The theme for September was unity and diversity in the asexual community. Next month will be hosted by Concept Awesome, and the prompt has already been posted. Asexual Agenda is looking for people to host future months of the Carnival, as currently, no one has signed up past October. If you're interested, head over to the Masterpost.
Without further ado, the submissions!
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Friday, August 31, 2012
Carnival of Aces: Call for Submissions
I'm hosting the September 2012 edition of the Carnival of Aces here at Confessions of an Ist. The theme for this month is diversity and unity in the asexual community. I prefer to choose very open-ended themes, so anything dealing with that topic is acceptable. You might consider racial diversity, gender diversity, religious diversity, age diversity, the importance of diversity and/or unity, the relationship between diversity and unity, whether or not the asexual community seems either diverse or unified to you... etc.
To participate in the Carnival of Aces, simply write a blog post dealing with this theme, and get me the link either here in the comments or at greenchestnuts at gmail dot com, by October 1st. I'll post the roundup shortly after that. Posts must be written during this month to be eligible for the Carnival.
Also, Asexual Agenda is looking for bloggers to host the Carnival in future months. Hosting is easy and does not require a substantial time commitment; you make the initial call for submissions, advertise the Carnival throughout the month, and then make a post with all the links you've received within the first few days of the next month. You get to pick the theme, and other bloggers usually help promote the Carnival. Nearly any platform is fine for hosting-- Blogger, Wordpress, Livejournal, Dreamwidth, Tumblr, etc. (You might run into some problems trying to use Twitter, though.) So please let them know if you're willing to host. You can find a list of past Carnivals and themes, and sign up, at the above link.
To participate in the Carnival of Aces, simply write a blog post dealing with this theme, and get me the link either here in the comments or at greenchestnuts at gmail dot com, by October 1st. I'll post the roundup shortly after that. Posts must be written during this month to be eligible for the Carnival.
Also, Asexual Agenda is looking for bloggers to host the Carnival in future months. Hosting is easy and does not require a substantial time commitment; you make the initial call for submissions, advertise the Carnival throughout the month, and then make a post with all the links you've received within the first few days of the next month. You get to pick the theme, and other bloggers usually help promote the Carnival. Nearly any platform is fine for hosting-- Blogger, Wordpress, Livejournal, Dreamwidth, Tumblr, etc. (You might run into some problems trying to use Twitter, though.) So please let them know if you're willing to host. You can find a list of past Carnivals and themes, and sign up, at the above link.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Ageism and Asexuality
How old is old enough to be asexual?
I've written a lot, lately, about how sexism affects asexuals and our perceptions of asexuality. A lot of that sexism and misogyny centers around themes of experience, whether that's using a woman's lack of (the correct kind of) sexual experience as evidence that she's not really asexual, or using the fact that she has engaged in sexual experience as proof that she's not really asexual. The first part of this double-bind, as well as the more general idea that people with more experience can explain people with less experience to themselves, is rooted in ageism, but today I'm going to talk about ageism and asexuality more explicitly.
The Trevor Project is "the leading national organization preventing crisis intervention and suicide prevention services to lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and questioning youth." One of their affiliates defines this more specifically-- "TrevorSpace.org is an online, social networking community for LGBTQ youth ages 13 through 24 and their friends and allies." The New York Times's "Coming Out" project features stories from teenagers as young as 15. The "It Gets Better" project is specifically aimed at teenagers. While there are many fair criticisms to be made of "Glee," no one seems to be arguing that its characters are too young-- or were too young, when the show began-- to know they're gay. As for heterosexuality, its undeserved status as the "default" sexuality means that rarely, if ever, is anyone who says they're straight told they're too young to know that for sure. Knowing that you're straight as a teenager is considered completely normal.
So the idea that teenagers know their sexual orientations-- even minority sexual orientations-- is clearly not a controversial one in general. When it comes to asexuality specifically, studies indicate that the average age of first sexual attraction, for both straight and gay children, could be as early as ten, so we know that most teenagers have had ample time to determine whether or not they've felt it. We also know that the same 2004 study that gave us the 1% number found that asexual respondents were, on average, slightly older than non-asexual respondents, so we know that asexuality isn't something teenagers experience and then grow out of.
In this context, it becomes obvious that telling asexuals they're not old enough to know their sexual orientation is rooted in both ageism-- the idea that anyone who can communicate about it is "too young" to know their sexual orientation-- and anti-asexual ideology-- the way this standard is applied to asexuals much more frequently than it is applied to members of any other sexual orientation. When I came out to my family, one of the responses I received amounted to "It's just a phase," even though I was in my twenties and had been dating men and describing myself as a straight woman for several years prior to that. Asexual people-- usually women-- who are in their thirties still report being told that they're "too young" to know their sexual orientation, or that they're just "late bloomers." The fact that asexuals from this same age group are also told that they're too old to have a sexuality, that their lack of sexual attraction is simply what happens to people in their thirties, shows that the point is to invalidate asexuality by any means necessary.
Ageism is a problem for the asexual community, but it seems to be a symptom of a deeper problem, which is, of course, the suspicion and distrust with which many people regard the concept of asexuality. For whatever reason, they think it cannot possibly be valid, and so they resort to any way that they can to invalidate asexual identities, whether that's ageism ("You're too young to know you're asexual." "You're too old to call yourself asexual, that's perfectly normal at your age.") or the experience argument ("You can't be asexual if you've never been in a 'real' relationship/never had sex/only had one sexual partner." "You can't call yourself asexual if you have sex.") or sexism ("All women are asexual, you're just normal") or arguments about one's romantic orientation or gender identity ("You're not asexual, it's just internalized homophobia/dysphoria/transphobia") or arguments about the patriarchy ("You've just been brainwashed into denying your sexuality.") Ageism is just an excuse, a tool to use to dismiss asexuality; if it weren't that, it would be something else. The bad news is that it's not going to go away until asexuality is accepted, but the good news is the ageist argument against asexuality is so implausible that there's no reason to listen to anyone who makes it.
I've written a lot, lately, about how sexism affects asexuals and our perceptions of asexuality. A lot of that sexism and misogyny centers around themes of experience, whether that's using a woman's lack of (the correct kind of) sexual experience as evidence that she's not really asexual, or using the fact that she has engaged in sexual experience as proof that she's not really asexual. The first part of this double-bind, as well as the more general idea that people with more experience can explain people with less experience to themselves, is rooted in ageism, but today I'm going to talk about ageism and asexuality more explicitly.
