I'm putting this question out there: If you're not attracted to anyone, how do you choose who you're supposed to date?
Marinate on that one for a moment.
Every so often, I reassess the question, "Should I date?" Many asexuals do. I want to have some kind of life partner, and I've had no luck achieving this without dating. No matter how convincing the idea may seem though, my answer always ends up being "no". In fact, as time goes by, I only come up with more reasons not to date. I'd be willing to date someone specific, but don't like the idea of dating random people. I've been on online dating sites, the prime source of random people to date, and feel very put off by the supermarket-like feel of them. In my interactions with people from these sites, they were trying to judge me, and draw some specific conclusion, extremely quickly. I can understand why, since dating is a numbers game, but I couldn't help feeling like the process was so artificial. Then there's the whole "when to disclose asexuality" issue. Once in a while I go back on OKCupid, where I have an inactive profile, but I'm just like, "Oy. What am I thinking?"
However, this creates a contradiction: it's almost impossible for me to find a specific person to date when attraction is absent. Since I have experienced romantic attraction, however briefly and/or pointlessly, I'm able to know what I'd be "missing" in a relationship without it. I've tried to see if, in the event that I met more people, I might develop romantic feelings for someone. But I just ended up developing these feelings for someone whom I could never actually date. Maybe in time, after meeting many more people, I could find one person that I might have mutual romantic feelings with (numbers game!). Still, I wouldn't bet any money on it.
Nor do I know how to figure out what gender(s) to date, which makes online dating even harder than it already is. I don't think I would feel comfortable dating someone who is not committed to challenging gender roles (now, there's a tall order). I feel like dating would activate a bunch of gender dysphoria that I might otherwise be able to avoid. The thought of being seen as someone's "girlfriend", or as being in a heterosexual relationship, makes me feel a little sick. As described in this article, I do tend to see dating as "a threat to my gender identity". While I have a hard time choosing an exact label for my gender identity, I know what it is and isn't, and I feel strongly about it and its "integrity".
Like any social skill, dating takes practice. Practice that, as you know, I've never had. I don't think it's "too late" to start now. Because despite prevailing myths, people start dating at many different ages and there isn't some arbitrary age where you're "too old". What I don't know is whether it's worth the effort, and the huge amount of anxiety around dealing with people who may not respect my sexuality and gender.
Yes, my yearly thoughts ended up being mostly complaints; that's just how it goes sometimes. But this is also a minority report, in a way. I do want some kind of life partner, but (GASP!) it's not the most important thing to me, at least right now. That this could be a goal of only moderate importance is basically unknown to our culture. But of course, it's part of many people's lived experiences, asexual and also not asexual.
Showing posts with label dating. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dating. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Monday, February 28, 2011
The Date...That Wasn't
This was originally intended as a possible Spectral Amoebas contribution...that's why it's so long. Also, I was paranoid that "Sam" would somehow see it...but hey, if he does, at least it will explain my actions a lot better than I ever did at the time.
Everyone else was doing it, so I joined an online dating site. While I was browsing, I saw the profile of a man I would want to be friends with. We sent a few e-mails and decided to meet in person. It remained clear in my mind that I wanted to be friends with this man (let's call him Sam) rather than date him. Our first meeting was decidedly un-datelike, as we were meeting on a weekday afternoon in a place that was not at all romantic. I would see Sam three or four more times. I wondered if he thought we were going on dates, but quickly put it out of my mind. If these were dates, then why weren't we doing typical "date" things like dinner and a movie? If he thought we were dating, he would flirt with me, or try to touch me in some way, and I would do the same. Neither of us did. If we were dating, surely Sam would ask some question relating to romantic relationships. He never did, nor did I ever ask him.
Then one night, I went with Sam to a performance. While we were waiting for the show to start, suddenly Sam started complimenting me and looking into my eyes. It occurred to me that whatever he'd thought in the past, Sam was now considering this a date. But I didn't know how to handle the situation, so I kept my concerns to myself. Sam drove me home and asked if he could walk me to my door. I saw no reason for him to do so, but agreed. As we stood in front of my door, Sam said that he liked me a lot, and then something strange happened to his face. His eyes started shimmering. Actually, his whole face seemed a bit wavy, but maybe that was just my panic expressing itself as it quickly became obvious that Sam wanted to kiss me. How did I extricate myself? I'm not proud to say that I chirped, "I'M ASEXUAL! I DON'T DATE! SORRY!" before running upstairs, leaving Sam extremely confused.
