Bisexuality identity struggle!!, Bisexual identity struggles!!!!
The beautiful, chaotic, and slightly confusing middle ground where you’re attracted to
literally everyone and yet somehow still feel like an imposter in the LGBTQ+ community.
If you’re bisexual, you’ve likely experienced the bi-weekly existential crisis a regular,
unscheduled meltdown where you question your identity, your dating preferences, and,
of course, whether you “look bisexual enough” today. Because here’s the thing: being bi
often feels like living in two worlds at once but never fully belonging to either. Date
someone of the opposite gender? Suddenly, people erase your queerness and assume
you’re straight. Date someone of the same gender? Now, you’re “just gay” to outsiders.
It’s a frustrating loop of invisibility where your identity gets flattened depending on who
you’re standing next to. And then comes the self-doubt: Am I bi enough if I haven’t
dated every gender? Am I still valid if I lean toward one side more? Do I owe people a
constant rainbow aesthetic and cuffed jeans to prove it? (Spoiler: you don’t.)
The truth is, bisexuality is not confusion, it’s complexity. It’s the fluid, expansive space
that challenges rigid categories of attraction. It’s real, valid, and powerful even if the
world sometimes tries to shrink it into something it can understand. At the end of the
day, bisexuality is both a journey and a home: a reminder that your identity doesn’t
need to be proven, justified, or performed it just is. And that’s more than enough.
Bisexual identity struggles in the middle of Indian economy
How the Indian economic situation makes identity struggles more intense
Cost of Visibility: In a country where basic costs rent, food, healthcare are climbing,
being “out,” being visible, being seen as LGBTQ+ comes with extra costs. Therapy,
healthcare, safe spaces, travel, queer-friendly entertainment these often demand
more money or resources, which many can’t spare.
Job insecurity + social stigma: Youth unemployment is a known worry in India. When
you’re bisexual (or LGBTQ+ broadly), job prospects sometimes feel conditional: you
might fear discrimination in hiring or being forced to “tone down” who you are. If the
economy is tight, people tend to be more risk averse, conservative, less tolerant.
Limited safety nets: Economic reform may boost GDP, but benefits aren’t distributed
evenly. For those marginalized LGBTQ+ folks, especially from less privileged
backgrounds support systems are thin. Discrimination in education, health care,
family support makes self-advocacy more difficult. When costs rise (inflation, food
prices), those whose incomes are unstable struggle more.
Psychological toll + economic cost: Identity struggles take mental energy time off from work, treatments, emotional labour. That weighs on productivity, earnings, long-term financial planning. If society rejects or misunderstands bisexuality, folks may hide parts of themselves, affecting relationships, work performance, networks.
Inclusion translates to economic gains: On the flip side, studies suggest that more
inclusion of LGBTI individuals correlates with better economic outcomes: GDP per
capita, human development index improvements when legal rights, safety, social
inclusion improve. This means that the costs of identity struggle aren’t just personal
they ripple into the economy.
What’s happening in India’s economy right now
India’s growth is strong but under pressure: inflation, job growth stagnation, food price
increases, youth unemployment, inequalities are persistent issues. The government is
pushing reforms (land records, GST rationalisation, trade negotiations) and trying to
steady macro fundamentals. But many of these reforms are structural and slow to
benefit those who are already marginalized rural areas, low-income groups, socially
excluded communities, which include LGBTQ+ people.
The Bi-Weekly Existential Crisis of Every Bisexual
Step One: Waking Up and Remembering You’re Bi
You wake up, stretch, and scroll through your phone. First, you’re swooning over a
Bollywood superstar (hello, Vijay Deverakonda), and then you’re double-tapping that
artsy Delhi-based queer influencer who pulls off sarees and sneakers better than
anyone alive. Classic Tuesday morning.
But then your brain whispers: Wait… does liking both Ranveer and Radhika make you bisexual, or just confused? Are you being “too much”? Shouldn’t you just pick a side and stick to it? Welcome to the Great Indian Bisexual Identity Crisis. And of course, your ever-diligent brain decides that before you’ve even brushed your teeth, it’s time for a full self-audit. You spend ten minutes staring at the ceiling, wondering if your “bi-validity” is cancelled because last week you only crushed on that guy from tuition class. The answer? Absolutely not. But try explaining that to a society where half the time your bisexuality gets erased depending on who you’re dating, and the other half it gets dismissed as a “phase.” Add to that the pressure of jobs, rising costs, and family expectations in India’s current economy, and suddenly your identity feels like one more bill you have to justify paying.