The Trevor Project is "the leading national organization preventing crisis intervention and suicide prevention services to lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and questioning youth." One of their affiliates defines this more specifically-- "TrevorSpace.org is an online, social networking community for LGBTQ youth ages 13 through 24 and their friends and allies." The New York Times's "Coming Out" project features stories from teenagers as young as 15. The "It Gets Better" project is specifically aimed at teenagers. While there are many fair criticisms to be made of "Glee," no one seems to be arguing that its characters are too young-- or were too young, when the show began-- to know they're gay. As for heterosexuality, its undeserved status as the "default" sexuality means that rarely, if ever, is anyone who says they're straight told they're too young to know that for sure. Knowing that you're straight as a teenager is considered completely normal.
So the idea that teenagers know their sexual orientations-- even minority sexual orientations-- is clearly not a controversial one in general. When it comes to asexuality specifically, studies indicate that the average age of first sexual attraction, for both straight and gay children, could be as early as ten, so we know that most teenagers have had ample time to determine whether or not they've felt it. We also know that the same 2004 study that gave us the 1% number found that asexual respondents were, on average, slightly older than non-asexual respondents, so we know that asexuality isn't something teenagers experience and then grow out of.
In this context, it becomes obvious that telling asexuals they're not old enough to know their sexual orientation is rooted in both ageism-- the idea that anyone who can communicate about it is "too young" to know their sexual orientation-- and anti-asexual ideology-- the way this standard is applied to asexuals much more frequently than it is applied to members of any other sexual orientation. When I came out to my family, one of the responses I received amounted to "It's just a phase," even though I was in my twenties and had been dating men and describing myself as a straight woman for several years prior to that. Asexual people-- usually women-- who are in their thirties still report being told that they're "too young" to know their sexual orientation, or that they're just "late bloomers." The fact that asexuals from this same age group are also told that they're too old to have a sexuality, that their lack of sexual attraction is simply what happens to people in their thirties, shows that the point is to invalidate asexuality by any means necessary.
Ageism is a problem for the asexual community, but it seems to be a symptom of a deeper problem, which is, of course, the suspicion and distrust with which many people regard the concept of asexuality. For whatever reason, they think it cannot possibly be valid, and so they resort to any way that they can to invalidate asexual identities, whether that's ageism ("You're too young to know you're asexual." "You're too old to call yourself asexual, that's perfectly normal at your age.") or the experience argument ("You can't be asexual if you've never been in a 'real' relationship/never had sex/only had one sexual partner." "You can't call yourself asexual if you have sex.") or sexism ("All women are asexual, you're just normal") or arguments about one's romantic orientation or gender identity ("You're not asexual, it's just internalized homophobia/dysphoria/transphobia") or arguments about the patriarchy ("You've just been brainwashed into denying your sexuality.") Ageism is just an excuse, a tool to use to dismiss asexuality; if it weren't that, it would be something else. The bad news is that it's not going to go away until asexuality is accepted, but the good news is the ageist argument against asexuality is so implausible that there's no reason to listen to anyone who makes it.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Sexism and Asexuality, Part Four: "Real Relationships"
So far in this series, I've written about how sexism kept me from realizing I was asexual, how asexual women don't get a pass from sexism, and how telling women they're not really asexual plays into a sexist narrative where women can't be trusted to know about themselves. This week, I'm going to write about the popular troll phrase, "Asexuals have just never been in 'real' relationships," and how this phrase is simply another way of coercing women into unwanted sex.
I wrote about one problem I have with this phrase back in March, but today I'm going to go deeper. The idea that they're only asexual because they've never been in a "real relationship" is something asexuals hear a lot; it should probably have a spot in the next edition of asexual bingo. So what constitutes a "real" relationship? In the eyes of most of the world, and the people saying it, a romantic relationship, and probably one that includes sex-- which is something many asexuals don't want to have.
Telling people they have to engage in unwanted sex before you consider their desires valid is a form of social coercion. It creates pressure on them to engage in unwanted sex, and it contributes to rape culture. When applied to women, it's a form of sexism as well, since women already face disproportionate pressure to engage in unwanted sex. Women's desires are already invalidated on so many grounds; adding more, telling women they have to check off "x" box before you consider their desires and experiences valid, is misogynistic.
Unfortunately, this phrase is found within feminist communities as well as outside of it. If your idea of feminist activism involves telling women you won't believe them about their sexual orientation until they have sex they don't want to have, you are not being a feminist, you are being a mouthpiece for the patriarchy. Go directly to feminist jail, do not pass feminist go, and do not collect two hundred feminist dollars. Go to your room and rethink your feminism. Women's desires and identities are not something on which you can place conditions. An orientation doesn't need "x" amount of relationship experience to make it valid; romantic desire doesn't need "x" amount of sexual desire to make it valid; platonic desire doesn't need "x" amount of romantic desire to make it valid.
Feminism means trusting women to be the authority on our own identity and desires, against a background of misogyny that tells us women shouldn't have any desires and need men to tell us what we want, anyway. Feminism means listening to women about our own experiences and identities. And feminism means not coercing us into unwanted sex by refusing to believe our own accounts of ourselves until we have it.
I wrote about one problem I have with this phrase back in March, but today I'm going to go deeper. The idea that they're only asexual because they've never been in a "real relationship" is something asexuals hear a lot; it should probably have a spot in the next edition of asexual bingo. So what constitutes a "real" relationship? In the eyes of most of the world, and the people saying it, a romantic relationship, and probably one that includes sex-- which is something many asexuals don't want to have.
Telling people they have to engage in unwanted sex before you consider their desires valid is a form of social coercion. It creates pressure on them to engage in unwanted sex, and it contributes to rape culture. When applied to women, it's a form of sexism as well, since women already face disproportionate pressure to engage in unwanted sex. Women's desires are already invalidated on so many grounds; adding more, telling women they have to check off "x" box before you consider their desires and experiences valid, is misogynistic.
