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If oil wrestling can be the national sport of Turkey, why not the sport of choice for lesbians, too? That very well may happen if Toronto-based event producer has her way. After seeing lesbian jello wrestling as well as lesbian butter wrestling, and even competing in a lesbian oil wrestling event in Montreal, the influencer started their own WWE-meets-softcore-smut league: Lez Get Physical, the slick and scintillating home of lesbian oil wrestling.
“At the August show, someone tweeted out a text message between two people where they’re like, ‘Oh yeah, there’s like naked lesbian oil wrestling, but I don’t want to go because in Brooklyn,’” Zhane recounts, referring to a stereotype that Brooklyn sapphics have blue hair, multiple piercings, and tattoos. “They are like ‘these aren’t the lesbians you want to see.’ And I was like ‘you know what, let them think that! Yeah, let them tweet that and dissuade all of those people.’”
Inside the Slick, Sexy World of Lesbian Oil Wrestling Where WWE Meets Softcore Smut
All of a sudden, I became hyper-aware of how Charlie and I looked in comparison to the lesbian goddesses on the screen. I was overweight with a bad orange spray tan, my look caught between butch, femme, and weird theater kid. Charlie would grow to be and butch AF but was still caught in that weird ponytail/ basketball shorts phase. I fixated on how beautiful and thin Nikki and Jenny were, and how ugly I felt in comparison. When I pictured my girlfriend and me wrestling in oil, it seemed like a scene that’d be the brunt of a joke in some bro comedy. We certainly did not look like Jenny and Nikki. Obviously! We were teenagers—everyone is busted AF when they’re teenagers. But in my mind, it seemed like the end of the world.
Luckily, my feeling sorry for how gross I felt was short-lived and I grew into my features and body, and with maturity, appreciated other women’s beauty as well as my own. At the time, that infamous oil wrestling scene took me through every emotion I still experience today as a lesbian femme: desiring women, but still comparing myself to them. I wanted to be beautiful in the way that all young girls are conditioned to aspire to: thin, tall, with long, flowing hair. Queer women have lots of options in terms of how we present ourselves — we tend to embrace looks that differ from the norm. But that doesn’t mean we’re necessarily immune to the pressures of conventional beauty placed upon all women. “The L Word” helped me accept and deal with that truth.
