By Pamela Vallejos Chavez
“Bi women always end up with men.” It’s a dismissal I’ve heard countless times, deployed as evidence that bisexuality isn’t queer or doesn’t exist. But this stereotype isn’t wrong because bi women don’t partner with men; it’s wrong because it interprets a structural outcome as a personal preference. Women’s bisexuality is not inherently male-centric. What this stereotype actually reveals is the power of heteropatriarchy, compulsory heterosexuality, and biphobia working together to funnel bi women toward men—and then it blames us for arriving at the destination we were pushed toward.
Primed for the Heterosexual Script
From the moment we are gendered—whether in the womb, in our first interactions with family members, or with strangers—we are set on a heterosexual path. Comments like “That baby boy is gonna be a stud,” or casual predictions that baby boys and baby girls will date in the future prime us from the start. We live in a heteronormative society and, for a lot of bi people, this script feels accessible because we do have that attraction to different genders. We can see ourselves fitting, at least partially, within the heteronormative standard.
But fitting partially means other attractions get pushed to the side. Our attraction to people of the same gender becomes harder to recognize when we can already check the boxes of what’s expected. The heteronormative path does more than offer us a route—it tries to block our view of other roads entirely.
Why Bi Women “End Up With Men”
That is where the pervasive stereotype about bi women always ending up with men comes from. What I’ve found in my conversations with other bi people is that this isn’t about some inevitable preference or natural gravitational pull. It’s structural.
Bisexual women feel attraction toward men, yes. But society is constructed in such a way that it promotes, enforces, and makes compulsory the search for a male mate. Of course it seems like a lot of bi women are with men—it’s literally easier. The heterosexual path is paved, lit, and lined with signposts. Meanwhile, our way of relating to women is often obscured. It’s difficult to identify and differentiate admiration from attraction. That’s why falling in love with your best friend is such a canonical experience for sapphic women—we’re not taught to recognize our own desire when it’s directed at women. We are taught desire through a male gaze and socialized to seek male validation.
The Questioning Cascade
What I’ve learned from my conversations with other bi people is that coming into their bisexuality and exploring same-gender relationships—or exploring dynamics outside the heteronormative standard—has allowed them to question the impositions of heteronormativity: find a mate, marry, reproduce. And following that script can be harmful. You can find yourself in a relationship that isn’t actually safe or healthy or nurturing, just because you felt like you had to follow the script.
This questioning doesn’t only happen when we pursue same-gender relationships. It can also emerge when we challenge the dynamics within our relationships with men—refusing to play out gendered scripts, rejecting the relationship escalator, or reimagining what partnership means outside of compulsory monogamy. This is bisexuality’s disruptive potential: once we start questioning any part of the predetermined path, the whole structure becomes visible. We can finally ask ourselves: “What do I actually want? What serves me? What feels nurturing rather than compulsory?”
Beyond Romance
When we speak about bisexuality, we often frame it through our relationships—sexual or romantic—with people of other genders. But I believe the conversation needs to expand beyond romantic partnership. Friendships are key. Being single can mean being complete when you have friends, family (chosen or biological), and community that sustain you.
In the end, whether we end up in a relationship with a man, woman, or nonbinary person, it should be because we want to share our life with that person, because we feel nurtured, because we feel safe, and because they feel like home. Not because a script written before we were born told us that’s what we’re supposed to do.
Pamela Vallejos Chavez (she/her/ella) is a communications strategist, bi+ activist, and gender researcher based in Lima, Peru. She is co-founder of Orgullo Bi, Peru’s first bi+ collective, and founder of Soy Bisexual, a Spanish language bi+ educational platform.
Photo caption text:
Pamela with sign that says in Spanish “I am bisexual and my rights should not depend on the gender of my partner.” Marcha para la Igualdad, Lima, Peru, 2015.