Unfortunately, this phrase is found within feminist communities as well as outside of it. If your idea of feminist activism involves telling women you won't believe them about their sexual orientation until they have sex they don't want to have, you are not being a feminist, you are being a mouthpiece for the patriarchy. Go directly to feminist jail, do not pass feminist go, and do not collect two hundred feminist dollars. Go to your room and rethink your feminism. Women's desires and identities are not something on which you can place conditions. An orientation doesn't need "x" amount of relationship experience to make it valid; romantic desire doesn't need "x" amount of sexual desire to make it valid; platonic desire doesn't need "x" amount of romantic desire to make it valid.
Feminism means trusting women to be the authority on our own identity and desires, against a background of misogyny that tells us women shouldn't have any desires and need men to tell us what we want, anyway. Feminism means listening to women about our own experiences and identities. And feminism means not coercing us into unwanted sex by refusing to believe our own accounts of ourselves until we have it.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Sexism and Asexuality, Part Three
Now, I'm going to discuss the sexism inherent in telling women they're not really asexual.
It's true that the misogyny in which we all exist shapes our choices, and that no choice is made outside its influence. If I said, "I've decided I want to drop out of graduate school and find a nice breadwinner to support me and stay home full-time raising his two point five children while baking every day and putting on heels and pearls to meet my husband at the door with a martini, and this has nothing to do with misogyny because it's my choice," people would be justified in their skepticism; this hypothetical choice (while not a choice that wins, because no choice a woman makes can win in the patriarchy) is a choice that plays right into some very strong stereotypes about women.
It's also true that even our perception of our own sexuality is shaped by the patriarchy, and it can be hard to determine what is a genuine desire and what has been written onto us. For women who have desires that seem to "cooperate with the patriarchy," this can create a lot of conflict about how to embrace their desires in a healthy way.
With these two things being true, however, anyone who wants to tell a woman that her sexuality is false, or unduly shaped by patriarchal stereotypes (because no person escapes this shaping entirely), is treading very near to enacting a misogynistic narrative of their own. Telling a woman that her sexuality is not what she says it is plays along with a narrative that suggests women are never really mature enough to know themselves, and that they need some kindly stranger to instruct them, whether about what to wear or how to smile or what to eat during pregnancy or what their sexual orientation is. Telling a woman she's wrong about her own sexuality plays into a narrative where what women know about themselves doesn't matter, because who they are and what they want are irrelevant as long as they play along with the script. It's possible to do it well… but it's not likely to happen. An outsider might be able to more clearly see the cultural forces to which a woman is subjected than the woman herself, but their potential for more unbiased perception in one area is balanced by an inability to perceive what's in the woman's own mind.
To argue that a woman's sexuality is the result of patriarchal forces, you must be able to argue that that sexuality falls in line with patriarchal norms, and as I have previously discussed, asexuality is not a "patriarchy-approved" female sexuality. Applying standard criticisms of choice feminism to a woman's sexuality also runs into the further and larger problem that sexuality is not freely chosen. There's debate about the extent to which sexual orientations are inherent, but most people (at least in my cultural context) who aren't conservative Christians agree that one's sexual orientation is largely or entirely not a matter of choice. You cannot logically criticize a woman for her choice on a matter in which she had little or no choice.
I know that I didn't choose to be asexual. I don't know if I was "born this way," but I was "this way" by the time I was a teenager, and when I discovered the concept of asexuality, many years later, a lot of things from my adolescence suddenly made sense. What I have chosen is to accept my asexuality. I've chosen to accept that there is nothing wrong with me and that I am not repressed or broken. I've chosen to accept and affirm that, even though I live in a patriarchal society and my experiences are shaped by misogyny, I have enough agency to know my own desires; I am as able as a straight woman, a bisexual woman, a pansexual woman, or a lesbian to discern my own sexual orientation. I've chosen to accept that I do not need to have lots of (undesired, unenthusiastic) sex, or violate my own boundaries, in order to discover my "real" orientation.
These are the choices I have made, and on these, I both welcome and defy criticism. If you have a problem with these choices that I have made, or with the similar choices of any other asexual woman, I suggest you consider, deeply, what the alternative would look like.
Note: While I did not end up quoting Cliff Pervocracy in this entry, I want to thank her for putting some vague ideas and feelings I'd been having into very clear and concrete words.
It's true that the misogyny in which we all exist shapes our choices, and that no choice is made outside its influence. If I said, "I've decided I want to drop out of graduate school and find a nice breadwinner to support me and stay home full-time raising his two point five children while baking every day and putting on heels and pearls to meet my husband at the door with a martini, and this has nothing to do with misogyny because it's my choice," people would be justified in their skepticism; this hypothetical choice (while not a choice that wins, because no choice a woman makes can win in the patriarchy) is a choice that plays right into some very strong stereotypes about women.
It's also true that even our perception of our own sexuality is shaped by the patriarchy, and it can be hard to determine what is a genuine desire and what has been written onto us. For women who have desires that seem to "cooperate with the patriarchy," this can create a lot of conflict about how to embrace their desires in a healthy way.
With these two things being true, however, anyone who wants to tell a woman that her sexuality is false, or unduly shaped by patriarchal stereotypes (because no person escapes this shaping entirely), is treading very near to enacting a misogynistic narrative of their own. Telling a woman that her sexuality is not what she says it is plays along with a narrative that suggests women are never really mature enough to know themselves, and that they need some kindly stranger to instruct them, whether about what to wear or how to smile or what to eat during pregnancy or what their sexual orientation is. Telling a woman she's wrong about her own sexuality plays into a narrative where what women know about themselves doesn't matter, because who they are and what they want are irrelevant as long as they play along with the script. It's possible to do it well… but it's not likely to happen. An outsider might be able to more clearly see the cultural forces to which a woman is subjected than the woman herself, but their potential for more unbiased perception in one area is balanced by an inability to perceive what's in the woman's own mind.
To argue that a woman's sexuality is the result of patriarchal forces, you must be able to argue that that sexuality falls in line with patriarchal norms, and as I have previously discussed, asexuality is not a "patriarchy-approved" female sexuality. Applying standard criticisms of choice feminism to a woman's sexuality also runs into the further and larger problem that sexuality is not freely chosen. There's debate about the extent to which sexual orientations are inherent, but most people (at least in my cultural context) who aren't conservative Christians agree that one's sexual orientation is largely or entirely not a matter of choice. You cannot logically criticize a woman for her choice on a matter in which she had little or no choice.