This is an embarrassing story, one that I don't think portrays me in a very positive light. But I bring it up because I think it addresses some larger issues about consent. Consent is usually discussed in a sexual context, so it might seem trivial to mention it here. But sex doesn't occur in a vacuum, nor do our attitudes about consent. So I decided to probe my own psychology and figure out why I didn't assert myself sooner. As a lifelong feminist, you might think I'd be comfortable speaking up about these things, but such is not always the case. I like a good numbered list, so let me outline what I now realize was my reasoning. I hope it'll be somewhat obvious that all of these points can be extrapolated out to sexual encounters as well.
1. I thought that if I'd laid out my expectations earlier, Sam would have been angry or upset, or it would have made things more awkward. (Obviously, I hadn't taken the long view.) We all know about a seemingly good guy who's gone all Mr. Hyde when "rejected" by a woman. (I don't see friendship as "rejection", but I know some people do.) I didn't know Sam well enough to anticipate his response and I feared that uncertainty. Maybe he'd say, "Pffft, don't flatter yourself." That would've been bad...but not as bad as what ended up happening.
2. I didn't know how to say "no" without literally yelling "NO!" and running away. I didn't know how to question Sam without jeopardizing our friendship (which I ended up doing anyway). I didn't realize that if Sam was someone worthy of my time, I would have been able to speak honestly with him. While I'm now 26 years old, in "dating years" I'm around 12 or 13. I've only been on 2 dates (that I knew were dates) in my life. I didn't want to embarrass myself by displaying my lack of experience (which I ended up doing anyway).
3. A friend would later tell me that because I was on a dating site, my dating consent was implied. But of course, if you have to imply consent, then there's a definite chance that you don't have it at all. When Sam switched into date mode that night, I felt affronted. It seemed like he'd decided to take the evening in a certain direction without caring whether I wanted the same thing.
4. I wanted to like Sam "that way", even though I didn't. I wanted to be "normal", which luckily I have mostly gotten over by now. At the time, I didn't know why I'd only ever liked guys who ignored me. It made me feel pathetic. But on further thought, I realized that for me, it made sense. Guys who ignored me would never make me feel uncomfortable or pressure me into sexual situations. And this was more important to me than gaining their attention. Maybe it's a healthy defense, because I know I have so much trouble saying "no". Personally, I don't think I should attempt to date sexual people unless I can say "no" with confidence.
5. And here's where the autism comes in, although it was in the background all along. In familiar social situations, I can do decently, and probably not be differentiated from an eccentric neurotypical (NT). But in unfamiliar situations, my social skills fall apart. In those situations, I look to NTs for cues, and if no cues are forthcoming, then I'm much less likely to take action. Whether diagnosed or not, I'd wager that most people on the spectrum have been told over and over (explicitly or implicitly) that we're doing something "the wrong way". The implication always seemed to be that this was a terrible thing. My experience was no different, and so I tend not to trust my own judgment.
I suppose there are a lot of reasons why someone would be distrustful of their judgment. But for me, it seems like a sad casualty of the way that social norms are strictly enforced, especially in school settings. Lucky for me, my distrust of my judgment has led to so many awkward situations that it's something I'm sincerely working on now. I'm trying to identify "red flags" and avoid them, whether that means yelling "NO!" and sprinting away, or engaging in some calmer behavior. Now, if "the date that wasn't" started to happen again, would I be able to plunge through the awkwardness and make my feelings known? I'd like to think so, but in the moment, I get so nervous that I suppose anything could happen.
