How an Appalachian Wildflower Became a Bisexual Icon
Photo: Ed Reschke/Getty Images
Before online dating, bandanas, carabiners, and a litany of revered queer accessories, there was ethnobotany. For centuries, flowers were the best way to signal or let others in the LGBTQ+ community know that you’re queer. An acid green carnation on the lapel (for gay men) or royal purple violets in the garden (for sapphics and lesbian-adjacent queer women) could subtly cue your orientation to others. But the flower chosen to symbolize bisexual pride—a Y2K-era decision that queer pockets of the internet have since embraced—isn’t loud at all. It’s a bottom dweller of the forest often found in the shadows of great trees. Thriving in shade? That’s appropriate. Here’s a look at trillium, a three-bract flowering plant and the bicon of USDA hardiness zones 4–9.
How trillium came to represent bi pride
Trillum’s role in LGBTQ+ culture often intertwines with that of the Bi Pride flag. Though the flag’s origins are a little messy, most credit activist Michael Page as the flag’s designer. Created in 1998, Page said the flag’s pink band represents same-sex attraction, blue represents attraction to the opposite sex, and “the resultant overlap color purple represents sexual attraction to both (bi).” The following year, Page suggested that trillium be used as a symbol of Bi Pride too. Inspiration likely came from the flower’s signature three petals and triangle shape, since Page said his flag design was influenced by “bi-angles,” a pattern of overlapping pink and blue inverted triangles created by artist Liz Nania in the late ’80s.
Bisexual Pride Flag on the mast
Additionally, trillium flowers have male stamens and female pistils, so early scientists called the plant bisexual. Today, we’d say these self-pollinators are intersex, but some academics cite this (albeit incorrect) early use of the word bisexual as further reason for the flower’s symbolism. And despite the mistake, trillium flowers in the bi community took off, especially in Mexico. In 2001, artists and activists Francisco Javier Lagunes Gaitán and Miguel Ángel Corona created a Mexican Bi Pride flag featuring a white trillium flower in the center. It debuted in Mexico City’s Pride parade in 2002.
Today, LGBTQ+ riffs on the trillium flower regularly appear at other Pride events across countries. And images of the flower continue to pop up around the world in bi+ (an umbrella term for multigender attractions such as omnisexual and pansexual, of which this writer identifies) art, from custom prints to apparel.
Precious and resilient
This spring-blooming wildflower is found primarily throughout the US and Canada. “Worldwide there are roughly 40 species [of trillium], of which 38 are found in North America and largely concentrated in the eastern states,” says Preston Montague, an LGBTQ+ landscape architect and founder of Preston Montague Studio.
There are a couple of lovely, ethereal-looking trillium flowers found in the Pacific Northwest, but the majority and the largest variety of trillium is concentrated in Appalachia. “The Blue Ridge Mountains in North Carolina are some of the oldest mountains on the planet and are considered a biodiversity hot spot,” Montague says. “Cool nighttime air, abundant rainfall, a wide range of microclimates, and nooks and crannies that collect organic matter all contribute to the biodiversity of trillium in the region.”
Each flower has three petals, three smaller sepals, and three bracts in the stem whorl. And there’s a wide range of petal hues. The great white trillium is the most famous, but trillium flowers can be pink, burgundy, yellow, or green. But just note, it will take patience to see the striking colors: They can take nearly a decade to flower.
“They’re easy to grow, but it just takes a long time,” explains John Manion, an LGBTQ+ plant expert and the education and outreach coordinator at Overhill Gardens, a native plant nursery in Vonore, Tennessee. “Someone’s not going to plant a trillium and get a flower in a few years.”
However, when trillium has a supportive environment and enough time and space to grow, it creates a beautiful, dense ground cover effect called a drift—and when it mingles with other woodland flower drifts, it can create a rich, literal floral carpet.
Every spring Manion leads a field trip to The Pocket at the Crockford-Pigeon Mountain Wildlife Management Area in North Georgia. “One of the reasons why I love taking people there is watching the look on their faces. There are thousands of trilliums. Thousands of Virginia bluebells. And all these other plants. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen anywhere. People are just so astounded at the quantity and that this is all natural.”