I know that I didn't choose to be asexual. I don't know if I was "born this way," but I was "this way" by the time I was a teenager, and when I discovered the concept of asexuality, many years later, a lot of things from my adolescence suddenly made sense. What I have chosen is to accept my asexuality. I've chosen to accept that there is nothing wrong with me and that I am not repressed or broken. I've chosen to accept and affirm that, even though I live in a patriarchal society and my experiences are shaped by misogyny, I have enough agency to know my own desires; I am as able as a straight woman, a bisexual woman, a pansexual woman, or a lesbian to discern my own sexual orientation. I've chosen to accept that I do not need to have lots of (undesired, unenthusiastic) sex, or violate my own boundaries, in order to discover my "real" orientation.
These are the choices I have made, and on these, I both welcome and defy criticism. If you have a problem with these choices that I have made, or with the similar choices of any other asexual woman, I suggest you consider, deeply, what the alternative would look like.
Note: While I did not end up quoting Cliff Pervocracy in this entry, I want to thank her for putting some vague ideas and feelings I'd been having into very clear and concrete words.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Sexism and Asexuality, Part Two
I've heard it said that for a women to be asexual means for her to conveniently conform to the demands of the patriarchy, but that's very untrue.
Asexuality is a free pass out of exactly zero of the thousands of ways the patriarchy polices female sexuality. My not being sexually attracted to men isn't excused because I'm also not sexually attracted to women. The sex toys in my dresser aren't condoned because I'm only using them on myself. The fact that I want intimacy from people-- from men, even-- without wanting to have sex in return doesn't meet with approval. That I enjoy being attractive, without wanting to attract anyone and without being attracted to anyone, puts me squarely in that illogical category known as "being a tease," just like millions of other women who dare to do something for themselves rather than for a male audience.
Women cannot express our desires, be they romantic or sexual or platonic, without being shamed and belittled, and being asexual doesn't change that. We're not supposed to have desires. We're supposed to be sexualized, and sexy, but not sexual; available to men, but with no desires or demands of our own except for those which serve their fantasies. Asexual women don't get a free pass out of that. Some asexual women, certainly, do have no sexual desires, but I suspect there are very few asexual women who have no desires at all. And asexual women are no more sexually available to men than are women of any other sexual orientation. Therefore, we fail at the two primary components of patriarchially-sanctioned female sexuality: available (no more so than any other women) and without any desires of our own (no). The patriarchy isn't exactly falling all over itself to give us cookies.
As an asexual woman, I am too sexual to be "proper," because I enjoy sexual pleasure (and, even more scandalously, on my own terms and for no one's benefit but mine). I am also not sexual enough, however, because I am not sexually available to men. I do not receive any sort of approval for being asexual; I have not unlocked some sort of magic guide to negotiating through the worst of the patriarchy by being asexual. I put up with the same objectification, fight the same fights, and live in the same fear as the equivalent white allosexual woman of my socioeconomic class. And all this, by the way, is while being celibate. If I were currently sexually active, I would have to wade through the same garbage as my allosexual counterpart.
The thing about the patriarchy is that there is no way to win. It is an obstacle course constructed to be unwinnable. Not everyone loses as badly-- for many women, their race, class, sexual orientation, religion, and/or position on the gender binary clear many obstacles away-- but no one wins. To say that any particular group wins simply means you aren't paying attention. There is no way to satisfy the demands of the patriarchy, because the demands of the patriarchy are conflicting and mutually exclusive. It is literally impossible. None of us win-- not allosexual women, and not asexual women.
Asexuality is a free pass out of exactly zero of the thousands of ways the patriarchy polices female sexuality. My not being sexually attracted to men isn't excused because I'm also not sexually attracted to women. The sex toys in my dresser aren't condoned because I'm only using them on myself. The fact that I want intimacy from people-- from men, even-- without wanting to have sex in return doesn't meet with approval. That I enjoy being attractive, without wanting to attract anyone and without being attracted to anyone, puts me squarely in that illogical category known as "being a tease," just like millions of other women who dare to do something for themselves rather than for a male audience.
Women cannot express our desires, be they romantic or sexual or platonic, without being shamed and belittled, and being asexual doesn't change that. We're not supposed to have desires. We're supposed to be sexualized, and sexy, but not sexual; available to men, but with no desires or demands of our own except for those which serve their fantasies. Asexual women don't get a free pass out of that. Some asexual women, certainly, do have no sexual desires, but I suspect there are very few asexual women who have no desires at all. And asexual women are no more sexually available to men than are women of any other sexual orientation. Therefore, we fail at the two primary components of patriarchially-sanctioned female sexuality: available (no more so than any other women) and without any desires of our own (no). The patriarchy isn't exactly falling all over itself to give us cookies.
As an asexual woman, I am too sexual to be "proper," because I enjoy sexual pleasure (and, even more scandalously, on my own terms and for no one's benefit but mine). I am also not sexual enough, however, because I am not sexually available to men. I do not receive any sort of approval for being asexual; I have not unlocked some sort of magic guide to negotiating through the worst of the patriarchy by being asexual. I put up with the same objectification, fight the same fights, and live in the same fear as the equivalent white allosexual woman of my socioeconomic class. And all this, by the way, is while being celibate. If I were currently sexually active, I would have to wade through the same garbage as my allosexual counterpart.
The thing about the patriarchy is that there is no way to win. It is an obstacle course constructed to be unwinnable. Not everyone loses as badly-- for many women, their race, class, sexual orientation, religion, and/or position on the gender binary clear many obstacles away-- but no one wins. To say that any particular group wins simply means you aren't paying attention. There is no way to satisfy the demands of the patriarchy, because the demands of the patriarchy are conflicting and mutually exclusive. It is literally impossible. None of us win-- not allosexual women, and not asexual women.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Sexism and Asexuality (Part One?)
This is a story about my younger self, and about how sexism (and homophobia, but mostly sexism) affected my identifying as asexual.
I grew up thinking I was straight, because straight was default and everyone was straight until proven otherwise. I wondered occasionally if I were gay, because I realized that I liked women and men about the same, but I decided I wasn't gay because I didn't want to have sex with women. I did wonder if I might be bisexual, but I concluded that I liked guys so that made me straight. I didn't hear about asexuality for years.
