It was on a family trip to San Francisco , in my early tweens, that I saw what I recognized to be a real, true to life lesbian for the first time. Two, actually. I could tell because they held hands. After that, I started seeing lesbians everywhere. Well, not everywhere. But around. Vacation, it seemed, was about lesbian-spotting.
This was the early aughts, when absolutely no appropriate lesbian television shows or movies or really even books for girls my age existed. My sixth sense continued as I grew up. I'd scout out lesbians, studying them as if looking for clues. My overactive imagination would wonder who these women were and where they lived and if their families still talked to them and if they had to lie at their jobs about their personal lives to afford a very nice vacation.
I was curious, totally unaware of why I was so staunchly fascinated by these strangers, like objects in a museum. Years later, I found myself embodying my role as the lesbian at the resort with my now-wife, on a long weekend getaway to Sandals South Coast in Jamaica. Nice Guy? In August , following over a decade of criticism and pushback, the chain rolled back its restrictions, pushing for more inclusive marketing. It worked, swaying a proud, coupled lesbian like me to want to lay on the white beach and eat pasta chased by a frozen Bob Marleyβthree layers of slushie in the color of the Jamaican flag, thinned with a generous pour of rum.
Sandals, whose marketing is targeted toward heterosexual couples eager for a luxe romantic getaway to a white sand beach, merely blended in with me to the majority of mass marketing in America. Two women together were presumed to be friends, guests at one of the many weddings taking place on the property. I was in Jamaica to relax, not to feel like I was being scrutinized or morally evaluated for holding hands with my partner.
Under the stars and illuminated by the light of the spa, several dozen towels lay rolled and styled across the grass. We took a picture, laughed, and sipped our sugary drinks at the welcome cliche of it all. We were seenβand heartedβfor who we were, if only in fluffy white hotel towels. Most Popular. By Jessica Puckett.
