Lavender With Envy

Thoughts On Old Stories, Old Arrangements And Stepping Stools

This is Sitting Queerly, a newsletter focused on the late blooming queer experience, the lofty goal of opening up conversations and celebrating those who embrace their full selves.

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It was through Rocky and Bullwinkle and Friends that I first became aware of Aesop.

The “Aesop & Son” features were satirical plays on the classic fables attributed to a renowned Ancient Greek storyteller who may not have actually existed. Many of them involved anthropomorphic animals, the most famous of which was probably the tale of the fox and the hare of “slow and steady wins the race” fame.

Beginning in middle school, I liked to spend any free time I could get at school in the library. This was how I came upon a collection of Aesop’s fables and, remembering the dated cartoons of my childhood, took it down and checked it out.

I honestly don’t remember anything about the book except one tale, which wasn’t even one that I’d seen on television. It was the tale of the Fox and the Grapes, which is a particularly short fable. Paraphrasing Phaedrus, who was the first to ascribe any tales to Aesop:

Driven by hunger, a fox tried to reach some grapes hanging high on the vine but was unable to, although he leaped with all his strength. As he went away, the fox remarked 'Oh, you aren't even ripe yet! I don't need any sour grapes.' People who speak disparagingly of things that they cannot attain would do well to apply this story to themselves.

At the time, I synthesized the takeaway of this fable as a way to feel better about being bullied. I was fairly good at school without much effort and they were jealous of that, I reasoned. Of course, it could also be said that I abhorred them because most of them were athletic and popular, but self-reflection is often not the forte of adolescents.

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I have a few Google alerts set up for certain words and phrases. One of those alerts is for “mixed orientation marriage,” and it rarely triggers a notification, at least compared to the others. While I’ve seen mainstream publications publish more writing about queer folks being in straight-presenting marriages, it’s still a difficult concept for many people to write about, much less objectively. And often, when there is something well-written about mixed orientation marriages, it is from an angle, at best, of emotional struggle and anguish for all or both parties.

Recently, I got a few different alerts regarding Samantha Greenstone and Jacob Hoff, a straight woman and gay man profiled by The New York Times, who recently married each other after becoming best friends. They’ve been a couple for eight years and both of them knew the other’s sexuality from the get go. The couple has said they want to show that their marriage—which others have described as a “lavender marriage”—is just as fulfilling and valid as any union between folks who are sexually attracted to each other. Nor does the sexual orientation of their partner erase their individual identities:

“I am gay, and as a gay person, you can keep your identity as that even if your relationship doesn’t match that,” said Mr. Hoff, describing the relationship as mixed orientation. “We have a monogamous relationship. It’s beyond a visual lustful connection. It’s a soulful connection.”

When I first read about Jacob and Samantha in Queerty, I kinda rolled my eyes. Of course their social media influencers, I thought. I have no doubt that they care deeply for each other—the bond between best friends can be intense and sincere. But this had the feel of a veneer of marketing and performance, a convenient and attention-grabbing means for publicity, a stepping stool to get their heads above the crowd.

I’ve never really believed when people say they married their best friend even when they’re both of the same sexual orientation. Even if that were true, I tended to view such a relationship as unhealthy. Coming out has made that conviction stronger—it made me see how I had arranged my life to serve the needs of my marriage to the detriment of my own, feeding into my anxiety and depression, my belief that I was only of value by being a husband and parent.

The concept of lavender marriages existed long before this couple walked down the aisle and got on TikTok; long before I and my fellow post-heterosexual friends finally found the courage to be who we are despite our straight-presenting lives and being married to and/or having children with women; long before the titular characters of Will & Grace agreed to marry each other should they both still be single by a certain age. Just as arranged marriages were often for reasons beyond true love, so were lavender marriages: they secured resources for survival, created opportunities available via each partner’s connections. They provided protection—be it social, physical, emotional or otherwise—for one or both parties.

But unlike arranged marriages, knowledge of someone’s lavender marriage was not commonly shared. If anything, if a couple was suspected of being in such a relationship, it was whispered about and referred to derisively. They would go to lengths to dispel rumors that were true, such as actor Rock Hudson marrying Phyllis Gates to counter media stories about him being gay. Sure, the parties involved usually were able to at least tolerate each other, maybe were even fond of each other, but they didn’t consider those feelings as love. Concealment was the goal.

Queer folk can now marry those they love and enjoy protections against discrimination, at least in those aspects of life impacted by federal or state legislation¹. At the same time, growing understanding of human sexuality and it being just one factor in human behavior and relationships shows that unions can be more than just a man and a woman, nor even just a man and a man or a woman and a woman. Marriage need not include the bearing of children as a goal, involve penetrative sex or require the parties to have sex at all, nor need it preclude either of them from not having sex with other people.

Unlike in my youth, I now have the slight self-awareness to ask myself why I was so quick to dismiss Jacob and Samantha’s relationship. It bothered me that I was bothered by this marriage between two people who I’d never met. I wouldn’t question the love between two gay men who have a dead bedroom and have an open relationship but remain married and fond of each other. I wouldn’t doubt the authenticity of folks whose gender and/or sexuality is fluid and yet remain committed to one person who is otherwise static in their identity. You’d think I would be elated to read about Jacob and Samantha reveling in their relationship, a relationship that comes as close to the one I have with my wife, who has done nothing but accept and continue to love me, and I her, since I came out as bi/queer nearly two years ago.

So long as there is mutual respect, transparency and communication, any type of marriage is possible. It’s a relationship built on working well together and, when something isn’t working, a strong marriage allows a couple to find out why it isn’t working and find a solution. And a strong marriage can support someone individually, too. As I wrote in my wedding vows, I’m tall enough to get things down from high places for my wife, but she does the same for me by letting me continue to put her on my shoulders, to reach those things I can’t achieve or obtain on my own.

But Jacob and Samantha can do more than climb onto each other’s shoulders. They have a stepping stool, a means to reach even higher than me. And I’m seeing them out in the world, gathering what they need to build a life together and I feel like they can reach something I never can, not even with my wife’s help.

Jacob and Stepanie don’t see the stepping stool as anything special; they just had it and thought to use it. But I know I have a stepping stool back home in the front closet. I wasn’t sure I was allowed to use it. I didn’t want to be the only one with a stepping stool, have to figure out what to do with it if I couldn’t use it, afraid that others would see it as a way to compensate for my wife’s short stature.

So I left it at home.

The ground’s pretty uneven here, I wouldn’t trust myself not to fall over, I think, admonishing Jacob and Stephanie’s recklessness. They’re such show-offs, I reason, looking at my perfectly beautiful wife and life. They’ll never last, I tell myself, as they go about their life.

But deep down, I know these comments to myself are to distract me from quieter, darker ones said barely above a whisper. The ones that remind me of one simple fact: that ultimately, my marriage is a lavender marriage. Did I love my wife and do I still love her? Yes. But I can’t change the past, can’t ever know that I would have made the same choice if I hadn’t felt I needed to hide.

I can’t change that, on some level, I entered into marriage with some miniscule hope or belief that it would help me hide who I am. That I wouldn’t need to use a stepping stool.

1. Not sure how much longer this may be the case, but let’s not dwell on that looming storm for the moment.