I didn't date much in high school. I dated more in college, always men. One relationship had a noticeable lack of physical chemistry (even for me), and, while my boyfriend didn't give a lot of reasons for breaking up with me, I was pretty sure it had something to do with him wanting to go farther and faster physically than I did. I don't remember thinking there was anything remarkable about this; I just concluded I was a little weird for not wanting to do that stuff, and that we were incompatible.
I had another boyfriend who told me he wanted me, wanted to have sex with me. I had no idea how to process this. I simply had no framework for understanding a statement like that. I had no idea what it felt like to want somebody. There were people I missed when they weren't around, but I didn't want to have sex with any of them, and my boyfriend was clearly talking about something far more physical. I was taken aback; I had noticed that other people were having much more sex than I was, and that there was something different about them as opposed to about me, but I hadn't thought about what that was very deeply. I was more of a conservative Christian (and more judgmental) then than I am now, so I had put some of it down to different morals, but most of it I had just attributed to different life choices.
But my boyfriend at the time was also religiously conservative, so I knew that couldn't be it. My conclusion was that that tired old chestnut, that men want sex much more than women do, must be true. I was kind of surprised to realize this, but the evidence seemed clear: he wanted me, I had no idea what he was talking about but didn't feel anything like that for him, he was the guy, I was the girl. I couldn't think of any alternative explanation for such a marked difference in our feelings. Not only did I not want him, I couldn't conceive of wanting him or anyone else.
Once I realized that my boyfriend and I had significantly different levels of interest in each other sexually, which was something I thought was gendered, I became concerned about tempting him. After all, if what I thought was a sexist trope about women just not being interested in sex was apparently true, then maybe all that stuff that went with it, about "provocative" women being "bad" women, was true too. I wasn't concerned that my boyfriend was going to pressure me for sex if I was too tempting, but I still didn't like the idea of unintentionally turning him on. I didn't like the idea that something that was platonic to me, like cuddling, could be sexual to him. So I let many of my desires go unfulfilled, and convinced myself that if we could just get to a stage in our relationship where we felt like we "could," morally, have sex, whether that was an engagement or what, then everything would be okay. I focused on sex as the thing that would bring the intimacy I wanted, even though I didn't really want sex.
That relationship ended before engagements or marriage became an issue. I figured out that the tired old chestnut about men wanting sex much more than women want sex was actually a tired old chestnut and not a universal truth-- and what astounds me, looking back, was that I knew a lot of women who were having and enjoying sex. I had them as examples right in front of me. But I had no other way to interpret my experiences than through the lens sexism offered me, because the lives of my friends offered no way to account for my desires, or rather, my lack of sexual desires.
Looking back, I wish someone had sat me down and said, "Aydan, you know how you've never wanted to do anything sexually with any of your boyfriends?" And then, after I had finished sputtering and making excuses, had said, "Have you ever thought about what that means? Aydan, it's not them, it's you."
And I wish someone had sat me down and said, "You don't want what most people want, and that's okay. What you do want, you're probably not going to find in these relationships. Maybe you should stop trying, and figure out a way to get what you really do want." It might have saved me some heartache, and something worse.
Because I'm not saying that I stayed in bad relationships because I didn't know I was asexual and aromantic. But I am saying that if I had realized, had known what those things were, had realized that asexuality and not sexism explained my experiences-- I might have made different decisions.
So, younger self, if you or someone like you is reading this, you should know that it's okay to want what you want, even if it's not what everyone else wants. Your desires are valid whether or not they are sexual. Make decisions based on what you want and not what you think you should want. Figure out what it is you want, and try to figure out a way to get it.
I grew up thinking I was straight, because straight was default and everyone was straight until proven otherwise. I wondered occasionally if I were gay, because I realized that I liked women and men about the same, but I decided I wasn't gay because I didn't want to have sex with women. I did wonder if I might be bisexual, but I concluded that I liked guys so that made me straight. I didn't hear about asexuality for years.
I didn't date much in high school. I dated more in college, always men. One relationship had a noticeable lack of physical chemistry (even for me), and, while my boyfriend didn't give a lot of reasons for breaking up with me, I was pretty sure it had something to do with him wanting to go farther and faster physically than I did. I don't remember thinking there was anything remarkable about this; I just concluded I was a little weird for not wanting to do that stuff, and that we were incompatible.
I had another boyfriend who told me he wanted me, wanted to have sex with me. I had no idea how to process this. I simply had no framework for understanding a statement like that. I had no idea what it felt like to want somebody. There were people I missed when they weren't around, but I didn't want to have sex with any of them, and my boyfriend was clearly talking about something far more physical. I was taken aback; I had noticed that other people were having much more sex than I was, and that there was something different about them as opposed to about me, but I hadn't thought about what that was very deeply. I was more of a conservative Christian (and more judgmental) then than I am now, so I had put some of it down to different morals, but most of it I had just attributed to different life choices.
But my boyfriend at the time was also religiously conservative, so I knew that couldn't be it. My conclusion was that that tired old chestnut, that men want sex much more than women do, must be true. I was kind of surprised to realize this, but the evidence seemed clear: he wanted me, I had no idea what he was talking about but didn't feel anything like that for him, he was the guy, I was the girl. I couldn't think of any alternative explanation for such a marked difference in our feelings. Not only did I not want him, I couldn't conceive of wanting him or anyone else.
Once I realized that my boyfriend and I had significantly different levels of interest in each other sexually, which was something I thought was gendered, I became concerned about tempting him. After all, if what I thought was a sexist trope about women just not being interested in sex was apparently true, then maybe all that stuff that went with it, about "provocative" women being "bad" women, was true too. I wasn't concerned that my boyfriend was going to pressure me for sex if I was too tempting, but I still didn't like the idea of unintentionally turning him on. I didn't like the idea that something that was platonic to me, like cuddling, could be sexual to him. So I let many of my desires go unfulfilled, and convinced myself that if we could just get to a stage in our relationship where we felt like we "could," morally, have sex, whether that was an engagement or what, then everything would be okay. I focused on sex as the thing that would bring the intimacy I wanted, even though I didn't really want sex.
