that the different phases were not ‘the real’ identity, to which I would reply that at the time they in fact were, as there is no such thing as fixed identity that we retain throughout our lives. As we mature and grow both mentally and physically, why is it that we are allowed to change our appearance, speech, quirks, behaviours, life philosophy, abilities and skills, but never gender or sexuality? 

I don’t find the born this way argument to be convincing from my personal experience either. Looking back at my childhood, there were definitely hints that I was going to grow up to be very much queer, but it is not clear to me how much of that is my subjective recontextualisation of my early memories. My sexuality started to develop around the ages of 10 and 11, and I remember this as a very specific period of my life when I first started to observe my sexual feelings directed towards men. In my case, I don’t necessarily consider myself to be born gay, although I am not even sure what that means - the only category I consider myself to be born as is infant, everything else is pure speculation. 

I see my own sexuality and gender identity as a part of my individual development, not biological destiny that was bestowed on me genetically upon conception.

For me, the question why I am gay is not important. To what extent I can control and define my own sexuality ultimately does not matter. Even if I could consciously change my sexuality, I would not. If I was presented with a pill that would ‘cure’ me, I would refuse it, because there is nothing wrong with me regardless of how my identity came to be.

I am queer because that is who I am. That is who I want to be. Maybe tomorrow I will wake up and feel differently, and that is okay too. The point we should be pushing is that if being gay was a choice, it would be a valid one. There is nothing inherently wrong about a romantic and/or sexual relationship between consenting adults. 

We need to start rethinking what it means to be queer, and what a queer life looks like. Instead of falling for the trap of biological determinism, we need to give ourselves space to grow and change over time and under different circumstances. As intuitive as it might feel to us now, throughout history most societies did not think of sexuality the same way that we do. 

Had I been born in Ancient Greece, perhaps I would think of my sexuality differently, and I would not identify the way I do. I am as much of a product of my culture as I am of my genetics. But I also have agency to decide how I wish to conduct myself, and recognise what feels comfortable to me. 

The trend of biological destiny that TERFs are trying to revive in mainstream discourse is the anti-thesis of queerness and feminism to me. It is a prison, a normative assignment of identity at birth which reduces who we are and robs us of the possibility to change, should we choose to do so. 

Maybe I was born this way. Maybe I was not. Maybe it’s Maybelline. I don’t know. What I do know is that I would not change for the world, because once you learn to love and accept yourself, being queer feels amazing.