Becky Albertalli, author of popular teen romance Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda, has publicly come out as bisexual but why did she have to?

Cover photo: Author Becky Albertalli attends the Love, Simon special screening at the Westfield Century City on March 13, 2018 in Century City, California. Paul Archuleta/FilmMagic and via PinkNews.

Mistaken Identity

Yesterday, via a Medium post entitled “I know I’m late.”, Becky Albertalli — the author of such books as Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda, Leah on the Offbeat, and Love, Creekwood — came out as bisexual. The news follows public consternation about Albertalli’s assumed heterosexuality and her large role in queer media representation.

In 2015, Albertalli explained, “I think there’s this perception that my experiences as a psychologist qualify me to write from some of these points of view, but I don’t think that’s true at all. I did not want to approach this book [Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda] from a clinical perspective in any way. I researched, I listened and I solicited feedback from gay readers — but in a sense, writing from another cultural perspective is always a leap of faith.”

Released in 2018, the film adaptation Love, Simon was the “first mainstream teen romantic comedy to feature a gay lead character.” Albertalli’s follow-up spin-off novel Leah on the Offbeat became a #1 New York Times bestseller. According to Albertalli — who is married to a man — such accomplishments caused her to endure public scrutiny about her own sexual identity, pressuring her to come out publicly as bisexual.

Albertalli’s situation is reminiscent of another uncomfortable coming out story that took place earlier this year. Actress Jameela Jamil (The Good Place) — who is in a committed differently-sexed relationship — came out as bisexual after a public outcry over the news that she was set to host an HBO show about the popular queer dance style voguing. Both women have been accused of profiting off the queer community.

Representation

Members of the LGBT+ community have grown justifiably sensitive to the way narratives have been controlled by cis straight writers and played by cis straight actors. In 2007, author J.K. Rowling — a straight cis woman — retroactively revealed that Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was gay and had previously been in a romantic relationship with friend Gellert Grindelwald. Over a decade later, many queer Harry Potter fans (myself included) were upset when director David Yates announced that The Crimes of Grindelwald (2018) would “not explicitly” portray Dumbledore’s sexuality.

To make matters more complicated, both leads Nick Robinson of Love, Simon and Michael Cimino of the spin-off series Love, Victor identify as straight. Frustratingly, Disney Plus moved the series to Hulu because the sexual exploration depicted was not deemed to be “family-friendly content”. With so little representation on screen, it’s no surprise fans are desperate for idols off screen.

My Thing

In the Medium post, Albertalli wrote, “Let me be perfectly clear: this isn’t how I wanted to come out. This doesn’t feel good or empowering, or even particularly safe. Honestly, I’m doing this because I’ve been scrutinized, subtweeted, mocked, lectured, and invalidated just about every single day for years, and I’m exhausted. And if you think I’m the only closeted or semi-closeted queer author feeling this pressure, you haven’t been paying attention.”

Should a grown woman in a differently-sexed relationship have to come out as bisexual to justify her role in the queer community? What kind of precedent does this demand for transparency set? It all leaves a bad taste in my mouth. The queer community should not push anyone out of the closet.

Demanding that only publicly out authors and actors can tell queer stories automatically excludes closeted and questioning members of the LGBT+ community. This stringent policing of identity creates a toxic environment for creators and audiences alike. Until we find a definitive answer to what we owe ourselves and each other, such occurrences will undoubtedly continue.

Meanwhile, on Instagram, Albertalli echoed her character Simon, writing, “Dear book community: this was supposed to be my thing.” It’s tragically poetic that Simon Spier would be denied agency over his own sexuality as now has Albertalli.

Fellow author Julie Murphy responded to Albertalli’s Medium post on Twitter, “I love Becky and I’m happy for her, but I’m so angry that it came to this and that she didn’t get to come out on her own terms. I felt this exact pressure to defend my own queerness when RAMONA BLUE came out and it was deeply heartbreaking.”

Empathy

When I met Becky Albertalli at the North Texas Teen Book Festival a few years ago, it did not occur to me to ask about her sexuality. That is simply not an appropriate way to treat people. For me, it was enough to see someone who reminded me of myself portrayed in media. It didn’t matter if Becky Albertalli wasn’t exactly like Simon Spier. That’s the beauty of writing, imagining new stories and relating to all kinds of people. Love, Simon felt authentic to me and I never saw Albertalli as someone profiting off a community that was not her own.

I teared up multiple times at the movie theater, while thinking about what a film like Love, Simon would have meant for a younger version of myself and what it means now for a new generation of queer teens who are trying to understand themselves.

As Wade Davis, vice president of inclusion at Netflix, succinctly explains, “It’s a selfish act to demand that someone declare their sexuality.” In the digital age — in which so much of our private lives is made public — it may seem like fans are owed every detail about their favorite authors, artists, and celebrities but we are not entitled to all parts of a stranger’s identity. The motto of the 21st century should not be “Everyone belongs to everyone else,” a la Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World.

“Anyway, all of this is to say: I’m bi. Sorry it took me so long to get here,” Albertalli concludes. It’s vulnerable, raw, and devastating. No one should feel like they must apologize for how they come out, or how long it took them to do so. Pride is not a race, nor a competition.

Today, I’m sending thoughts to Becky Albertalli, Simon Spier, and all queer people who were not awarded the agency to come out when they felt ready. To those who may be closeted or questioning — no matter your age or situation — I encourage you to take your time. Your safety and comfort is of the utmost importance. There is no rush, I promise.