A year ago, my best friend from high school came to lunch at my house. It was a beautiful sunny day in Mexico City, so I laid out a picnic for him and we got to catch up on our lives between sips and small bites of cheese and grapes. 

The conversation mostly centered around how we had transitioned into college. He told me about his new hobbies and his new friends, and I told him about my new classes and my all-female friend group. 

“Well, that’s weird,” he said.  

“What is?” I asked.

“In high school, you only hung out with boys.” 

My lips parted, and in that moment, as if a lightbulb had gone off in my head, I realized the reason why I struggled with having female friends in high school was that I had been subjected to compulsory heteronormativity.

Compulsory Heterosexuality is the theory that women are assumed and forced to be heterosexual in our patriarchal society. Popularized by Adrienne Rich in the 80s, Comphet Theory is the starting point to understanding how heterosexuality is woven into the fabric of our society’s institutions to sustain the continual patriarchal and capitalist oppression of women. 

In my experience, compulsory heterosexuality forces women to seek and fight for male approval. In a world where all women are assumed to be heterosexual, all women are also assumed to desire a male partner; this flattens the female experience to the hunt and acquisition of a male partner. Compulsory heterosexuality boxes women into the roles of a mother or a housewife because this heterosexual view reduces women to their reproductive abilities—not their complex humanity.

My freshman year of college, I realized I was attracted to women. It was both a stark revelation and a relief. On one hand, I was frightful about how my newfound queerness would impact my life, but it was also a joy to live authentically as myself. It changed my relationship with my new female college friends and the way I approached women in general: they were no longer my enemies. 

Girls from a young age are taught to compete against each other for the few social and political opportunities that will be given to them—including the male partners available to them. Women are conditioned to see other women as a threat rather than a companion. Compulsory heterosexuality presented itself in me as choosing male friends over female ones to avoid “female drama” (an expectation created by the patriarchy to preemptively divide women, and reinforced by the media through the “Mean Girls” trope). Looking back at my high school days, I think I behaved that way because I was insecure about my own femininity. I was worried I wasn’t desirable enough when compared to other girls, so my solution was to avoid the competition altogether rather than question why I felt so threatened by other women.

A second reason why I only surrounded myself with boys was because I wanted to be one of them. I wanted to approximate the power they had as men in our patriarchal society. 

I began meditating on the power of masculinity and femininity after reading Gertrude Stein last semester. She was a prolific writer in the Early 20th Century, and as a queer icon, there are often discussions surrounding her identity as a butch lesbian. I couldn’t help wonder whether Stein presented as masculine to approximate and relate to the other masculine geniuses of her time (Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Picasso, Dalí). Is genius perceived as masculine in our society (and therefore only men can achieve the status of genius)? Author Sheila Heti wrote about this topic in her novel How Should A Person Be? by asking herself what does female genius look like? She questioned whether female geniuses can be femenine, or is genius a category unfairly reserved for men? To me it seems as if the concept of intellect is so interwoven with a masculine identity that genius women feel compelled to associate with men to feel that genius acknowledged. Therefore, if genius is masculinized, then it is necessary for women to sever ties with their femininity to have their genius respected. 

But I disagree. I do think that genius can be feminine. The solution to the multilayered issue at hand is dismantling heteronormativity. Women can be genius, and they can be uniquely feminine in their geniusness if they were allowed to use their erotic power to guide their life. By ‘erotic power’ I mean the concept presented by Audre Lorde in her book Uses of the Erotic as an energy of deep fullfillment that fuels a life’s purpose. If women were allowed and encouraged to guide their lives through the use of self-actualizing goals, rather than the pursuit of status through a male partner, then women would live more fulfilling lives. They would have a deeper impact on their communities as creators, not just birth-givers. These women would be working with their complex humanity to achieve purpose rather than subjecting themselves to the two-dimensional portrayal of the sex-crazed female stereotype. 

Once I decentered my narrative around my love life, I was able to focus more on myself and how I could love myself. I no longer desperately needed others to love me. Once I stopped chasing for the approval and affection of every boy I met, I was given the space to relate to other women, rather than seeing them as the enemy. I no longer had an unconscious fear of not being masculine enough to receive male praise (I did not want to be seen as part of the ‘girls club’), mixed in with the fear of not being femenine enough to seduce and hold a male partner.

So I often find myself thinking about that picnic and how it changed my outlook on life. Since then, I tread with less fear for myself. I am confident. I am welcoming. 

Why don’t I have an all male group anymore? I think to myself. “Because I don’t need it,” I wish I had said.