As a Bi Filipina, Working at Allure Philippines is the Safe Space I Didn’t Expect

“I’m not even sure bisexuality exists. I think it’s just a layover on the way to Gaytown.”

I immediately clicked on “next episode” before Carrie Bradshaw could say more.

I know, I know. Sex and the City is just fictional—plus, the TV series aired in the early 2000s. But I just couldn’t stomach that one episode where they talk about bisexuality.

Because even in reality, in this day and age, there are still people who treat what Carrie said as gospel truth. That being bi is just for attention. That we’ll just pick a side eventually. That we’re just curious, or my personal favorite—just a phase (such a classic!).

It’s just like a broken record that keeps going on and on. It’s exhausting. If that’s what people assume bisexuality is, then where do people like us even belong?

I didn’t always have an answer to that. But recently, when I began my career journey at Allure Philippines, I found something I hadn’t experienced before—a safe space.

Although that hadn’t always been the case.

Not all “safe” spaces are truly safe

Back when I started to question my sexuality, I didn’t give it much thought. You’d imagine that studying in an all-girls school would’ve been a safe environment for me to explore it. But that wasn’t the case at all.

I transferred to an all-girls school in senior high school, and one of my queer classmates made a joke about how us newcomers who were straight would turn gay by the time we graduated. But it wasn’t just a joke for her—she was very serious about it. To the point where she wanted to bet real money on it, as if she were gambling on our identities. I hadn’t even identified as bi yet at that time, but I already felt deeply unsettled.

It shocked me how queerness was treated like a punchline, a bet, or something to profit off of. Like it was some inevitable scandal just waiting to happen.

Worse, I later found out some teachers would forcibly out students to their parents during parent-teacher conferences. I was disgusted. I thought society had already moved past that. But I guess in an institution rooted in religion, queerness was still treated as something shameful. And even though I had friends who were part of the community, I never really felt safe given what was going on. I didn’t bother addressing my confusion because I already knew how it would be perceived.

The bi-erasure

Years later, when I finally realized I was bi, I didn’t tell anyone. Well, not right away. I have to admit, I was genuinely scared to identify myself as a bisexual because I know other people in the community had it harder.

I wasn’t outed. I wasn’t bullied for it. I wasn’t visibly queer—I was straight-passing. But that’s the thing. I didn’t look “queer enough.” I worried some people might think I shouldn’t have the audacity to call myself bisexual, especially when others have had to fight for their identities out loud.

And in a society that still raises its brows at queerness, appearing straight was a safety blanket for me. Honestly? It’s not like I was actively hiding it. I just never felt like I needed to announce it—because people assumed I was straight anyway. And besides, I don’t owe anyone an explanation. But when I do say it, I’m often met with doubt.

Even within the LGBTQIAP+ community, I’ve had people dismiss my identity. An old friend—who’s queer herself—only found out recently that I’m bi after we reconnected. I brought it up, thinking she’d understand. Instead, she was in utter disbelief. And even after I told her, it felt like it never really registered. She kept on brushing it off, and at one point joked, “Ayan, lumalabas pagkastraight mo.” Like I never said to her that I was bi at all.

It felt strange—alienating, even. Because when someone from your own community shrugs you off, it makes you question whether you’re truly welcome anywhere. Just because I’m more romantically interested in men doesn’t mean I’m not bisexual. Attraction doesn’t have to be a perfect 50/50 (God forbid a girl who’s bad at math is expected to calculate her queerness down to the right percentage!).

After feeling invisible for so long, I stopped trying to show up as my full self. It felt easier to just move through spaces without drawing attention. Then something changed—in the last place I expected it to.

Allure Philippines welcomed me with open arms

But then came Allure Philippines—my very first job in the beauty industry, and I had only just been newly regularized.

I’m fairly new. I haven’t “made it” yet. But even in this early stage of my career, something rare happened: For the first time, I found myself in a space where I could finally remove my invisibility cloak and be my truest self.

When I told my teammates, they didn’t even bat an eyelash. They didn’t make a fuss about it or bombard me with invasive questions. They simply acknowledged it wholeheartedly. And I appreciated them for it. That kind of quiet permission—to take up space fully and unapologetically—was something I didn’t realize I had been craving for all this time.

I didn’t feel like I had to prove anything to belong. We can talk about life, love, and work freely with no judgment whatsoever. It’s quite refreshing to talk about new releases in beauty and our current favorites while being able to be my most authentic self in a professional setting.

The truth is, I know not every part of the beauty industry is like this—at least, not yet. There’s still so much work to be done. But my experience at Allure Philippines showed me what it could be. That when inclusion is intentional, when identity is respected without question, a workplace can become more than just a job. It can be a haven. And I hope one day it could be that way for everyone.

In a world that often tries to erase the in-between, beauty helped me reclaim mine. So no, Carrie—bisexuality isn’t a layover on the way to Gaytown.

I’m not seeking attention.

I’m not confused.

And I’m not “just going through a phase.”

Being bisexual is valid, whole, and real. It’s not something I’ll grow out of. It’s not a stop along the way—it’s who I’ve always been, finally said out loud with pride.