Everyone Thinks I’m Queerbaiting But I Just Grew Up in Portland: My Story
By Sydney Roth
At the dawn of the third millennium, my parents decided to pack up their Californian spirit and gentrify the Pacific Northwest. Our budding family* were among the first to witness Portland transform from an anarchist’s paradise into a mecca for fruity hipsters. But unbeknownst to us, that fruitiness would grow into a gay culture to rival New York herself. My brother and I would grow up in one of the gayest cities in America, and we’d both end up being straight. Tragic.
That said, the cultural impact was profound. In middle school, I was teased constantly for my lack of lesbian urges. I shit you not. My friends came out, one by one, and I became the designated “straight” when I failed to follow the pattern. I’d even spend my summers at a music camp founded by a Sleater-Kinny member, and in high school, I wrote a 12-page paper on Drag Queen Storytimes hosted by our county libraries. I even learned how to drive in a Subaru.*
So, you could say I had been influenced; assimilated, if you will, into the cult of cunt. But I was, and unfortunately still am, attracted to the only gender to have ever incited mass geopolitical violence: men. Big yarf, am I right?
It only gets worse when you realize I dress like Shane McCutcheon. I mean, who would think that I, a little lass in Patagonia flannels and lowrise jeans, would ever be coo-coo for cocky-cock? But alas, I am. I crave D at the Fleabag level, and it’s gotten me in trouble here more than ever before.
My first semester at college, for instance, a fine lady made such a smooth move on me that even the Hey Mamas would’ve swooned. But to both our chagrins, I had to admit that I was not, in fact, gay, but that my nails were short only because I’d been rock climbing over the summer. The hottie was furious for being “misled” by my stubby digits and accused me of queerbaiting.
I was appalled. As a longtime Valentina (ally!), I’m used to the gays doubting my unfortunate reality. But to retaliate? To accuse me of exploiting the girly pops for my own clout? I was so shocked that I almost broke out in white lady tears. It was a low moment; what can I say?
Since that time, though, I’ve tried to adjust my style. I may have blended in with the crowds back home, but in a city like Boston, a city that seems to hand out “how to dress” pamphlets to its residents, I kinda stick out like a rainbow thumb. It’s impossible to get the attention I’m looking for unless I stick my tits out, anyway.
So, at the moment, I’m comfortably presenting as a bi(-sexy) hottie. I’ve got my Pendelton beanies and boygenius merch on standby, as well as a number of chunky rings. Is it still queerbaiting? Who knows. My social media presence is abysmal and I only hang out with like 3 people, so I doubt it. But if you think otherwise, you’re more than welcome to scream “STRAIGHT” in my direction with bigot-level infliction. Have at ‘em, East Coast gays!
*The ‘rents divorced several years later
*This whole paragraph is 100% true. I love my hometown fr