Everyone else was doing it, so I joined an online dating site. While I was browsing, I saw the profile of a man I would want to be friends with. We sent a few e-mails and decided to meet in person. It remained clear in my mind that I wanted to be friends with this man (let's call him Sam) rather than date him. Our first meeting was decidedly un-datelike, as we were meeting on a weekday afternoon in a place that was not at all romantic. I would see Sam three or four more times. I wondered if he thought we were going on dates, but quickly put it out of my mind. If these were dates, then why weren't we doing typical "date" things like dinner and a movie? If he thought we were dating, he would flirt with me, or try to touch me in some way, and I would do the same. Neither of us did. If we were dating, surely Sam would ask some question relating to romantic relationships. He never did, nor did I ever ask him.
Then one night, I went with Sam to a performance. While we were waiting for the show to start, suddenly Sam started complimenting me and looking into my eyes. It occurred to me that whatever he'd thought in the past, Sam was now considering this a date. But I didn't know how to handle the situation, so I kept my concerns to myself. Sam drove me home and asked if he could walk me to my door. I saw no reason for him to do so, but agreed. As we stood in front of my door, Sam said that he liked me a lot, and then something strange happened to his face. His eyes started shimmering. Actually, his whole face seemed a bit wavy, but maybe that was just my panic expressing itself as it quickly became obvious that Sam wanted to kiss me. How did I extricate myself? I'm not proud to say that I chirped, "I'M ASEXUAL! I DON'T DATE! SORRY!" before running upstairs, leaving Sam extremely confused.
This is an embarrassing story, one that I don't think portrays me in a very positive light. But I bring it up because I think it addresses some larger issues about consent. Consent is usually discussed in a sexual context, so it might seem trivial to mention it here. But sex doesn't occur in a vacuum, nor do our attitudes about consent. So I decided to probe my own psychology and figure out why I didn't assert myself sooner. As a lifelong feminist, you might think I'd be comfortable speaking up about these things, but such is not always the case. I like a good numbered list, so let me outline what I now realize was my reasoning. I hope it'll be somewhat obvious that all of these points can be extrapolated out to sexual encounters as well.
1. I thought that if I'd laid out my expectations earlier, Sam would have been angry or upset, or it would have made things more awkward. (Obviously, I hadn't taken the long view.) We all know about a seemingly good guy who's gone all Mr. Hyde when "rejected" by a woman. (I don't see friendship as "rejection", but I know some people do.) I didn't know Sam well enough to anticipate his response and I feared that uncertainty. Maybe he'd say, "Pffft, don't flatter yourself." That would've been bad...but not as bad as what ended up happening.
2. I didn't know how to say "no" without literally yelling "NO!" and running away. I didn't know how to question Sam without jeopardizing our friendship (which I ended up doing anyway). I didn't realize that if Sam was someone worthy of my time, I would have been able to speak honestly with him. While I'm now 26 years old, in "dating years" I'm around 12 or 13. I've only been on 2 dates (that I knew were dates) in my life. I didn't want to embarrass myself by displaying my lack of experience (which I ended up doing anyway).
3. A friend would later tell me that because I was on a dating site, my dating consent was implied. But of course, if you have to imply consent, then there's a definite chance that you don't have it at all. When Sam switched into date mode that night, I felt affronted. It seemed like he'd decided to take the evening in a certain direction without caring whether I wanted the same thing.
4. I wanted to like Sam "that way", even though I didn't. I wanted to be "normal", which luckily I have mostly gotten over by now. At the time, I didn't know why I'd only ever liked guys who ignored me. It made me feel pathetic. But on further thought, I realized that for me, it made sense. Guys who ignored me would never make me feel uncomfortable or pressure me into sexual situations. And this was more important to me than gaining their attention. Maybe it's a healthy defense, because I know I have so much trouble saying "no". Personally, I don't think I should attempt to date sexual people unless I can say "no" with confidence.
5. And here's where the autism comes in, although it was in the background all along. In familiar social situations, I can do decently, and probably not be differentiated from an eccentric neurotypical (NT). But in unfamiliar situations, my social skills fall apart. In those situations, I look to NTs for cues, and if no cues are forthcoming, then I'm much less likely to take action. Whether diagnosed or not, I'd wager that most people on the spectrum have been told over and over (explicitly or implicitly) that we're doing something "the wrong way". The implication always seemed to be that this was a terrible thing. My experience was no different, and so I tend not to trust my own judgment.