That relationship ended before engagements or marriage became an issue. I figured out that the tired old chestnut about men wanting sex much more than women want sex was actually a tired old chestnut and not a universal truth-- and what astounds me, looking back, was that I knew a lot of women who were having and enjoying sex. I had them as examples right in front of me. But I had no other way to interpret my experiences than through the lens sexism offered me, because the lives of my friends offered no way to account for my desires, or rather, my lack of sexual desires.
Looking back, I wish someone had sat me down and said, "Aydan, you know how you've never wanted to do anything sexually with any of your boyfriends?" And then, after I had finished sputtering and making excuses, had said, "Have you ever thought about what that means? Aydan, it's not them, it's you."
And I wish someone had sat me down and said, "You don't want what most people want, and that's okay. What you do want, you're probably not going to find in these relationships. Maybe you should stop trying, and figure out a way to get what you really do want." It might have saved me some heartache, and something worse.
Because I'm not saying that I stayed in bad relationships because I didn't know I was asexual and aromantic. But I am saying that if I had realized, had known what those things were, had realized that asexuality and not sexism explained my experiences-- I might have made different decisions.
So, younger self, if you or someone like you is reading this, you should know that it's okay to want what you want, even if it's not what everyone else wants. Your desires are valid whether or not they are sexual. Make decisions based on what you want and not what you think you should want. Figure out what it is you want, and try to figure out a way to get it.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
More Black Widow and Feminism
(Crossposted from my Tumblr)
I found some good discussion posts about the
Avengers in general and the Black Widow in particular, from cleolinda
and Jim C. Hines:
So I Saw the Avengers
Those who are about to be flamed salute you
Black Widow and Power
(Related) Criticizing our Fandoms
I came away from the movie with a different interpretation of Natasha in general and those scenes in particular than these two writers did, but I am glad they made their posts.
While I’ve written what I see as the problem with this scene here, my take was that Natasha was playing Loki during the whole of the interrogation scene. When she turns away, it’s not because he’s touched a nerve, it’s because she wouldn’t get away with it otherwise. I see her horrified reaction her as very much like her fear when she’s being threatened by the Russians— the ease with which she takes them down strongly indicates that she was faking being afraid. Similarly, I thought she was faking all of her vulnerability.
And in that context, this scene becomes a major triumph for Natasha and a major loss for Loki. Loki shows his misogynistic colors, as were hinted at in “Thor,” obliquely threatens Natasha with death and rape at the hands of her best friend, and then calls her what amounts to “whining cunt.” And Natasha, as I read her, was unmoved. It’s as if Loki’s saying “Hahaha, I know what your vulnerabilities are because you’re a woman! So I can throw frothy misogynistic rage at you and it will upset you!” And Natasha takes his assumptions about her, uses them against him, and gives him the metaphorical finger. His loss of control, his misogyny, unseats him.
Similarly, I didn’t see Natasha’s power or skillset being bound up in gendered manipulation, in making herself vulnerable and exposing herself to torture, as Jim C. Hines did. We do see her do that, but her other powers are equally, if not far more, impressive: she beats up three men while tied to a chair, she flies fighter jets, she’s comfortable and competent in hand-to-hand combat (when Coulson calls her, we see a flash on the screen of her and Hawkeye in a firefight), she thinks on her feet, and she can hold her own with the likes of Captain America. She’s also brave and audacious, throwing herself into situations that make multiple male Avengers go, “What are you doing?” She doesn’t need to make herself vulnerable in order to achieve something; it’s just one more tool in her arsenal.
The fact that Joss Whedon takes delight in the misogynistic slur in his script, however, is gross. I’m getting the impression that Joss Whedon is kind of Steven Moffat 2.0.
ETA: Many of the commenters on the “Black Widow and Power” post said the same thing I was trying to say, but better. I recommend the comments on that post in particular.
So I Saw the Avengers
Those who are about to be flamed salute you
Black Widow and Power
(Related) Criticizing our Fandoms
I came away from the movie with a different interpretation of Natasha in general and those scenes in particular than these two writers did, but I am glad they made their posts.
While I’ve written what I see as the problem with this scene here, my take was that Natasha was playing Loki during the whole of the interrogation scene. When she turns away, it’s not because he’s touched a nerve, it’s because she wouldn’t get away with it otherwise. I see her horrified reaction her as very much like her fear when she’s being threatened by the Russians— the ease with which she takes them down strongly indicates that she was faking being afraid. Similarly, I thought she was faking all of her vulnerability.
And in that context, this scene becomes a major triumph for Natasha and a major loss for Loki. Loki shows his misogynistic colors, as were hinted at in “Thor,” obliquely threatens Natasha with death and rape at the hands of her best friend, and then calls her what amounts to “whining cunt.” And Natasha, as I read her, was unmoved. It’s as if Loki’s saying “Hahaha, I know what your vulnerabilities are because you’re a woman! So I can throw frothy misogynistic rage at you and it will upset you!” And Natasha takes his assumptions about her, uses them against him, and gives him the metaphorical finger. His loss of control, his misogyny, unseats him.
Similarly, I didn’t see Natasha’s power or skillset being bound up in gendered manipulation, in making herself vulnerable and exposing herself to torture, as Jim C. Hines did. We do see her do that, but her other powers are equally, if not far more, impressive: she beats up three men while tied to a chair, she flies fighter jets, she’s comfortable and competent in hand-to-hand combat (when Coulson calls her, we see a flash on the screen of her and Hawkeye in a firefight), she thinks on her feet, and she can hold her own with the likes of Captain America. She’s also brave and audacious, throwing herself into situations that make multiple male Avengers go, “What are you doing?” She doesn’t need to make herself vulnerable in order to achieve something; it’s just one more tool in her arsenal.
The fact that Joss Whedon takes delight in the misogynistic slur in his script, however, is gross. I’m getting the impression that Joss Whedon is kind of Steven Moffat 2.0.
ETA: Many of the commenters on the “Black Widow and Power” post said the same thing I was trying to say, but better. I recommend the comments on that post in particular.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
A Feminist Note on "The Avengers"
Detailed spoilers for "The Avengers." Trigger warning for violence, torture, rape, and a misogynistic slur, as mentioned within the movie.
