By Janie Kang
There she was. Her glowing, smooth skin reflected the early morning sun. Her dark brown hair stuck out in cute, spunky spikes of a pixie cut, the side of her head shaved. The sass and laughter shone through the beautiful clash of colors in her hazel eyes, her dimpled smile bright and daring. The silver on her nose ring winked back at me, an invitation to explore a world that was forbidden. From the CD player raging in my bedroom, Alanis Morissette’s “Head Over Feet” seemed apt for the situation.
I had fallen in love with an image. And not just any image. As I stared down at the January 1993 issue of Sassy magazine broadcasting the newest Sassiest Girl in America, something stirred within me. And not in just an “Oh, you are a cool badass” kind of way, but also in an “I’d sell my left kidney to go on a date with you” kind of way. That’s when I first became aware of my non-straightness. My Catholic self admonished, “Uh oh, this won’t go over well with Mom and Dad.” Still, some part of me was curious to explore the universe within and without that eventually became my bi/pansexual identity.
Sassy piqued my interest as it stood out from the typical teen magazine featuring a size two model and admonishments of “What is wrong with you and how do we change it so that you can get THE guy so you’re not a loser?”. Instead, the writers for Sassy also talked about things like women’s rights, the state of the world, “how to be a politically incorrect teenage journalist,” and the “latest ska craze—a revolution or just a phase?”—while still feeding the hetero-normative, boy-crazy vibe. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t a total mind shift, but it was still one that sparked my mind and heart that maybe I didn’t have to conform to be whole. Maybe there was a tribe out there filled with lovely individuals like the Sassiest Girl in America who was respected for all the different layers that make up a woman.
We had just moved to Washington state when I hit puberty, and the culture shock was real. My East Coast accent and open demeanor was met with suspicious glares and sneers. The West Coast girls I hung around exuded elite isolation as much as their collection perfume scent. My half-Asian, half-White, bespectacled short self did not belong. But that was okay because where Sassy fell short, this long-haired, angry siren named Alanis Morissette echoed the inner rage hiding within my soul. That voice wanted to yell against messages in my life that said women should be seen, not heard. Be polite, don’t be too smart so as to put off the opposite sex (because that’s the only kind you should be attracted to), and be grateful that the biggest achievement in life is having the highest teased hair and reeling in the jock/skater/brooding-artist guy. Prior to Sassy and Alanis, I thought something was fundamentally wrong with me. To fix it, I consumed everything from Teen, Seventeen, to the oh-so-grown-up Cosmopolitan magazines. I went through an unhealthy number of pop quizzes that, once deciphered, I was convinced would give me the Holy Grail answers of how to do myself up, get the guy, and have perfect teeth all in the name of “normal.” Alanis and Sassy taught me to say “screw that” and re-define “pretty.” It was okay to read Bronté, surpass guys in chemistry, be loud, have a voice. And if those things were okay, then maybe accepting the fluid nature of my sexuality was okay too.
Of course, social norms and Catholic/Asian guilt is real, so by senior year of high school, I tamped those inclinations down and forged ahead trying to fit into the closet. I pursued what I thought were heteronormative relationships which were damaging in many ways. I became a single mom and still pushed for that straight-laced happy ending that I was supposed to pursue. Still, that fire that was ignited by a revolutionary zine and a pop-star-turned-alternative goddess stayed with me. Slowly, that inspiration broke through the concrete cracks of poverty, sexism, and homophobia. I finished my bachelor’s and master’s degrees as a single parent. I got a good, stable, paying job that freed me and my family from welfare. I bought my own house. And then I came face-to-face again with my sexuality. This time, over a decade and a half wiser, I stared at the now vintage January 1993 Sassy magazine digital cover. The same flutter and flush of heat told me this was not a passing phase. It was time to explore and accept this part of me. With Alanis’ albums still my soundtrack, I now approached relationships with new awareness, empowerment, and understanding.
The day I came out to those closest to me, it was as if a piece of a puzzle finally fell into place. Never in my life had I felt so content with my identity. Yes, there was some regret in living all those years wasted trying to fit a “norm” that was never mine to begin with. Even so, as the older and wiser Alanis later articulated in her So-Called Chaos album, sometimes “the only way out is through.” From those experiences, I found my sass.
Janie Kang (she/her pronouns) lives in the Pacific Northwest region of the U.S. She loves writing short stories, non-fiction, and poetry as much as she still loves rocking out at concerts and wearing combat boots.