I couldn’t mark the day I adopted “queer” over “pansexual.” It wasn’t an occasion where I woke up, or stopped short in the middle of doing something with a lightbulb illuminating the crown of my head. It was a more gradual sort of evolution brought on by a combination of factors.
Not least of which is whenever I see or hear the word “pansexual” I automatically think of frying pans. Plus, it just sounds so… scientific. Not that there’s anything wrong with science, but I’m not a fan of cold, laboratory-esque terms around my sexuality. Sexuality is a soft, malleable, golden red word. Pansexual is hard, sterile, gleaming steel and unyielding edges.
Of course, now that I describe it, it still sounds sexy.
Okay. Back on track, woman. There’s also the fact that “queer” is not only easier to say but easier for others to understand. Sure, your typical non-queer person thinks “queer” is synonymous with “homosexual,” which isn’t always the case, but getting any kind of comprehensive response is better than a blank stare.
Oddly enough, queer also feels more comprehensive than pansexual. I couldn’t tell you why that is, since pansexual is a comprehensive term by definition, but there are still those unyielding edges around it that queer doesn’t seem to have. If these terms were people, in my mind pansexual would be the clique who closes ranks and shoulders out anyone new, whereas queer is the crazy, lovable chick going around hugging everybody.
I know I’m probably going to piss at least one person off with that statement. Oh well. Candor for the win.
So there you have it. I’m queer. Among other things. But, as is said, actions make the person, so… I guess I should go be weird now! Oh, wait…