I have finally caught up with what seems like the rest of the world and seen "The Avengers." I really liked it. I liked how there were three female characters and only one of them was somebody's love interest. I liked how Maria Hill's gender was totally irrelevant to her characterization and her plotting, and how Natasha Romanoff's almost was. I liked how sexual tension and romance were also irrelevant to the plot. It was a movie about people working together to get stuff done.
One of the things I didn't like pertains to the Black Widow. I was very pleasantly surprised by her characterization-- she's not portrayed as a helpless love interest, she's on equal footing with the other Avengers, she basically saves the day. As I said above, her gender is almost irrelevant to her plotline. (One line I appreciated was when she told Banner, "You didn't come because I batted my eyelashes at you," subverting the idea that her strength lies in her sex appeal.) There are two times when it was relevant, though, and one of them, I found problematic.
The first time is when she's ostensibly being interrogated by a Russian general. She's tied to a chair, and apparently helpless. The general dismisses her with the line, "The famous Black Widow is just another pretty face." She opens her eyes wide and says, "Do you really think I'm pretty?" He has her tied to a chair and is threatening to rip out her tongue with pliers, and she mocks him to his face. She then proceeds to beat up everyone in the room, while still tied to the chair, before dumping the general down a hole in the floor. This was not the time I found problematic. This was a subversion and it was wonderful.
The second time is when she goes to talk to Loki, ostensibly to bargain for Clint's life. While Loki dresses it up in pretty words, he basically threatens to use his mind control to make Clint rape and kill her, to mock her for thinking that saving Clint would make a difference in the balance of all the people she's killed in the past. He calls her a "mewling quim," the latter word apparently being the English equivalent of "cunt." She pretends to break down, and he tips his hand by mentioning the Hulk. She interprets this (apparently correctly, in light of later events) as meaning he's going to manipulate Bruce Banner into Hulking out and destroying the helicarrier, and as she leaves to warn the others, it becomes apparent that her breakdown was a trick to get Loki to talk. Loki is left looking like he doesn't know what hit him.
I appreciate the fact that Natasha uses an appearance of vulnerability to get her opponents to reveal information to her, and I especially appreciate the fact that she tricks the Trickster God. But this scene feels forced to me because it's ultimately rather pointless. She warns the others that Loki wants Banner to Hulk out, but they start arguing instead of doing anything about that, so that Banner does turn into the Hulk when Hawkeye and his fellow mind-controlled minions attack the helicarrier. Natasha goes a harrowing round with a demigod and wins, only for her valuable intel to be ignored by a room full of men having a pissing contest.
It seems as if this scene exists solely for Joss Whedon to show us how informed he is about the harmfulness of misogyny, while still allowing him to be "edgy" by throwing in some verbal abuse and misogynistic slurs. It's a lovingly-crafted display of misogyny-- we know how much Whedon likes the phrase "mewling quim"-- that's subverted at the end with a hasty, "Don't do this, kids, it makes you careless!" It's Whedon's attempt to show us that he knows how the bad guys operate, but he's one of the good guys. Except it falls flat, not because Natasha's not awesome, but because her awesomeness is wasted here.
P.S. If you haven't seen it, Feministe has a good post up on the characterization and costuming of the Black Widow, and the sadly predictable misogynistic reception she's gotten from some reviewers.
P.P.S. In most other respects, though, the movie was very good, and was actually one of the more refreshingly feminist things I've seen lately. Which is sad considering that it has all of three named female characters and doesn't pass the Bechdel test, but it does have a hardcore superspy who rescues her best male friend instead of vice versa, a no-nonsense soldier who answers only to Nick Fury, and a more "traditionally" feminine woman who's a high-powered businesswoman and, apparently, an architect. Three different ways to be female and awesome!
I have finally caught up with what seems like the rest of the world and seen "The Avengers." I really liked it. I liked how there were three female characters and only one of them was somebody's love interest. I liked how Maria Hill's gender was totally irrelevant to her characterization and her plotting, and how Natasha Romanoff's almost was. I liked how sexual tension and romance were also irrelevant to the plot. It was a movie about people working together to get stuff done.
One of the things I didn't like pertains to the Black Widow. I was very pleasantly surprised by her characterization-- she's not portrayed as a helpless love interest, she's on equal footing with the other Avengers, she basically saves the day. As I said above, her gender is almost irrelevant to her plotline. (One line I appreciated was when she told Banner, "You didn't come because I batted my eyelashes at you," subverting the idea that her strength lies in her sex appeal.) There are two times when it was relevant, though, and one of them, I found problematic.
The first time is when she's ostensibly being interrogated by a Russian general. She's tied to a chair, and apparently helpless. The general dismisses her with the line, "The famous Black Widow is just another pretty face." She opens her eyes wide and says, "Do you really think I'm pretty?" He has her tied to a chair and is threatening to rip out her tongue with pliers, and she mocks him to his face. She then proceeds to beat up everyone in the room, while still tied to the chair, before dumping the general down a hole in the floor. This was not the time I found problematic. This was a subversion and it was wonderful.
The second time is when she goes to talk to Loki, ostensibly to bargain for Clint's life. While Loki dresses it up in pretty words, he basically threatens to use his mind control to make Clint rape and kill her, to mock her for thinking that saving Clint would make a difference in the balance of all the people she's killed in the past. He calls her a "mewling quim," the latter word apparently being the English equivalent of "cunt." She pretends to break down, and he tips his hand by mentioning the Hulk. She interprets this (apparently correctly, in light of later events) as meaning he's going to manipulate Bruce Banner into Hulking out and destroying the helicarrier, and as she leaves to warn the others, it becomes apparent that her breakdown was a trick to get Loki to talk. Loki is left looking like he doesn't know what hit him.
I appreciate the fact that Natasha uses an appearance of vulnerability to get her opponents to reveal information to her, and I especially appreciate the fact that she tricks the Trickster God. But this scene feels forced to me because it's ultimately rather pointless. She warns the others that Loki wants Banner to Hulk out, but they start arguing instead of doing anything about that, so that Banner does turn into the Hulk when Hawkeye and his fellow mind-controlled minions attack the helicarrier. Natasha goes a harrowing round with a demigod and wins, only for her valuable intel to be ignored by a room full of men having a pissing contest.
