Preference: The People's Favorite Shield for Prejudice.

Often, exclusion is defended with a phrase that sounds neutral enough to escape scrutiny: “It’s just not my preference.”

This framing is common in discussions around sexuality, gender, race, disability, and other social identities. People insist that their discomfort is personal, not political. That their exclusion of entire groups is a matter of taste rather than judgment. But when “preference” is used to dismiss people rather than objects, it stops functioning as a benign descriptor and begins operating as a moral cover.

A preference, in its most basic sense, is non exclusive. I may prefer red grapes, but that does not require rejecting green ones. The preference adds something without denying the legitimacy of the alternative. When exclusion enters the equation, something else is happening. The statement shifts from “this is what I like” to “this should not exist in my space.”

This distinction becomes especially clear in conversations about sexuality. Claims such as “I’m not homophobic, it’s just not my preference” or “I don’t hate bisexual men, I just wouldn't date one” rely on the same rhetorical move. Disapproval is reframed as neutrality. Bias is softened into taste. Structural exclusion is disguised as personal comfort.

Preferences do not exist independently of social context. What we find acceptable or unacceptable is shaped by repeated exposure, cultural norms, religious teachings, media representation, and social reinforcement. Homophobia and biphobia are not spontaneous reactions. They are learned responses, reinforced through tradition, language, and the policing of what is considered normal.

This does not mean individuals are incapable of independent thought. People can question norms and reject inherited beliefs. But it does mean that claiming one’s exclusionary views are purely personal ignores the systems that helped form them. Discomfort with queer identities does not emerge in isolation. It reflects a broader social history that has framed certain identities as deviant, immoral, or excessive.

Tradition is often used to legitimize this exclusion. Longstanding norms are treated as objective standards rather than products of their time. Behaviors and identities that align with those norms are granted legitimacy by default, while others are expected to justify their existence. Yet tradition is applied selectively. Societies do not preserve all traditions equally. They keep what serves them and abandon what does not.

The result is a moral double standard. People are told their exclusionary beliefs are valid because they are familiar, while those who challenge them are accused of being disruptive or unreasonable. “Preference” becomes a linguistic buffer that protects bias from interrogation.

This pattern extends beyond sexuality. It appears in racial exclusion, in attitudes toward disability, in resistance to gender nonconformity, and in debates over immigration and class. In each case, the same move is made. Social judgment is reframed as personal taste. Harm is rendered invisible through polite language.

This is not an argument against having preferences. It is an argument against using the language of preference to excuse exclusion. When entire groups of people are dismissed, denied legitimacy, or pushed to the margins under the guise of taste, the issue is no longer personal. It is social. And social judgments, unlike preferences, carry consequences.