I suppose there are a lot of reasons why someone would be distrustful of their judgment. But for me, it seems like a sad casualty of the way that social norms are strictly enforced, especially in school settings. Lucky for me, my distrust of my judgment has led to so many awkward situations that it's something I'm sincerely working on now. I'm trying to identify "red flags" and avoid them, whether that means yelling "NO!" and sprinting away, or engaging in some calmer behavior. Now, if "the date that wasn't" started to happen again, would I be able to plunge through the awkwardness and make my feelings known? I'd like to think so, but in the moment, I get so nervous that I suppose anything could happen.
Monday, July 12, 2010
How About We...
It's a waste that I don't date, but not for the reason most people might think. The truth is, I often have what I would consider good ideas for dates, but no romantic interests to try them out on. Then I read in the New York Times that there's a new online dating site where people are "matched" by suggesting date ideas. It's called How About We. I think that at the moment, it only covers New York, and even if it didn't, I am rubbish at online dating. However, I have to admit that this is one of the better mainstream dating-site concepts that I've seen. One issue is that when I chose to search for "women and men", it automatically put "Bi-sexual" on my profile (yes, with a hyphen). But aside from that, focusing on an activity might be beneficial to asexual daters. Your date might not get laid, but hey, at least they didn't have to play miniature golf and eat fondue alone. Online daters can be really intense, and meeting over an activity just seems a lot more casual to me.
Anyway, I entered a New York zip code so that I could view some of the dates that people were suggesting. Here's a selection:
Anyway, I entered a New York zip code so that I could view some of the dates that people were suggesting. Here's a selection:
- "How about we... go to the botanical gardens and try and spot people that look like their dog." A man after my own heart.
- "How about we... do something super active/healthy and then completely negate it with leisure/gluttony." Someone figures themselves a study in contrasts.
- "How about we... wander around all the bad neighborhoods in the city until we get mugged and/or assaulted and then we can bond in the police station as we file a report." So...ladies?
- "How about we... paint watercolors on the brooklyn bridge at dusk." Actually, that sounds kind of cool.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Chivalry (and a few other things)
"This charming man..." --The Smiths
A lighter post, I hope--A few months ago, I tried to take the Eharmony.com test. I was curious if it would say I was unmatchable, because it seems like a lot of asexuals get that result. I got a few questions into the test and then gave up due to boredom. However, this hasn't stopped Eharmony from sending me periodic e-mails about dating tips. I do find them interesting to read. One was "Men-- 5 Simple Ways to Charm Your Date". I thought about the suggestions and whether or not, coming from a date, they would succeed in charming me:
1. Surprise your date with a CD of his or her favorite music.
Actually, this would probably charm me more than most other things, especially if the person took the time to make a mix...well, as long as they don't go around giving the same mix to every woman, that is...
2. Bring her one rose or a bouquet of tulips.
I'm not sure why this is even mentioned, since it's probably the least creative thing to give someone on a date.
3. Charm her with chocolate
I don't know why, but chocolate seems like a strange gift for the first few dates. And like flowers, it's pretty impersonal, unless you know you share a love of chocolate, or the topic of chocolate somehow came up.
4. Become the historian in your relationship.
Eharmony's description of this activity sounds like too much work for anyone, especially early on in the relationship when you may not be sure if you're in it for the long haul. But I'd be charmed if someone remembered anniversaries, even if they were silly ones. I do celebrate my AVENiversary, after all.
5. Be Chivalrous and gracious at all times.
Like a lot of people, I have mixed feelings about "chivalry". Personally, I'm a big fan of people being well-mannered, as I try (and sometimes fail) to be. But chivalry and etiquette are not the same. Most etiquette is gender-neutral. But chivalry is something that only flows from men to women. It has a clear history (that of medieval knights) but the meaning of its modern form is a muddled one. Can a show of chivalry really tell you where a guy stands on gender roles anymore? I kind of doubt it. Some say that chivalry died when women gained more equality, but I think this is just an unwarranted jab at feminism. A man can be supportive of traditional gender roles and at the same time, not be chivalrous at all.
