Hetero/ cisnormative rituals and queer erasure
On 29th March 2014 same sex couples could get married in the U.K. They could call it a marriage and they would have the same rights as their heterosexual counterparts. I went down to Royal Festival Hall to watch Sandi Toksvig and her wife celebrate their love for each other. It was utterly joyous – the feeling that one day if I wanted to and If I found someone who wanted me, I could stand up in front of my friends and family and declare my love for my partner. Granted I still might have to be picky about the place in which I did that (I’m pretty sure the church at the end of my street wouldn’t host us) but nevertheless we had arrived. Equal. Right?
But actually there’s more to a wedding than just that day (I know, I’ve watched ‘say yes to the dress’ and ’don’t tell the bride’ too many times than I care to admit). There’s the venue search and the dress fitting and the important people selection process (I don’t look forward to that bit) and there’s the hen do and the stag do and they are bigger, more expensive and more complicated to organise than ever before. But I still sort of look forward to that – it’s all part of feeling just like everybody else, isn’t it?
‘But what about my heterosexual friends and family embarking on the journey towards their special day? Have they evolved with us?’
For all of the above I feel equal and for my own wedding I will go through the same stress and joy as everyone else and I can’t wait. But what about my heterosexual friends and family embarking on the journey towards their special day? Have they evolved with us? In those other aspects that make up the ‘process’? Did they rejoice as allies on 29th March and commit to making their weddings and everything that surrounds them feel more inclusive for us? Some did, I’m sure of it. But many didn’t.
I can’t count the amount of times I’ve been the only woman in a suit at a wedding, the times where the bride’s father has swerved past me because he’s just not sure what to say to me (for reference, Graeme I’m really interesting and shockingly I also have a dad so I’m sure we could have found some common ground), the times that the invitation excludes the idea that women would want to wear anything else but a dress. The uniformity of it all obliterates any opportunity for queer nuance and as guests we feel out of place before the glitter that bursts out of the save the date card has even hit the floor.
‘The uniformity of it all obliterates any opportunity for queer nuance and as guests we feel out of place before the glitter that bursts out of the save the date card has even hit the floor.’
Weddings cause a huge amount of anxiety for me and for my other queer friends because I know that despite how far we’ve come we still don’t fit in. As an adult woman feeling like you don’t fit in on the day that’s supposed to be up there with the very best is a bitter pill to swallow. Don’t get me started on the fact that I can’t buy a decent suit anywhere unless I pay almost the cost of the venue and the canapes combined. I try so hard to put it to one side but I feel the eyes on me, the stifling heteronormativity is just as palpable as the burning summer sun in between key sections of the big day. I try but It isn’t easy, I feel like a kid again standing small, not joining in, desperately scanning the wedding party for someone who looks like me only to find that I’ll only see her in the posh portaloo mirrors. Not a nice feeling.
I wish I could leave it there and say it’s the wedding that causes me the most pain, the most heartbreak that we still have so much work to do to feel included and like we belong. But actually it’s all the things that surround the wedding isn’t it? Most notably the ‘hen’ and ‘stag’ do and let’s be honest - the problem lies in those binary descriptors. Women = hens, men = stag. Let’s not get into the very damaging gendered behaviours those words depict – because that’s another essay. The very fact that we still organise these events in such a binary, traditional way means that those less cognisant heterosexual people amongst us won’t even consider the queer person in their family that they could hurt, offend or worse erase from the frivolities.
A case in point: A queer woman I know recently did not get invited to their partner’s brother’s stag do and they did not get invited to his finance’s hen either. Now from what I hear the family are lovely people, they are kind and thoughtful but they also just don’t get it – they’ve lived in a heteronormative world for as long as they’ve drawn breath and they can’t see the damage not accounting for the queer person will have on the relationship with them and on that person’s own self-worth. Now give them the benefit of the doubt and let’s say they were in a quandary as to which one to invite my friend to – perhaps they thought my queer friend would hate the hen and be offended by an invite to the stag. Well the truth is they don’t know because there had been no dialogue, no choice by my friend, just erasure.
‘Hang on a second!’ I hear you say. Are all the other (hetero) members of the family present and accounted for at these events, even the ones who don’t get on and have nothing in common?
Yes, of course they are.
My queer friend? Well they’ll just stay at home and watch the L word, obviously.