Identifying as bi rather than pansexual doesn’t make me closed-minded

I first came out as bisexual when I was 18. In the local field after countless shots of vodka, I uttered the words ‘I think I’m bi’ to a friend from home – and, almost nine years later, this identity still rings true to me.

I thought I was divulging an earth-shattering piece of information, but it was potentially the worst-kept secret in the history of our friendship group, as my pal laughed to me: ‘It’s okay – I know.’

These days, that might not be deemed a wholly acceptable way to respond to someone coming out, but it was true: it made sense to my friends, and it made sense to me. No one was shocked, and I started to tell uni friends later that year and, eventually, my family.

But in the coming years, as my understanding of bisexuality deepened, I started to wonder: why is it that I identify as bi? And why not pansexual? The cogs started to turn in my mind. Was I less ‘woke’ than my peers? Should I reconsider my label? Why had I ever chosen it at all?

My fears hadn’t come out of nowhere. There’s a perception that bisexuality is merely pansexuality for closed-minded people, or ill-keeping with the times. But in reality, that couldn’t be further from the truth – for me, at least.

According to Stonewall’s glossary of terms, bi is ‘an umbrella term used to describe a romantic and/or sexual orientation towards more than one gender. Bi people may describe themselves using one or more of a wide variety of terms, including, but not limited to, bisexual, pan, queer, and some other non-monosexual and non-monoromantic identities.’

Elsewhere, pan means ‘all’ – so pansexuality is defined as an attraction to ‘all gender identities or attraction regardless of gender identity.’ Again, as per Stonewall’s guidance, pan became popular in the 1990s after concerns about bisexuality ‘upholding the gender binary’ circulated among the community.

But, although the ‘bi’ part of bisexual might on the surface suggest an attraction to only two genders (and we know there to be many more than just two), that’s no longer the case.

There’s also the idea that some bisexual people might have a preference for certain genders over others (so perhaps experiencing romantic attraction to women and sexual attraction toward men), while pansexual people often don’t.

In 1990, US-based bi magazine Anything That Moves wrote: ‘Do not assume that bisexuality is binary in nature: that we have ‘two’ sides or that we must be involved simultaneously with both genders to be fulfilled human beings. In fact, don’t assume that there are only two genders.’ And this mentality largely sums up my feelings.

I’m not alone: in the US, data from the Public Religion Research Institute indicates that while 72% of Gen Z adults – my generation – identify as straight, 15% are bisexual. And in the UK specifically, only 71% are straight – compared with 91% of Boomers – and 14% are bi (versus 2% respectively).

So clearly, the label ‘bisexual’ isn’t dying out among Gen Z: it’s very much alive, and it’s thriving.

The first use of the word ‘bisexuality’ was very different to modern-day definitions, recorded in 1859 by anatomist Robert Bentley Todd to explain the possession of ‘male’ and ‘female’ physical characteristics, a definition which today we would interpret as intersex.

However, bisexuality as a modern-day term was only developed in the 1910s, and the two contradicting meanings were often still used in conjunction with one another – so it wasn’t until the 1970s that bisexuality, as we would understand it today, began to be widely used and accepted.

Along these lines, we began to see the first bisexual activism groups arise, including the London Bisexual Group (formed in 1981) and subsequent strands in Edinburgh, Brighton, Manchester and Glasgow, which emerged in 1984, 1985, 1986 and 1988 respectively.

Likewise, the Bisexual Women’s Group was also founded in the 1970s, as was the aptly-named publication Bi-Monthly. And, of course, who could forget the 1995 Newsweek cover over in the US that almost presented bisexuality as something between a hot new trend and a virus, with the front-page reading: ‘Not gay. Not Straight. A New Sexual Identity Emerges.’

So, what does it really boil down to? Why do I identify as bi, and not pan? The first and simplest answer lies with terminology and accessibility.

When I was first questioning my sexuality as a teenager, bisexuality was a term that made abundant sense to me – and I immediately understood what it meant. Pansexuality took me a little longer to wrap my head around, and by the time I truly understood what it meant, I had already decided that I aligned with and felt most comfortable with bi.

That’s not to say that you can’t identify as both bi and pan (many people do), but more that that’s the label that I chose, and I never thought to revisit it. It feels like home, like something I know; and maybe it’s too rigid of me, but I don’t feel that I need to.

Elsewhere, I somewhat align with the idea that bisexual people might sometimes have a preference over who they date.

In the past, I’ve considered myself more romantically attracted to men than other genders; that’s not to say that I’ve never been in love with anyone else (I certainly have), more that historically, I’ve been more likely to fall in love with men, and I’ve had more romantic relationships with them.

But, when I was last single, I went through a significant period of time where I was exclusively dating women – and that was largely my preference, because I was relatively newly out at university, and I wanted to safely explore my newfound sexuality in that space.

So, this Pride Month, I know that I don’t owe anyone an explanation as to why I’m bisexual: I just know that I am, and that’s valid.

That also doesn’t rule out the possibility of me identifying more with the pansexual label in the future; terminology can be fluid and, increasingly, other Gen Zs are rejecting the concept of ever choosing a label at all.

It just means that, for now at least, I’m waving the blue, purple and pink flag not just for me, but for all bisexuals everywhere.

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