And maybe I can only deal with potential chivalry from people without a sexual agenda. To me, chivalry with sexual overtones (from someone I am not attracted to) feels creepy and like the other person is just trying to run game. Same with flirting, as long as, again, I know I'm not attracted to the person in any way. I have a feeling a lot of non-asexuals might feel the same way about people they're not attracted to. For some people, chivalry is just an act and not a very convincing one. No, I'm definitely not going to be more likely to sleep with you if you pull out my chair for me.
Some wisdom on this topic comes from the dating advice of J.M. Kearns. He says, "...there is an issue that will send up quiet but important signals during your months of getting to know a new man [as a romantic prospect]. It has to do with how rigidly you each define masculinity and femininity. The two of you need to be equally flexible (or rigid) or there will be trouble" (emphasis his). I've never heard this idea explicitly mentioned anywhere else, but I think it's an extremely important one. I already feel the pressure to act "more feminine"; the last thing I'd need is even more of this pressure in a romantic relationship.
And lastly, thank goodness Sarah Haskins has targeted dating advice.
Actually, this would probably charm me more than most other things, especially if the person took the time to make a mix...well, as long as they don't go around giving the same mix to every woman, that is...
2. Bring her one rose or a bouquet of tulips.
I'm not sure why this is even mentioned, since it's probably the least creative thing to give someone on a date.
3. Charm her with chocolate
I don't know why, but chocolate seems like a strange gift for the first few dates. And like flowers, it's pretty impersonal, unless you know you share a love of chocolate, or the topic of chocolate somehow came up.
4. Become the historian in your relationship.
Eharmony's description of this activity sounds like too much work for anyone, especially early on in the relationship when you may not be sure if you're in it for the long haul. But I'd be charmed if someone remembered anniversaries, even if they were silly ones. I do celebrate my AVENiversary, after all.
5. Be Chivalrous and gracious at all times.
Like a lot of people, I have mixed feelings about "chivalry". Personally, I'm a big fan of people being well-mannered, as I try (and sometimes fail) to be. But chivalry and etiquette are not the same. Most etiquette is gender-neutral. But chivalry is something that only flows from men to women. It has a clear history (that of medieval knights) but the meaning of its modern form is a muddled one. Can a show of chivalry really tell you where a guy stands on gender roles anymore? I kind of doubt it. Some say that chivalry died when women gained more equality, but I think this is just an unwarranted jab at feminism. A man can be supportive of traditional gender roles and at the same time, not be chivalrous at all.
And maybe I can only deal with potential chivalry from people without a sexual agenda. To me, chivalry with sexual overtones (from someone I am not attracted to) feels creepy and like the other person is just trying to run game. Same with flirting, as long as, again, I know I'm not attracted to the person in any way. I have a feeling a lot of non-asexuals might feel the same way about people they're not attracted to. For some people, chivalry is just an act and not a very convincing one. No, I'm definitely not going to be more likely to sleep with you if you pull out my chair for me.
Some wisdom on this topic comes from the dating advice of J.M. Kearns. He says, "...there is an issue that will send up quiet but important signals during your months of getting to know a new man [as a romantic prospect]. It has to do with how rigidly you each define masculinity and femininity. The two of you need to be equally flexible (or rigid) or there will be trouble" (emphasis his). I've never heard this idea explicitly mentioned anywhere else, but I think it's an extremely important one. I already feel the pressure to act "more feminine"; the last thing I'd need is even more of this pressure in a romantic relationship.
And lastly, thank goodness Sarah Haskins has targeted dating advice.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Another Country
As I've mentioned in the past, I have an obscure little learning disorder called Nonverbal Learning Disorder (NLD). Like all "disorders", it comprises a bunch of things I'm supposed to be bad and good at, not all of which apply to me. However one of the main facets of NLD is a difficulty understanding nonverbal communication, which people will gleefully tell you is 90% of all communication. I don't know if someone who does understand nonverbal cues can really understand what it's like to not understand them. The best analogy I can come up with is that I constantly feel like I'm in a different culture. It's very interesting, but can be tiring as well. When I was prepping to study abroad, everyone was telling me about how much culture shock I'd experience-- and I was only going to England, at that. However, I experienced no culture shock whatsoever that was attributable to English vs. American culture. It's not that I felt more comfortable in England than I did in America, but that I feel equally uncomfortable anywhere that nonverbal communication makes up 90% of communication.
