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Lately, it feels like every corner of social media is obsessed with debating dating preferences. Maybe it’s the influence of shows like Love Island or Married at First Sight, but suddenly everyone wants to announce what they will and won’t tolerate in a partner. I’ll be honest, I don’t really keep up with those shows, but I do notice how quickly the audience labels a man as “sassy” the moment he acts out. From there, every bad attitude he shows is chalked up to some supposed hidden homosexuality, because apparently, only a gay man could possibly dislike a woman. It’s not hard to see the homophobia at play here, where being gay is coded as negative and being straight is seen as a virtue. And when someone points out this bias, it’s usually met with defensiveness, and the same tired story about a woman who found out her “straight” husband wasn’t so straight after all. For a lot of women, finding out your husband is bisexual can feel like the world is ending, especially in a culture that ties a cis het woman’s status to her relationship with a straight man. Catching your husband with another man is often more devastating than catching him with another woman, because it leaves you wondering if you were ever enough. These fears run so deep that many straight women just write off bisexual men entirely. The online conversations about this are always the same: someone says why they wouldn’t date a certain kind of person, someone else calls out the bias, and then the original group doubles down. It’s a cycle I’ve watched play out every year I’ve been online, and I’ve written about it more times than I can count. But what really interests me isn’t the endless back-and-forth, but how these ideas actually play out in real life, especially for minorities who have to navigate dating with the added weight of oppression shaping their options.

I think any real conversation about dating has to start with some honesty about what dating actually is for most people right now. We’re living in a strange moment where women technically have more options than ever, but at the same time, there’s this conservative push to shove women back into powerless roles. The Red Pill crowd is obsessed with undoing the progress feminism made: giving women the right to make choices for themselves and not just exist as someone’s helpmate. The manosphere loves to complain that women only want the top 1% of men, but really, that’s just resentment that women have standards at all. If a woman says she only dates men over six feet, suddenly she’s public enemy number one in these misogynistic online spaces that have somehow crept all the way into mainstream politics. I wasn’t shocked when Andrew Tate got arrested for trafficking. These men aren’t just learning to hate women; they’re learning to profit off them, too. If you’re even a little attractive and you happen to post on social media, many men will just assume you have an OnlyFans, because that’s how warped their view of women has become. It’s a scary time to be a woman, but thankfully, a lot of women now have the freedom to educate themselves, open their own bank accounts, and not depend on marriage for survival. Even with podcasts and dating shows normalizing and popularizing the shallow gender binary of the so-called high-value male and the so-called “Traditional wife”, more and more women are just opting out of dating men altogether. No amount of shaming them about dying alone with cats has stopped women from looking at the state of things like abortion access and deciding to withhold their time, their bodies, and their energy from men. Some call this the “4B” movement, after the movement by Korean feminists who’ve sworn off men entirely. So the women who are still dating men? They’re picky, and honestly, they should be.

Here’s my main issue with the whole dating preferences debate: why does anyone else need to know who you would or wouldn’t date? Dating is, by nature, exclusionary, and honestly, it’s private. Most of us can’t help who we’re attracted to, even if those attractions are shaped by bias. I live in a body that’s politicized and othered at every turn. I’ve been rejected for just about every part of who I am. I’m a tall, dark-skinned, Black, transgender woman who’s been plus-size most of her life. I know what it’s like to be outside of most people’s so-called “preferences,” and I’ve had to make peace with that. When people argue about dating preferences, they’re typically not trying to pressure anyone into anything, but rather, they’re attempting to use dating as an entry point for addressing generalized  bigotry that exists even beyond their romantic patterns. For example, a large segment of people would never date a disabled person, and the ableism they hold in their romantic lives isn’t often limited to just that conversation. That discriminatory attitude can cause them to have a poor view of disabled people, and especially those who date them beyond their own personal romantic connections. However, people tend to be incredibly defensive when you draw attention to this because many people feel they cannot control who they’re attracted to, even if it is indeed influenced by an oppressive culture that frames certain people as undesirable. Additionally, personally, what I’m stuck with is the reality of people trying to unlearn their biases through dating me. I’ve often been the first trans woman a man has dated, and I’ve watched some of those men go from ignorant and even harmful to genuinely respectful and able to date other women like me with more care. But being someone’s first is exhausting. It’s degrading to feel like you’re just an experiment, not a person. When you’re outside what people are used to, experimentation is often all you’re ever offered. Those relationships never did much for me, even if they helped those men grow. I spent years turning down men who just wanted to try me out, and being picky about that (among other things) is what led me to the healthy relationships I have now. I’ve kissed a lot of frogs, and every mistake taught me more about the kind of man I actually want.