The truth? You don’t owe anyone proof. Not your family, not your boss, not your bank
balance. Your bisexuality is valid, even if the world wants to budget it out of existence.
(Need a little desi validation? Groups like Nazariya, Sweekar, and The Humsafar Trust
are out here making sure you know you belong.)
Step Two: The Do I Look Bisexual Enough? Panic (Indian Edition)
Time to get dressed. But, of course, you can’t just throw on any outfit you need to
radiate peak bisexual energy. You stare at your wardrobe like it’s an exam paper. Kurta
with ripped jeans? Too experimental? Oversized shirt and sneakers? Too obvious?
Saree with a blazer? Iconic, but will your relatives survive the shock?
You pull out your tote bag and pause. Is this giving “queer intellectual from JNU” or
“random person who just bought vegetables from Big Bazaar”?
Eventually, you settle for the classic “effortlessly cool but secretly took 45 minutes to
plan while sweating in Chennai humidity” look. And halfway through the day, it hits you:
nobody actually cares what you’re wearing most people are too busy calculating
tomato prices or complaining about traffic.
Still, that doesn’t stop you from fixing your dupatta just so, adjusting the cuff of your
jeans, running your hand through your perfectly tousled hair, and praying that at least
one stranger in the metro senses your bisexual aura.
(Need outfit inspo that works in India’s weather and vibe? Check out desi queer collectives like Gay Bombay or Queer Bazaar for fashion inspo that slays and survives the humidity.)
Step Three: Relationship Status = Confusion
Single? Great. That automatically makes you straight by default in most people’s eyes unless, of course, you walk around with a giant neon sign that says I kissed a girl at a college fest AND I also liked it when I kissed that guy at a shaadi sangeet.
Dating a woman? Be ready for the classic line: “Arrey beta, so you’re a lesbian now?” whispered loudly at family functions.
Dating a man? Suddenly you’re “not really bisexual” apparently you’ve been “straight all along” and just doing “youth experiments.”
Basically, no matter what your relationship status is, someone will have an unsolicited TED Talk about your sexuality. Your aunt will tilt her head and say, “It’s just a phase, dear, you’ll marry a nice boy soon.” Your coworker will sip chai and announce, “You just haven’t decided yet, yaar.” And society at large will behave like your dating life is some kind of public referendum.
But the real crisis? When you catch feelings for the cute barista, your best friend, and
that stranger at the metro station all in the same week. Suddenly, your heart feels like a
Bollywood love triangle except it’s a hexagon, and there’s no background score to guide
you.
(Exhausted by the same old stereotypes? Desi queer platforms like Gaysi Family and
Yaariyan are out here busting myths and reminding you your bisexuality is real, valid,
and not up for debate.)
Step Four: Crushes. So Many Crushes.
The bisexual experience in India is basically living in a Bollywood rom-com—but without
the background songs, slow-motion hair flips, or happy endings. Every day, you meet
someone new, and your brain short-circuits. That chaiwala near your PG? Adorable.
Your coworker who casually switches between Hindi and English mid-sentence? A
menace to your heart. That stranger who helped you cross a chaotic traffic signal in
Delhi? Clearly, the one.
Bisexual panic is real. One moment, you’re admiring a gorgeous woman in a Fabindia
store, and the next, a ridiculously handsome man at the same counter asks if you’re in
line. Your heart? Finished. Your brain? Screaming. And don’t even bring up androgynous
folks in oversized kurtas with jhumkas or nose rings your bisexual soul simply cannot
handle the aesthetic assault.
You try to act normal, but suddenly you’re blushing at the pani puri stall, fumbling with
Paytm, and forgetting how to form basic Hindi sentences. The range of emotions is
exhausting like being stuck in a Karan Johar movie, except nobody’s written the script
for your ending.
(Need solidarity for your crush-overload? Check out Gaysi Family’s dating columns and
desi queer zines for relatable bi-chaos.)