I'm not saying this to make you think I'm really unusual or anything, just to point out that none of us are "just" our orientations, and we all have other traits and experiences that inform how we go about relationships. Hopefully among friends, we can be honest about the way we see the world without having people yell at us about what "causes" our orientations. Anyhoodle...
I've been trying to articulate this post for awhile, but was inspired to get 'er done by today's post from Shades of Gray. In that post, she talks about the issues surrounding initiating sexual activity when you're an asexual (or gray-asexual) in a relationship with a sexual person. Of course, I wouldn't know how to initiate sexual activity. But in my case, that's like worrying about calculus when you can't do arithmetic. What's baffled me ever since my friends started dating en masse was how people initiate romantic relationships. My wonderment about this seems to come from an unlimited wellspring. I could chalk it up to being asexual-- how the hell do you know who to date when you're not attracted to anyone-- but it seems like plenty of asexual people date. I could also chalk it up to NLD somehow-- but it doesn't follow that I can figure out how to make friends but not how to date people. I can sort of understand how online dating works, probably because in its early stages, it takes place in writing, my preferred mode of communication. I read a statistic somewhere that one in eight people who get married met their partner online. That's a pretty big number, but still, most people are finding love through more organic means. So the initiation of dating, as well as its importance in our culture, do feel like entries in a rulebook that I never got.
Maybe that's not a terrible thing. But, I've got to be honest, I'm not one of those "asexuals who could get sex if they wanted". I've always had some degree of interest in dating, but could never figure out a way to get it to work for me. While I've felt some degree of romantic attraction in the past, I haven't had a real crush (as opposed to a fake crush, thank you) in years, and my crushes never accompanied feelings that I wanted to be in relationships with those people. I seem to be getting more aromantic with age, if such a thing is possible. Other asexuals seem to "fall in love" with people, something I can't understand (unless we're talking about Felt's "Penelope Tree" or some such). Maybe I'm just trying to fit myself into a mold where I really don't fit. I'd think it would follow that my romantic feelings about Felt songs could translate to another person, but perhaps not. Maybe part of my lack of understanding stems from the fact that it's hard to understand couple relationships as one person sitting and thinking. Half of the energy of the hypothetical relationship (one would hope) would be brought by the other person. So maybe it's a futile thing to ponder as an individual. Andrea Dworkin would probably hit me over the head for saying such a thing-- to the plumbers of the depths of (a)sexuality, no line of inquiry is too pointless, no question too random, no train of thought too convoluted. Well, I promised articulation and didn't deliver it. But, I'd love to hear any experiences that people have, asexual or not, with initiating romantic relationships. Or is anyone else like me about this stuff?
I'm not saying this to make you think I'm really unusual or anything, just to point out that none of us are "just" our orientations, and we all have other traits and experiences that inform how we go about relationships. Hopefully among friends, we can be honest about the way we see the world without having people yell at us about what "causes" our orientations. Anyhoodle...
I've been trying to articulate this post for awhile, but was inspired to get 'er done by today's post from Shades of Gray. In that post, she talks about the issues surrounding initiating sexual activity when you're an asexual (or gray-asexual) in a relationship with a sexual person. Of course, I wouldn't know how to initiate sexual activity. But in my case, that's like worrying about calculus when you can't do arithmetic. What's baffled me ever since my friends started dating en masse was how people initiate romantic relationships. My wonderment about this seems to come from an unlimited wellspring. I could chalk it up to being asexual-- how the hell do you know who to date when you're not attracted to anyone-- but it seems like plenty of asexual people date. I could also chalk it up to NLD somehow-- but it doesn't follow that I can figure out how to make friends but not how to date people. I can sort of understand how online dating works, probably because in its early stages, it takes place in writing, my preferred mode of communication. I read a statistic somewhere that one in eight people who get married met their partner online. That's a pretty big number, but still, most people are finding love through more organic means. So the initiation of dating, as well as its importance in our culture, do feel like entries in a rulebook that I never got.
