While I could see many of my own experiences reflected in Winstons’ journey, I felt the intersectional dissonance between their path and my own as a Black queer person. Before I embraced my bisexuality I didn’t feel queer enough to identify as such, but I also felt that identifying as straight was a personal betrayal. The book begins with a narrative that I am all too familiar with, Imposter Syndrome. Greedy encouraged me to reflect on my own path of embracing my bisexuality. She discusses the limits of representation and the suffocating nature of binaries. Winstons’ writing invites us to join her as she starts on her own self-aware, hilarious and honest journey to understanding their own sexuality and gender identity. This is just one example of the harmful rhetoric that left me feeling unsafe in - and unsure of - my own sexuality for years.Īs I flipped open Jen Winstons’ Greedy: Notes From a Bisexual Who Wants Too Much, I was unexpectedly greeted with the rare feeling of safety that only comes with being affirmed and understood. A friend found me after dance class and informed me that our dance teacher, one of the only two Black women who worked at the school at the time, went on a rant about how bisexuals are salacious cheaters who steal everyone’s dating options and just can’t make up their minds.

The first time I heard the word “Greedy” weaponized against bisexuality was in high school.

The Autostraddle Encyclopedia of Lesbian Cinema.

LGBTQ Television Guide: What To Watch Now.

Greedy notes from a bisexual