Step Five: Representation Crisis
You sit down to binge-watch an Indian web series, hoping just hoping for a bisexual
character who finally feels real. Instead, you get:
• A hyper-sexualized sidekick whose entire personality is “wink wink, I’m flirty.”
• A character who is clearly bisexual but never says the word out loud because,
apparently, “commitment to labels” is too much for the scriptwriters.
• A blink-and-you-miss-it queer storyline that vanishes after one season Poof! as if representation was just a phase too.
• Or worse… the bisexual coded character ends up being the villain. Because of course.
You sigh, abandon your OTT subscription, and end up rewatching Made in Heaven just
for those fleeting queer moments or scrolling through indie short films on YouTube that
feel more honest than anything mainstream.
And then, when finally, a desi series dares to give us a bisexual protagonist, Twitter
descends: one group says the character is “too bi to be realistic” (whatever that
means), while another insists they’re “not bi enough.” Basically, no matter what, you
can’t win either as a character or as a viewer.
(For some refreshing desi takes, check out queer storytelling platforms like Gaysi Zine,
Kashish Film Festival, and QueerIink where representation isn’t an afterthought but
the heart of the story.)
Step Six: The “Am I Queer Enough?” Debate
You open Instagram and see your queer friends at Pride in Delhi, draped in rainbow
sarees and glitter, looking like they just walked out of a Vogue cover shoot. Meanwhile,
you’re at home in your pajamas, wondering if you’ve “earned” your queer card.
Have you dated enough across genders to qualify? Have you attended enough queer
events in Mumbai? Should you be louder about your bisexuality even if your parents
think you’re just “really into friendship” with everyone?
And then it hits you: bisexuality isn’t a competition. There’s no desi version of KBC
where Amitabh Bachchan asks, “Aur bataiye, aapne kitne genders date kiye hain, final
answer?” Your identity doesn’t need a checklist to be real.
Still, the existential crisis lingers especially in a country where half the time, you feel
invisible in straight spaces, and the other half, you feel like an outsider in queer ones.
You remind yourself that even if you’ve dated mostly men, mostly women, or no one at
all, you’re still bi. Full stop.
Five minutes later, though, you’re back on Google searching: “How to look bisexual in
India without trying too hard? Bonus points if it works in Chennai humidity.”
(Need reassurance? Check out Sweekar’s stories of LGBTQ+ families and Nazariya’s
work proof that visibility matters, and you don’t need to prove your queerness to
anyone, least of all yourself.)
Step Seven: Acceptance (Until Next Week)
By the end of the week, you finally calm down. You remind yourself that bisexuality is
real, valid, and doesn’t have to look a certain way. Whether you’re sipping chai at a
roadside stall, swiping through Shaadi.com profiles out of family pressure, or
daydreaming about three different crushes at once you exist, and that’s enough.
Then, just as you start feeling good about yourself, a new crush appears at the metro
station, and boom you’re right back at square one. The bi-weekly existential crisis has
restarted, right on schedule.
Moral of the story? Being bisexual in India is both a blessing and a daily test of patience.
Between dodging aunties’ marriage questions, surviving office gossip, and navigating
your own overthinking brain, it’s chaos but it’s also beautiful.
And if you ever feel lost, just throw on your jhumkas and sneakers, grab a cutting chai
(or iced coffee, if you’re feeling bougie), and remind yourself: You are valid, you are hot,
and yes…you absolutely do look bisexual enough today.
(At least until the next wedding invite and wardrobe crisis roll around.)
The Bi-Cycle Never Ends
At the end of the day, being bisexual in India is like navigating a never-ending Bollywood
plot equal parts comedy, drama, and unexpected twists. There will be crushes,
wardrobe panics, awkward family dinners, and endless questions about whether you’re “queer enough.” There will also be joy, community, and moments of quiet self-acceptance that remind you your identity is not just valid it’s powerful. Yes, the bi-weekly existential crisis is real. But so is the magic of living in a spectrum, of holding
space for attraction that refuses to be boxed in. You’re not confused, you’re not greedy,
and you’re definitely not alone.
So, here’s your reminder: wear what you want, love who you love, crush on everyone at
the pani puri stall if you must, and take pride in the messy, beautiful middle ground you
call home.
Because being bisexual isn’t about proving anything it’s about existing as yourself. And
that, always, is more than enough.