It seems as if this scene exists solely for Joss Whedon to show us how informed he is about the harmfulness of misogyny, while still allowing him to be "edgy" by throwing in some verbal abuse and misogynistic slurs. It's a lovingly-crafted display of misogyny-- we know how much Whedon likes the phrase "mewling quim"-- that's subverted at the end with a hasty, "Don't do this, kids, it makes you careless!" It's Whedon's attempt to show us that he knows how the bad guys operate, but he's one of the good guys. Except it falls flat, not because Natasha's not awesome, but because her awesomeness is wasted here.
P.S. If you haven't seen it, Feministe has a good post up on the characterization and costuming of the Black Widow, and the sadly predictable misogynistic reception she's gotten from some reviewers.
P.P.S. In most other respects, though, the movie was very good, and was actually one of the more refreshingly feminist things I've seen lately. Which is sad considering that it has all of three named female characters and doesn't pass the Bechdel test, but it does have a hardcore superspy who rescues her best male friend instead of vice versa, a no-nonsense soldier who answers only to Nick Fury, and a more "traditionally" feminine woman who's a high-powered businesswoman and, apparently, an architect. Three different ways to be female and awesome!
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Book Review: Bonk
TW sexual assault
I recently read Mary Roach's Bonk. I enjoyed parts of it tremendously; the deadpan footnotes, in particular, had a tendency to make me laugh helplessly. The subject matter is treated maturely, though, and it's an informative read. Rather than a history of sex, it's a history of sex research, and details what scientists thought about sex in the past, as well as the… experiments… by which they derived those theories. It also talks about modern-day sex research, sexual dysfunction, and attempts to remedy said dysfunctions.
While I wouldn't call it an explicitly feminist read, nothing much about it twinged my "this is messed up" radar-- with two major exceptions. At two points, the author interacts with patients or study members without, as far as I can tell, their permission. Once, she touches the anesthetized penis of a man who's had surgery to reduce erectile dysfunction. The second time is less clear about what's going on; she peers through one-way glass to get a look at an experimental setup, while it is in use by a woman who is masturbating. Given that the experimental setup uses one-way glass, of course the study participants know they may be watched by researchers, but I'm not sure where visiting journalists fall out in all that. It's particularly odd because at one point the author undergoes a vaginal photoplesmythography study on the grounds that "Observing someone else who said yes was not an option, because of human subjects review board rules."
Those two inexplicable and disconcerting parts aside for the moment, I was particularly interested in the bits about female sexual responses. One thing that was a particular lightbulb moment for me was the described difference between "reflex arousal" and "psychogenic arousal"-- broadly speaking, arousal from physical stimulation in the absence of erotic input, or arousal from erotic input-- sights, sounds, thoughts-- in the absence of physical stimulation.
I also found it interesting that she described HSDD (hypoactive sexual desire disorder) as "low libido." This is a topic, of course, that is of interest to many aces, since it's not hard for someone to take the definition of HSDD as it stands and use it to pathologize asexuality; there's not much difference between what HSDD describes and between asexuality. Yet most asexuals make a distinction between having a libido and being asexual; you can have a sex drive and be asexual, and you can not have a sex drive and be not on the ace spectrum. If most people think of HSDD as low libido, that indicates that they think of sex drive and sexual attraction as the same thing, which in turn is probably a reason it's so hard to explain asexuality. (I did some quick Googling. The Mayo Clinic has a page that conflates having low sexual desires with having a low sex drive with having HSDD. It seems to be a common conflation.)
Obviously this is not the book to read if talking about sex or genitals squicks you out. But if you have an interest in science, or in learning more about the science behind sex, and you can get past the two moments of apparent non-consent (and while I don't want to say "she would never do that," I'm boggled by the idea that an author would sexually assault someone and then write about it?) it's a pretty good read.
I recently read Mary Roach's Bonk. I enjoyed parts of it tremendously; the deadpan footnotes, in particular, had a tendency to make me laugh helplessly. The subject matter is treated maturely, though, and it's an informative read. Rather than a history of sex, it's a history of sex research, and details what scientists thought about sex in the past, as well as the… experiments… by which they derived those theories. It also talks about modern-day sex research, sexual dysfunction, and attempts to remedy said dysfunctions.
While I wouldn't call it an explicitly feminist read, nothing much about it twinged my "this is messed up" radar-- with two major exceptions. At two points, the author interacts with patients or study members without, as far as I can tell, their permission. Once, she touches the anesthetized penis of a man who's had surgery to reduce erectile dysfunction. The second time is less clear about what's going on; she peers through one-way glass to get a look at an experimental setup, while it is in use by a woman who is masturbating. Given that the experimental setup uses one-way glass, of course the study participants know they may be watched by researchers, but I'm not sure where visiting journalists fall out in all that. It's particularly odd because at one point the author undergoes a vaginal photoplesmythography study on the grounds that "Observing someone else who said yes was not an option, because of human subjects review board rules."
Those two inexplicable and disconcerting parts aside for the moment, I was particularly interested in the bits about female sexual responses. One thing that was a particular lightbulb moment for me was the described difference between "reflex arousal" and "psychogenic arousal"-- broadly speaking, arousal from physical stimulation in the absence of erotic input, or arousal from erotic input-- sights, sounds, thoughts-- in the absence of physical stimulation.
I also found it interesting that she described HSDD (hypoactive sexual desire disorder) as "low libido." This is a topic, of course, that is of interest to many aces, since it's not hard for someone to take the definition of HSDD as it stands and use it to pathologize asexuality; there's not much difference between what HSDD describes and between asexuality. Yet most asexuals make a distinction between having a libido and being asexual; you can have a sex drive and be asexual, and you can not have a sex drive and be not on the ace spectrum. If most people think of HSDD as low libido, that indicates that they think of sex drive and sexual attraction as the same thing, which in turn is probably a reason it's so hard to explain asexuality. (I did some quick Googling. The Mayo Clinic has a page that conflates having low sexual desires with having a low sex drive with having HSDD. It seems to be a common conflation.)
Obviously this is not the book to read if talking about sex or genitals squicks you out. But if you have an interest in science, or in learning more about the science behind sex, and you can get past the two moments of apparent non-consent (and while I don't want to say "she would never do that," I'm boggled by the idea that an author would sexually assault someone and then write about it?) it's a pretty good read.
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