It took me a while to notice that Edward, Nathan, and Alexander all share the same core qualities that make our relationship work so well. I’m not saying we never have conflict, but it’s rare, because we’ve all put in the work on ourselves and keep doing it. Every one of my boyfriends knew they wanted a real, long-term relationship with a trans woman before we ever met. They weren’t in the experimenting phase. They’re confident, self-aware, have been to therapy, know their limits, and can actually communicate. They’re leftists, and they’re not afraid to defend me in a world that’s increasingly hostile towards me. I turned away a lot of men before them, and these are the only ones who get to see me with my guard down. I trust them, and we’re open with each other about everything. I live my life out loud, and I have no interest in men who are so stuck in tradition that they can’t see me for who I am. After my last monogamous relationship, I promised myself I’d never lose my sense of self to a man’s preferences or controlever again. I refuse to live a life where my image depends on a man, or his on me. Being picky is exactly what led me to these amazing, competent partners. If I hadn’t excluded a long list of men from my dating pool, I never would have found them. When I was single, men would get offended that I didn’t want to date those who were inexperienced or unsure about their attraction to trans women. I’ve been pressured to let my guard down just to help a man grow, and I resent that. That’s patriarchy talking. My body isn’t a classroom for men.

As I’ve written about before, I think that bisexuals experience biphobia, and I do think that excluding someone from your dating pool because they are bisexual is, in fact, biphobic. When you ask women why they wouldn’t date a bisexual man, the answer you’re going to get is almost always going to be something homophobic. Within this current discourse, people are talking about how they don’t want to be with a man who gets bent over by other men. This reveals that part of their disdain for bisexual men comes from the very idea that being with a man is somewhat degrading, which is something most straight women often have to internalize as they pursue relationships with men, who are typically their biggest predators. The women who reject bisexual men are typically working from a series of shallow stereotypes that aren’t universally true for all bisexual men. Just because a man is bisexual doesn’t mean he couldn’t be in a long-term, loving relationship with a cis woman and be completely content within that relationship. Bisexual men are more likely to be tested for STDs and STIs than heterosexual men, which is partially why they’re overrepresented when it comes to STD and STI statistics. Many of the anxieties straight women have around bisexual men are equally applicable to heterosexual men. Still, for many heterosexual women, a man being heterosexual is almost a manifestation of the quality of his character (which is, of course, homophobic). I don’t actually contend any of those thoughts, as I know that it is factually true that most women reject bisexual men because of biphobia. That said, my contention is about how this conversation is often had, and how it feels very disconnected from the reality of how people shift a bias they were propagandized into.

Honestly, while it’s true that calling out straight women for being homophobic is technically correct, I don’t think it’s the best way to actually teach anyone about bias. Like I said before, dating is personal and exclusionary, and the people who are loudest about their bigoted preferences are usually the least open to changing them. I get why people feel the need to call out bigotry in this context; it can feel cathartic, even righteous. I’m all for standing up to homophobia, but I’ve seen that most of these debates just end up creating more of it. It’s the same cycle, over and over. Every time a bisexual man says a woman is biphobic for not dating bi men, straight women hear that as pressure, because they live in a culture that’s always trying to shame and push them past their boundaries. There’s this underlying resentment that women even have the right to say no to certain men. That comes from a deep entitlement to women’s bodies, and in this conversation, I don’t think enough people are acknowledging that this is the reality most women live within.

