“I have always been conscious that my look doesn’t fit with society’s view of heteronormativity. So much so, that it eventually “became key to the styles associated with queer movements like ACT up and Queer Nation in the 80s and 90s” – activist organisations working against anti-gay violence and the AIDS pandemic. The reclamation of the shaved head as both a smart and subcultural look, therefore, became an act of transgression for many gay male skinheads.
Take gay skinheads for example, whose hair became a symbol of defiance during the institutionalised homophobia surrounding the AIDS crisis.ĭr Cole explains that in the West, shaving heads not only has an association with criminal activity but even “has resonances with the Holocaust and (the often forgotten) queer victims of concentration camps”. And hair, as one of our most visible aspects, went from self-expression to political motif. In fact, it fulfilled a vital function at a time when the ability to accurately suss out a situation was essential, if not fatal.Īs these codes evolved, they unwittingly became key to the development of visible queer communities. This kind of flagging, with its "codes and aesthetic styles, was imperative for recognition between like-minded people”. Here, the dressing of handkerchiefs, keychains, and piercings formed part of a vernacular which communicated sexual preference (and kink) to a knowing audience. After all, “the gay liberation movements were built by people who had distinct and visible aesthetic codes.”Īmong these signifiers were gay semiotics, which arose during the 70s when it was illegal to declare any queer sexual identity. Dr Shaun Cole, associate professor in fashion at the University of Southampton, says that “as members of a marginalised community, recognisable aesthetics are and always have been important to queer people”. Queer folk in general though have a long history of signalling identity via personal aesthetics. In the slipstream of femme and tomboy, the bi bob (ironically) defies categorisation – reflecting back that same duality of identity which so many bisexuals inhabit.
For Jordan at least, it’s “straight-up ambiguous with femme energy”. Whether it’s the liminal length or nondescript style, there is something about the haircut that appears to signal sexual fluidity. While she says her hair often ends up “more like a stubby ponytail”, there’s no denying that the bisexual bob is something of a phenomenon, as seen on everyone from Brooke Candy, to Tessa Thompson, to Eleanor (Kristen Bell) in The Good Place, with Joan of Arc as its apparent originator (at least according to Twitter). The haircut, which grows anywhere between chin and shoulder-length, has, of late, become one of the most identifiable tropes of bisexual culture. “Once I had it, though, I thought it might at least convey the fact that I fancy women”, she tells us. It was by complete accident and split ends that Jordan, a writer from London, got her first ‘bisexual bob’. Not every lesbian has an undercut and not every gay guy has bleached his hair blonde, but they do appear to form part of the new queer semiotics. Hairstyles are not prescriptive to sexual identity (of course).