A (queer) floral motif
There’s an old joke that the “B” in LGBT is silent. It’s dark humor masking anger and grief, as bi erasure, stigma, and violence run rampant in the LGBTQ+ community. Of those who identify as queer, bisexual people experience the highest rates of intimate partner abuse, as well staggeringly more mental health issues and suicide attempts compared to fellow gays and lesbians. It’s often fueled by bi+ antagonism, a type of discrimination that invalidates bisexuals, often labeling bi+ people as “gay” or “straight” depending on their current partner, even after someone comes out—or, worse, claiming that a bi+ person isn’t “gay enough.”
Trillium doesn’t have great representation either. You rarely see it used by florists. Amateur gardeners often mistake the plant as dead and done. And it confuses “even the best of botanists.” In that regard, I see trillium as more of a coconspirator—a fellow misfit—than a symbol of pride.
Not aiding the flowers’ reputation, most varieties wreak. It’s thought of as a stinky plant, and that disgust is awfully familiar to the repulsion I’ve experienced from prejudiced groups within the queer community who see me as tainted or downright gross because of my sexuality.
A forest floor covered in springtime Trillium flowers
But despite all the shade, trillium still thrives. According to Montague, the plant’s large bracts are an adaptation to capture the tiniest amounts of light that reach the forest floor.
“Different species develop their own characteristics in response to the microclimates they inhabit and the animals they interact with,” Montague says. “Some trillium hold their flowers high (pedicellate), while others hug their flowers on their shoulders (sessile).”
As a teenager, I came out as bisexual, but I quickly took it back for my own safety. A decade later, as an adult, I came out publicly as pansexual. Now, another decade later, I see my journey like a trillium. It took me a long time to bloom. And when I did, I had to hug my flower on my shoulder so tight. But over time I built a drift of chosen family, married the love of my life, and most days I hold my flowers high.
“Trillium has this funny habit of appearing in groups of four or four hundred,” Montague adds, “Sometimes sprouting up at the feet of trees or in sprawling populations filling a moist cove.”
I’m reminded of sitting at a friend’s kitchen table as a teenager, in awe of how fiercely his mother accepted me and how warm I felt there. Or how I came out to a former boss—the first time ever professionally—and his validation created a cascade of conversations with people in my life. It was a watershed for my confidence in myself, and proof that, like trillium, there is strength in numbers.
Bicon landscaping
Trillium is not a bouquet flower and Manion strongly cautions against using trillium for floral arrangements, since it takes the plant so long to flower. Montague advises against collecting trillium and other flowering plants from the wild, as their chances of survival after transplant are low. Plus the flower is considered sacred in some Indigenous Native American cultures, and picking it is not recommended.
However, given the flower’s symbolism, it’s natural that some will want it in their garden. In this case, experts recommend finding mature tubers from specialty nurseries or botanical gardens that sell native plants. Still, only attempt growing them if your garden is heavily shaded.
Montague also explains that abundant moisture is crucial for their survival. “If you place a plant with these characteristics in dry, sunny conditions, it will quickly succumb,” he says. “I rarely see [trillium flowers] in private gardens, and when I do, they seem happiest in rich, well-drained soil with just a little morning sun at most.”
Trillium
He’s also noticed successful populations often grow near large rocks or woodland water features.
“The rock helps conserve moisture in the ground, creating a microclimate that trillium can thrive in. Trillium will likely benefit from a planting area with plenty of compost mixed in, which simulates the rich, spongy soil they naturally grow in.” He cautions against planting trillium in a boggy area. “Look for a spot where the trillium is elevated above the lowest point in the planting area, but still protected from drying out.”
When planning a garden with trillium, consider pairing the plant with other woodland wildflowers. Sanguinaria canadensis (bloodroot), Arisaema triphyllum (jack-in-the-pulpit), Phlox divaricata (wild blue phlox), or Phlox stolonifera (creeping phlox) are all great picks and can make a grand symbolic display. “Both phlox species are available in cultivars with blue, pink, and purple flowers,” Montague adds. “If you’re aiming to recreate the bi+ community colors in your garden, phlox paired with trillium makes a beautiful statement.”
Originally Appeared on Architectural Digest
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