While a plurality of sexualities and genders reject bisexual men, people do seem to focus a lot of their criticism on cis het women. Perhaps it’s because cis het women speak the most frequently about not desiring bisexual men. Either way, what I’ve observed in this discourse is that much of it is spent trying to humble straight women and getting them to admit that they are not allies to the LGBT community. For many of those women, this feels like a strategy designed to shame them into sleeping with bisexual men. Even if that’s not what’s being said, it clearly feels like that to them for a reason. When the voice memo guy story was more viral, many people shamed heterosexual women for having a negative response to a voice memo that amounted to “if you’re not gonna put out next time, don’t expect me to come over”. When cis het women say no, they are often shamed as not being open-minded enough. For many women who’ve been traumatized by that sort of thing, it’s incredibly easy to interpret any conversation that would describe her as closed-minded after saying no as a coercive conversation, because that is typically the goal of that sort of shaming. And let’s not be coy here: shame is indeed the goal. The people making this argument may not be trying to coerce them, but they are certainly trying to shame them through an accusation of bigotry. Allyship is not something you claim for yourself, but many of these women imagined that their tolerance and advocacy were sufficient until they were told that their support wasn’t going far enough once they stated they would not date a bisexual man. For many cis het women, this just feels like additional pressure, and the reality is, as long as this entitlement to women’s bodies is the norm, women are likely to respond negatively to any criticism of who they romantically discriminate against.

If you want to wade into this argument, you have to know that this accusation is coming your way. A lot of cis het women who know they don’t want to be with bisexual men feel like they’re being pressured to date them just to keep their allyship card. That’s a misunderstanding, but it’s also very human to get defensive about who you’re attracted to. I’ve watched these conversations play out for years, and honestly, they rarely change anyone’s mind. Telling someone, “The people you’re attracted to are a reflection of your internalized bias,” might be true, but it’s not convincing. It just makes people dig in their heels and find others who agree with them. If you want to change minds, you have to understand why people feel the way they do. A lot of people in this conversation can correctly point out that patriarchy is the real issue we’re all circling around. But there’s still not enough understanding of how patriarchy actually impacts straight women, or how much work it takes to unlearn those messages. That’s not something you can fix in one conversation.

When I excluded bisexual men from my dating pool, I’d never met a bisexual man or truly dated one who was openly bisexual. As a trans woman, I had insecurity about dating a man who desired men because that felt misgendering to me, and that built within me a homophobic bias that shamed men for bottoming or desiring any interaction with a penis. After being in a 6-year, incredibly vanilla, monogamous relationship with my ex, I wanted a change. That’s where I met Nathan, my bisexual partner of ten years. Nathan really spoiled me in terms of bisexual men. He had already been through a marriage, already deprogrammed from religion, and genuinely did not care what other people thought of him. He was completely fine with people seeing him as a gay man, though people tend not to. He’s the kinda guy that has to wear rainbow things for most people to pick up on him being in the acronym. He isn’t ashamed; that’s just who he is, and he’s proud. From him, I exclusively dated bisexual men for a season, and I found that many of them, well, had preferences. My relationships with most bisexual men were destined to end once they found a cis woman they could potentially marry and have children with. Many of the men I dated in my first few years of living in LA have gone on to do just that. Many of those men did not want to be in relationships that appeared queer, and they were only interested in dating me because I am read as cis within society. I found that many of the bisexual men I dated had incredibly high standards for trans women, but seemingly average standards for cis women. Many of them did not want to date other cis men, and I’d say many of them were honestly repulsed by them to some degree. My impression is that beyond things like hygiene and social currency, bisexual men often avoid dating men, well, because they’re dangerous. Many of the bisexual men I’ve known are indeed terrified of men, and of being taken advantage of by them. With that in mind, it’s odd to me that it seems as if some people greatly estimate how dangerous cis men are for cis women. Cis men benefit the most from patriarchy, and often abuse women to reaffirm their place within it. For cis women, there are no downsides to being overly careful about who they’re intimate with, especially in our increasingly misogynistic culture that wants to trap women into marriages.

