Created on Thursday, 14 February 2013 04:09 Written by Tracey Hickey \ Columnist
My friend Sasha, a Pitt junior, is one of the estimated 1 percent of the world’s population who identifies as asexual. That doesn’t mean she reproduces via binary fission. An asexual, as defined by the Asexual Visibility and Education Network (AVEN), is a person who does not experience sexual attraction.
In a culture that’s still coming to terms with the many varieties of human sexual attraction and preference, the idea that some people aren’t sexually attracted to anyone seems, to some, like a step too far. But many, like the asexual blogger s.e. smith, believe that “aces” have always been around. And increasingly, they’re not content to be left out of the conversation.
When asked what’s the most important thing she wants people to know about asexuality, Sasha answers bluntly, “that we exist.” She echoes the sentiments of many activists who claim that invisibility is still the biggest obstacle, and describes the relief she felt when she learned about asexuality at 19, after years of reading sexuality textbooks and wondering, “Why don’t I fit in?”
On the heels of the idea that no one is really asexual follows the idea that people who identify that way are sick, traumatized or crazy — the catch-all most aces use is “broken.” It is often assumed that asexuality stems from sexual trauma or a repressive upbringing. However, many asexuals have never been sexually abused, and most people who grow up in repressive environments report always having had sexual feelings, accompanied by intense guilt and anxiety. Asexuals often attest to feeling they were “born this way” — as many gay and bisexual people do — and they are more likely to experience guilt and anxiety over not having those feelings.
That makes it difficult even for asexuals who are secure in that part of their lives to access mental health care. When asexuals share their gripes, one of the most common narratives is of people who try to get therapy for unrelated issues, only to have their therapists focus all their energies on “curing” the lack of sexual attraction.
Sasha is quick to caution me that being asexual isn’t the same as simply not being interested in sex. It’s more complicated than that. Some aces are repulsed by sex, some are apathetic to it, and some experience having a sex drive that’s just never directed at a particular person. Many will have sex to please their partners and enjoy it, but most don’t enjoy it the way I enjoy having sex with my boyfriend — they enjoy it the way I enjoy playing Settlers of Catan with him. I’d never suggest it on my own, but I have fun because I’m with my boyfriend doing something he loves.
Like sexual people, asexuals only have positive sexual experiences in low-pressure situations where they feel respected and safe. No one enjoys being guilted or cajoled into sex, and sex with a partner who thinks they can “prove” you’re not “really” who you say you are is always just as terrible as it sounds. Unfortunately, this experience is depressingly common.
Asexuals, for the most part, are treading uncharted territory in the field of sexuality and relationship theory, and as such, they have to create a lot of their own language for what they experience. The website Asexuality.org actually has a wiki to help users keep up with all the definitions. In fact, one of the most common criticisms of asexuality as a movement is that it seems so vocab-obsessed, but as someone who has always had language for my experiences, I don’t think that’s fair. Labels can constrain, but they can also provide a sense of belonging; as we allow people to eschew labels, we also have to grant them the right to embrace them.
In the tradition of Alfred Kinsey’s “scale” of sexual orientation, which sought to provide nuance beyond the cut-and-dry labels of gay, straight and bisexual, asexuals tend to locate themselves somewhere on the “ace spectrum.” Some people identify as “grey” asexuals, experiencing sexual attraction so rarely that they feel they don’t have enough data to call themselves gay, straight or bi. Some think of themselves as demisexual, only able to feel attraction when a very strong emotional bond already exists.
And that bond can be romantic in nature. Though some people identify as aromantic, others identify as heteromantic, homoromantic, biromantic and everything in between. Many people have romantic relationships that don’t include sex — and no, that isn’t “just being friends,” or else there would be no difference between having a boyfriend and having a friend with benefits.
Outside the romantic paradigm, some people form what they’re calling “queerplatonic” relationships. The word indicates nothing about the gender of the participants, but speaks to the desire to “queer” our understandings of platonic friendships. These are relationships of care — “life partnerships” that go quite beyond what most of us consider ordinary friendship. Many sexually ambiguous literary or onscreen relationships — think Frodo and Sam, Holmes and Watson, Thelma and Louise — can also be read as queerplatonic.
Most importantly, as Sasha repeated throughout our interview, those relationships are as valid and important as sexual relationships and deserve acknowledgment and respect. Although sexual intimacy is an important part of a primary relationship for most people, it shouldn’t follow that a relationship without sexual intimacy is inherently less close. Sasha most wants to see an improvement in spreading the word that we all have the option to check “none of the above.” She also wants to see improvement in “the expansion of possibilities. There are so many ways to have relationships, and as long as nobody’s being hurt, all of them are OK.”
Write Tracey at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. . Visit her blog at traceyhickey.wordpress.com.
