what marriage means to this queer

First somewhat unserious blog in a while. My apologies.

I was in one of my sociology classes the other day and the concept of marriage came up. Specifically, we were talking about queer marriage, and how it can be seen as a commodity. The idea being that heterosexual hegemonic society is selling queer marriage as “Hey, if you want to fit in, if you want legitimacy, if you want to be taken seriously… Here's marriage. Just do it like we do.” And then, naturally, the follow-up argument: maybe queers should resist marriage altogether.

And I don’t know, something about it just didn’t sit right with me. Not because I’ve always been pro-marriage, or anything of the sort, but because it felt like I was being told that wanting marriage as a queer person was somehow embarrassing. Or worse, conformist. Like I’d accidentally failed some invisible political test just by liking the idea of a wedding.

Which is funny, because if you knew me growing up, you would know that I was not exactly the poster child for “marriage is the goal”. I grew up in the church (shocker, I know), where marriage between a man and a woman was very much positioned as the endgame for women. Like, that was it. That was the dream. Find a husband, get married, tick the box, well done.

My parents showed me that even without marriage, long lasting partnership is achievable (35 years and counting!). Since they were 27 and 21. And they are still not married. Not even a little bit. No secret courthouse wedding, no rings tucked away in a drawer somewhere. Just… commitment. A long-term partnership that has outlived most marriages I know, without ever needing to be formalised. Unnecessary for them, but not something they’d judge me for if I wanted it.

Since childhood I’ve had two opposing opinions yelled into either ear, and fly out the other. The church telling me marriage is everything, home showing me it’s actually not that important. And for most of my life, I leaned toward my parents’ view. I didn’t really believe in marriage. I didn’t see the point. It felt a bit outdated, a bit performative, maybe even a bit hollow.

I’ve never been one to celebrate the sanctity of marriage, nor even one to believe in it. But something has changed in my brain's chemistry. The idea of marriage is something I hold dearly, I’m not sure why this changed but it did. 

So sitting in that class, being told (not directly, but you know when something is heavily implied) that queer people should resist marriage, felt weirdly personal. Like I was being told that this thing I’ve quietly started to value is actually just me buying into the system. And I get the argument. I really do. Marriage is tied to systems of power. It has been used historically to control people, to enforce norms, to reward certain relationships while excluding others. And yes, it can absolutely be commodified into this big, expensive performance of love that’s more about aesthetics than anything else.

But also… Why does it have to be that black and white?

Someone in the class said, “why does the government need to know about our love?” which, fair. But at the same time, not that long ago, queer people weren’t even allowed to exist openly, let alone get married. In a lot of places, that’s still the case. When I think about queer marriage, I don’t just see assimilation. I see visibility. I see people stating “we’re here, we’re in love, and we deserve to celebrate that publicly if we want to.”

And yes, maybe a wedding looks “traditional” on the surface. But the people in it? The history behind it? The fact that it’s even happening? That’s not traditional at all. That’s something that had to be fought for.

Also, and maybe this is just me being stubborn, but as someone who is both queer and gender non-conforming (it’s okay, my family do not read this blog lol), there is literally no version of my life where I am doing anything in a heteronormative way. Even if I got married in the most basic, boring ceremony imaginable, it would still be queer. My existence makes it queer.

So why should I feel weird about wanting that?

I also think there’s this underlying assumption in a lot of these arguments that we can somehow exist completely outside of systems like capitalism, corruption, surveillance, all of that. Like if we just reject marriage, we’ve escaped. But I don’t think that’s how it works. I’m already in the system. We all are. I can’t just opt out of society because it’s flawed.

If I’m stuck here anyway, why can’t I choose the parts that bring me joy?

Why can’t I celebrate my relationship in a way that feels meaningful to me, even if that happens to look like marriage?

I think what frustrated me most about that class wasn’t the critique itself, because I do think it’s important to question these things, but the implication that there’s a “right” way to be queer. You either reject all traditional institutions and are therefore politically aware, or you engage with them and you’ve somehow failed. 

Not all marriage is good. Not all marriage is bad. It’s not something everyone should aspire to, and it’s definitely not something that should define your worth or your success in life. But it’s also not something that needs to be completely written off as inherently oppressive. Sometimes it’s just two people who love each other and want to celebrate that in a way that feels big and public and joyful.

If it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t.

But I’m not interested in being told that my desire for love is somehow less radical because it doesn’t look like resistance in its purest form. Queerness has never been one-size-fits-all, and I refuse the idea that there is a morally superior way to exist within it. For some of us, resistance looks like rejection. For others, it looks like reclamation. 

There is something powerful about taking an institution that once excluded us, criminalised us, erased us, and saying: we belong here too, on our own terms. Not because we need validation, but because we deserve access. Because we deserve joy that isn’t hidden, softened, or made palatable for anyone else.

I don’t want marriage to be the goal. I don’t want it to be the measure of a life well lived. But I also refuse to treat it as something inherently shameful just because it has been shaped by systems I don’t agree with. Everything has. We are all navigating structures that were not built with us in mind.

So, if I choose softness, if I choose celebration, if I choose something that looks, on the surface, a little bit traditional… that doesn’t make me less queer, less critical, or less aware. It just means I am choosing, in a world that has tried very hard to limit those choices.

And maybe that’s the point.

-aleesha :P