I suppose my era of dating bisexual men exclusively shifts some of my feelings about some of the points made in this particular debate. It’s anecdotal, but I spent my youth being pursued by closeted bisexual men, who, yes, were indeed seeking something outside of their relationship that their wives could not give them. I cannot deny the truth of some stereotypes, even if I affirm that applying them universally is harmful.

When I hear cishet women being biphobic and saying they don’t want to be with bisexual men, what I really hear is them fighting for what they see as an honest man who wants to be with them, someone who won’t make them feel insecure by taking what feels like a weaker position under patriarchy. A lot of women in this conversation are just trying to get what they can from the system they’re in. For many cis het women, patriarchy can feel protective. These ideas about masculinity and traditional gender roles give her what she’s been taught to see as safety. But in reality, most of these women have never actually been with the hypermasculine, heterosexual man they imagine will make them feel secure. I think, in this and in other areas, it’s real-life experience that actually shifts people’s ideas. I had to try being a housewife before I realized how disempowering that really is. That seems obvious to me now, but it wasn’t back then.

I will not excuse or defend the patriarchy, but I do think people underestimate the depth of how people internalize it. Many women will genuinely not see that patriarchy is not protection until they’re in a situation where they are isolated and their entire life revolves around keeping a man happy. I think while the dating preference conversation is making valid and truthful points, the inevitable reaction to this conversation by cis het women will always be a negative one because even if it’s true that these women are homophobic, that doesn’t satisfactorily acknowledge that these women are indeed in a precarious position under patriarchy. Misogyny is what keeps the patriarchy alive, and it’s the basis of homophobia, which exists to stigmatize those who define themselves outside of the cis-hetero paradigm. Again, I think these women are indeed engaging in homophobia, and perhaps people should call it out. However, for me personally, as conservatives push for a national abortion ban, I’m still acutely aware of how women are objectified and policed within society, and it just doesn’t seem useful to debate with women about who they date. While I think we should call out the women who use their platforms to promote homophobia in the name of defending their “preference,” is it really the worst thing in the world that a cis woman may, at a bare minimum, want to make sure the man she has children with truly desires her beyond being a womb?

As I’ve said, a large majority of the bisexual men I’ve dated desired their own children and used that as the reason why they would never desire a long-term relationship with a person who wasn’t a cis woman. Anecdotally, I’ve met far more bisexual men who want children than I’ve met heterosexual men who want children, and that was fairly surprising to me. Many bisexual men have overtly stated that their long-term goal is securing a cis woman as a wife. Some in this discourse are shifting the conversation towards blaming these women for the existence of closeted men, with the subtextual argument that these women should be more open-minded if they want men to be honest about their sexuality. This, like many things, places the pressure on women to carry the burden of what is truly a man’s own journey. Outside of Nathan, I know many men who are proudly and openly bisexual, and yes, some of them have children with wives who accept their bisexuality. I will never shame anyone for remaining closeted, but I do think those who remain closeted so they can reproduce are reinforcing some fairly unfortunate narratives about deceptive bisexual men.

If there’s one thing my life has taught me, it’s not to lose sleep over people who don’t want me, and to choose my battles wisely. After years of talking and writing about this, I know this debate isn’t going anywhere. If anything, I think it’s worth warning anyone who jumps into this topic that the conversation will never really end, and when it comes to helping people move past their biases, there are better, more persuasive ways to do it. People will always be defensive about who they date, and in a world that still tries to control women, I doubt there will ever be a time when women aren’t defensive about who they’re dating and why. I don’t think straight cis women deserve a special pass for bigotry, and I think you should call it out if you can, but just know it’s probably one of the least effective ways to actually change someone’s mind. As long as we’re still fighting for bodily autonomy in a culture where men feel entitled to women’s bodies, most of these conversations criticizing women’s dating preferences will fall flat and are easily dismissed.