As far as I was concerned, equality hadn’t arrived until it arrived for everyone.
On the flight home from Stockholm – a much more pleasant easyJet flight – I considered where I’d been personally at the start of my journey, how I didn’t feel queer and I didn’t feel not queer; why I had been able to come out to the world comfortably, but it didn’t necessarily follow that I was comfortable with myself; why my lifestyle, my politics and my desires were caught within a binary. I suppose I had felt confused about what the LGBTQ+ people before me had been fighting for: our right to be the same as everyone else, or to be different. Now, I realized, it was both, it was the ability to choose.
Relationship-wise, I had ended up in one that wasn’t a million miles away from the relationships that Madde and her friends had – self-constructed, on their own terms. Emily and I had committed to each other, and despite the family difficulties, we had built our own family, with its own language, formulation and ever-shifting parameters. We negotiated everything, constantly: children, monogamy, being together. It felt like there was no power imbalance, no immovable set of rules. Her trust, the fact that she never grilled me about what I was doing, meant that it didn’t feel as if there were any strict boundaries to step over. No matter how heteronormative the choices we made in the future might be, something about that felt quite radical.
But ultimately, being in a relationship wasn’t the point; whether or not it worked out, I no longer viewed the rest of my life as two paths set before me. I had seen enough to know that there wasn’t one version of success or failure. Throughout my journey I had experienced a weight – a literal weight – lifting, as I came to understand that we don’t have to be one thing or the other, but can be many things at once.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Thank you to my agent, friend and life coach, Emma Paterson, and my editor Kris Doyle at Picador, as well as everyone else at Picador who lent their expertise, particularly Grace Harrison. Thanks to Emily, Natasha Bloor and Bryony White for being my first readers, and so generous with your time.
To Sarah Raphael, Kate Ward, Christene Barberich and Gillian Orr at Refinery29 for your support and mentorship. To the editors at Vice who taught me so much when I started, and later, Nosheen Iqbal at the Guardian, Hanna Hanra at i-D, Sam Wolfson at Vice and Alice Casely-Hayford at Vogue for the work that allowed me to support myself while writing this. Plus my colleagues at Dazed and Dazed Beauty who have been very encouraging and understanding.
I’d like to thank everyone who let me sleep on their sofa or in their spare room after Iceland – Tessa, Kirsty, Ella, Kate and big sis Hannah Philp – and when I was writing and researching this book: mad aunts Debbie and Joanne, and Alix, Lottie, Madde and Patrick – I owe you.
Also, a huge thanks to my unofficial fixers; Masa Milutinovic and Jovana Netković from Vice Serbia, and Cathy Renna in New York. In Turkey, Louise Callaghan (I’d never tell you to your face but I’m in awe of you), as well as the incredibly kind and brilliant Ekim Açun.
To Gays Aloud for teaching me how to be gay: Zara Toppin, Zoe Marden, Samuel Douek, Bryony Stone, Hannah Hopkins, Luke Ferris, Fiontan Moran and Rafaela De Ascanio Hughes. Then, of course, to my loves Tom Rasmussen and Amrou Al-Kadhi. I’m so proud of both of you (and highly recommend your books to anyone reading this). And to the divine goddess Paris Lees, for always giving great advice, whether or not I asked for it!
It also feels important here to thank Professor John Howard, who first taught me what queer studies was and who has remained a dear friend, Amin Ghaziani for your kindness and for informing the way that I think about things, and Michael Warner, Sarah Schulman and Jack Halberstam for your work, which has been a massive influence.
I’d like to thank Claire, Lyss, Fiona, Lottie, Jenna, Nat, Sara, Poppy and Trew for your support over the years, and Sasha, Penny and Alice. Plus, of course, my family: my father Steve Abraham, my mother Martine, my stepmother Tessa, and my brother and sister, the lovely Harry and Stella.
And finally, I’d like to thank everyone in the book for sharing their stories.
The original ‘Lady Marmalade’ was written in 1974 by duo Bob Crewe and Kenny Nolan. The lyrics quoted on page 146 are from the 2001 cover version, recorded for the soundtrack of Baz Luhrmann’s Moulin Rouge!, by Christina Aguilera, Lil’ Kim, Mýa, and Pink, and produced by Missy Elliott and writing partner Rockwilder. The lyrics from ‘Vogue’ quoted on page 230 were written by Madonna Ciccone and Shep Pettibone.
Some small sections of this book appear courtesy of Refinery29 UK and Vice UK, where they were first published; my thanks to them both.
AMELIA ABRAHAM (b. 1991) is a journalist from London. She has worked as an editor at VICE, Refinery29 and Dazed. Her main interest is LGBTQ+ identity politics, and she has written on this topic for the Guardian, the Observer, the Independent, the Sunday Times, the New Statesman, ES Magazine, i-D and Vogue. She also writes about feminist issues, human rights, health, arts and culture, and sex. Queer Intentions is her first book.
First published 2019 by Picador
This electronic edition first published 2019 by Picador
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ISBN 978-1-5098-6615-1
Copyright © Amelia Abraham 2019
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Author photo © Lily Rose Thomas
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