Why being called an "older" lesbian is a compliment
The other day, I went to get my hair cut and styled. As I made friends with the stylist and shared our entire life story in a mere hour and a half (I get this trait from my mom, by the way), we talked about our experiences as out lesbians. She shared how she and her wife hold hands in public and show a lot of affection, and I shared how my partner and I never show PDA. It's something we just aren't comfortable with. Her response: "It's because you're an older lesbian. Older lesbians aren't as comfortable."
The sound of a record scratching immediately happened in my head. Am I an "older lesbian" now? And when did this happen?
When I left the salon, the words "older lesbian" kept playing through my mind. The one thing I didn't feel was older.
It seems like it was only yesterday that was just a "baby gay," new to the lesbian world, slowly creeping out of the closet, and now I'm seen as an older lesbian.
*mind blown*
As the week went on, I kept thinking about those words. I didn't feel offended by it. If anything, I felt proud. But I started thinking about my lesbian elders: women who are literal trailblazers in my community - gay elders who did the actual work that our lgbtq+ community stands on today. People who faced dangerous circumstances just being themselves and loving who they wanted to love. The lesbian generations before me were met with the very real threat of mental institutions or prison for the exact thing I was doing twenty years later: dancing with a woman.
Although the backdrop of my coming out was still stigmatized, and it was a time when people barely whispered the word "gay," it was also starkly different. I came out at the height of tv shows like Queer as Folk and The L Word, which celebrated lesbian and gay relationships.
We would watch The L Word on Sunday nights at a club called Sidekicks in Austin, Texas. Sidekicks was more than a gay club. They prided themselves as an "everyone club." They were inclusive before we even started using the term the way we do today. This was back at a time when Leslie Cochran graced the city and would pop in and out of local hot spots. (OG Austinites will know who Leslie is.) Sidekicks was a place where I found community, and on Sunday nights, we'd gather for watch parties of the L Word before work the next day. On Sunday nights, Sidekicks was where I could be with people who lived and loved like I did. (Ok, yes, that was a not-so-subtle nod to the opening music of the show).
As much as I felt like I was hiding because I was still in the closet, I look back on this time with nothing but good memories. I was a baby gay experiencing the closet cocoon the way it should be: safe and surrounded by people who understood both the fear and joy of coming out. Yes, I was in the closet, but inside the walls of that club, I was fully myself, and I felt safe to do so. That alone was a luxury my gay elders weren't afforded.
In the last handful of years, a lot has changed. Gay marriage became legal, and thanks to things like social media, we now have more and more examples of thriving LGBTQ+ folx. Although we still have immense hurdles in front of us, I now see baby gays living in a more accepting world than I did and walking a little easier on the road than their lesbian predecessors, and thankfully so.
It's a world that still has more work to do and a long way to go in light of the steps back our political world has taken in the last few years, but it is definitely easier to come out than it was thirty+ years ago.
The baby gays of the current generation now look towards mine to see what their future can look like. And, to me, that is the greatest compliment of all.
As I keep thinking about the words "older lesbian," I wear it proudly. But let's never forget the work of the generations that opened the doors for us.