Maybe that's not a terrible thing. But, I've got to be honest, I'm not one of those "asexuals who could get sex if they wanted". I've always had some degree of interest in dating, but could never figure out a way to get it to work for me. While I've felt some degree of romantic attraction in the past, I haven't had a real crush (as opposed to a fake crush, thank you) in years, and my crushes never accompanied feelings that I wanted to be in relationships with those people. I seem to be getting more aromantic with age, if such a thing is possible. Other asexuals seem to "fall in love" with people, something I can't understand (unless we're talking about Felt's "Penelope Tree" or some such). Maybe I'm just trying to fit myself into a mold where I really don't fit. I'd think it would follow that my romantic feelings about Felt songs could translate to another person, but perhaps not. Maybe part of my lack of understanding stems from the fact that it's hard to understand couple relationships as one person sitting and thinking. Half of the energy of the hypothetical relationship (one would hope) would be brought by the other person. So maybe it's a futile thing to ponder as an individual. Andrea Dworkin would probably hit me over the head for saying such a thing-- to the plumbers of the depths of (a)sexuality, no line of inquiry is too pointless, no question too random, no train of thought too convoluted. Well, I promised articulation and didn't deliver it. But, I'd love to hear any experiences that people have, asexual or not, with initiating romantic relationships. Or is anyone else like me about this stuff?
Monday, August 31, 2009
The Hot Ones
Earlier this month, Pretzelboy wrote a really intriguing blog post called "The only criticism of asexuality that actually bothers me". This "criticism from below" (ie, from people with a prior knowledge of asexuality) states that it's very difficult to know for sure that you're at the lowest levels of sexual desire when we have so little idea what the median is like. He writes:
Most of us have absolutely no idea what other people are actually like sexually. We have no idea what 50 is like and no idea what 10-20 is like. Rather, we are bombarded with images and messages about sexuality in movies, on TV, in magazines, and on the radio that give us wildely over-inflated ideas of what "sexually normal" is. People get ideas about "normal sexuality" from their peers. But not just from any peers--they get these ideas from their peers who talk the most about sex. And it's probably the people most interested in sex who talk the most about sex.
I can definitely relate to this. People tell me "love isn't like the movies", but how am I supposed to know what romantic love towards other people is like besides the information I get in movies? The curious people on the low end of the sex or romance spectrums have little to no way of discerning what real-life experiences of those things might be like. I long to ask people-- what attracted you to your partner? Why is that relationship so important to you? How do you think romantic love is different from other kinds of love? Why do you stay with someone who is so obviously wrong for you?, etc. However, these questions, if actually asked, would range from bizarre to rude to possibly TMI. And these are the tame questions. I don't think I want to know the minute details of my friends' sex lives. And most people aren't comfortable sharing those things, especially with an asexual who might not be able to relate to what they're saying. However, this leads me with nowhere to get the information about what the average experience of sexuality is. So of course all I know about sex is from a few highly sexual friends and the media. Maybe asexuals should start a research project to get this information from people, where they can answer anonymously. It would definitely be a needed service.
In the post I referenced earlier, Pretzel gives an example from his own life about not being able to know what other people are thinking about sexuality. He writes:
I was long confused about not understanding what it's like to think someone is "hot." I didn't even have much of a sense for "pretty" until I was in my 20's, so I was really confused about conversations about the matter, and I was even more confused about how there was no recognition that people like me even exist [...] Since identifying as asexual, I've found that a number of other people (who aren't asexual) don't get hotness either, and they often expericne a good bit of confusion over the matter. Had I known about this when I was younger, I might not have felt nearly as much of the sense of wierdness that led me to identify as asexual.
It's funny because I think I do know what "hot" is...just more asexual diversity, I guess, although I wonder how many asexuals fall into either camp. I thought it might be a nice piece of edutainment for me to try to define different levels of attractiveness in people. I'll give it a shot:
Beautiful/Handsome: If you were scouting for a modeling agency, these would be the people you'd pick up. They might inspire a head-turn because they're just that aesthetically pleasing. You may or may not be attracted to them.
