Zach and the City: All of Me
It is more than a little ironic. I spent so many years confused about my identity, and now I am frustrated about being so often reduced to it. Or, more specifically, to a single aspect of it.
In college, I would lie awake asking myself, “What am I?” as if I were this AI robot that had just gained self-awareness. I would think I was straight; then I would masturbate to gay porn. Then I would think I was gay, only to fall in love with yet another woman. Eventually, I came to embrace my bisexuality and promptly became known as “the bi guy”.
A few years later, I found myself in a polyamorous relationship, living with my boyfriend, his wife, and her girlfriend. During that time, I often complained that my identity was reduced to being poly. It seemed like everything in my life was about loving multiple people. It was the topic of every conversation. It dictated whom I hung out with, and not a day went by without someone in our circle making the same god-awful observation, like: “OMG, I was talking to this person today about my relationships and her mouth dropped to the floor!” I would think to myself, “Isn’t that super annoying, getting that same response year after year? Wouldn’t you like to talk about something else?”
Recently, I have shifted from asking “What am I?” to “How can people see the real me, with all my complexities?” Because even though my Instagram is mostly just nude photos of my hairy ass, I ain’t no basic bitch. Yes, I am a bisexual, polyamorous, sex-positive, millennial kinkster. At this point, pretty much everyone out there knows that. We can even throw in Jewish, atheist, gym-lover, Brooklynite, Club Kid, avid reader, TV fanatic, and slut, for good measure. Currently, the most salient aspect of my identity is the fact that I am single (seriously, feel free to slide into my DMs on both Twitter and Instagram). And yet, I am more than all of these things, too.
But how can I make people see the totality of who I am? How can I avoid being reduced to a single aspect of my identity?
I am very aware that writing about identity is how I make a living, so I recognize the role I play in this process of reduction. I also have a financial interest in keeping it up since I recently moved to Bushwick, and this apartment costs an arm and a leg (I have to pay for it somehow!). But even though I am partly responsible, so too is society.
We exist in an era of branding (I hate this term as much as the next person, but hear me out). Whether an individual or a big conglomerate, branding boils down to: be one thing and stick to it. The idea behind this strategy is to have people come to you for that one thing, whether it’s body positivity, knowledge about an esoteric historical niche, an eco-friendly car, or, in my case, being a slutty queer.
The reason for this emphasis on branding is that everything must be “snackable” in our fast-paced, bite-size internet era. We have grown accustomed to having everything at our fingertips without searching for more than a moment, and anything much beyond that won’t hold our attention. Highly specific brands save us time. You know exactly what you’re going to get without having to think. If your brand is too complicated or nuanced, if it takes more than five seconds for us to understand what you’re about, we won’t go to you. Why would we, when we could just as easily head to a person or company that more effectively specializes in the one specific thing we seek?
In this environment, being multifaceted is a detriment. You become too difficult to categorize and are no longer an attractive snack. This, I believe, is why I have become less complex — at least in terms of my branding. I have reduced myself to being slutty and bisexual, which is good for promoting my career, but makes it more challenging to feel truly seen in the world as a complete person.
Don’t get me wrong — I truly live by my brand. Before the pandemic, I was out there fucking day in and day out (a couple of months ago, for example, I had sex with three different men in the steam room at a sex sauna party. It was divine, even if I nearly passed out from the heat!). But this exemplifies my problem. I share these experiences because they are entertaining and salacious, but if I want to be seen as a more three-dimensional human being, I am going to have to balance how I present myself and what I discuss with my readers, family, and friends. I will have to talk about my dating woes (and not just the sex), my work struggles, the joys I get from my friends, and my other passions.
How can I do this without hurting my career? If people are coming to my Twitter or Instagram for slutty or bi content only to see me discussing a funny TV show I love, some people will surely be confused. They might then start turning to other more specific brands for their slutty or bi content. And if I’m no longer known as “the bi guy”, what will I be known for?
I’m not sure yet, but that’s okay. I want to feel more like my authentic self, which I will if I can present all the aspects of myself instead of a distinct few. That is what I am after. Not to be that guy, but I want to emerge from my apartment after all of this a new me — well, let me take that back. I’ll be my same awesome self, but it will be the whole me, not just a shallow avatar. If you are feeling pigeonholed into your identity, I encourage you to do the same. It is a risk, to be sure, but it’s one worth taking.
Published May 1, 2020
Updated Dec 30, 2022
Published in Issue VI: Identity