Cute: You sort of can't decide whether to be attracted to them, or to go "aww" and pinch their cheek. They probably have above-average looks, a boyish/girlish charm and an appealing personality.
Sexy: This person is exciting, cool, and maybe a little unconventional (see the discussion of "sexy-ugly" in the movie Kissing Jessica Stein). I think people who ride mopeds are kind of sexy. While these people have a certain mystique, you don't necessarily want to have sex with them.
Asexy: I'm not sure if we will ever pass someone on the street and be knocked out by their asexiness. To me, "asexy" signifies an intellectual attraction or the hotness that comes from being asexual (which you wouldn't know just by looking at someone).
Hot: "Hot" is where everything comes together, at least in my mind. You find the person aesthetically pleasing. They're cute, they're sexy, and if you had to actually be stuck in a secret elevator with any of these people, this is who you would choose.
I remember writing in my journal years ago that if I ever met another asexual person, I would probably find them unbearably attractive. In a word, hot. Obviously, now I've met other asexuals, and I haven't ripped the clothes off any of them. However, if I needed any evidence that asexuality is actually an orientation, it could be this: That we might be most attracted to other asexuals. Sure, plenty of us are in relationships with people who aren't asexual, but isn't it true that most of us would rather be single than date someone who's totally incompatible sexually? Maybe "hot" is elusive for me because it's something that I'm most likely to apply to the rare fellow asexual. I remember a friend whispering to me about a guy I thought was pretty hot: "No one knows this, but he's still a virgin!" Coincidence? I don't know. Come to think of it, I've never been attracted to anyone whose sexuality was completely known to me. If Alan Rickman was a raging nymphomaniac, would we still like him so darn much? We all have our ideas of what we find more attractive than anything else; to me, it's the idea that someone "understands me". And who more, perhaps, than fellow aces? Not to freak you out or anything.
Most of us have absolutely no idea what other people are actually like sexually. We have no idea what 50 is like and no idea what 10-20 is like. Rather, we are bombarded with images and messages about sexuality in movies, on TV, in magazines, and on the radio that give us wildely over-inflated ideas of what "sexually normal" is. People get ideas about "normal sexuality" from their peers. But not just from any peers--they get these ideas from their peers who talk the most about sex. And it's probably the people most interested in sex who talk the most about sex.
I can definitely relate to this. People tell me "love isn't like the movies", but how am I supposed to know what romantic love towards other people is like besides the information I get in movies? The curious people on the low end of the sex or romance spectrums have little to no way of discerning what real-life experiences of those things might be like. I long to ask people-- what attracted you to your partner? Why is that relationship so important to you? How do you think romantic love is different from other kinds of love? Why do you stay with someone who is so obviously wrong for you?, etc. However, these questions, if actually asked, would range from bizarre to rude to possibly TMI. And these are the tame questions. I don't think I want to know the minute details of my friends' sex lives. And most people aren't comfortable sharing those things, especially with an asexual who might not be able to relate to what they're saying. However, this leads me with nowhere to get the information about what the average experience of sexuality is. So of course all I know about sex is from a few highly sexual friends and the media. Maybe asexuals should start a research project to get this information from people, where they can answer anonymously. It would definitely be a needed service.
In the post I referenced earlier, Pretzel gives an example from his own life about not being able to know what other people are thinking about sexuality. He writes:
I was long confused about not understanding what it's like to think someone is "hot." I didn't even have much of a sense for "pretty" until I was in my 20's, so I was really confused about conversations about the matter, and I was even more confused about how there was no recognition that people like me even exist [...] Since identifying as asexual, I've found that a number of other people (who aren't asexual) don't get hotness either, and they often expericne a good bit of confusion over the matter. Had I known about this when I was younger, I might not have felt nearly as much of the sense of wierdness that led me to identify as asexual.
It's funny because I think I do know what "hot" is...just more asexual diversity, I guess, although I wonder how many asexuals fall into either camp. I thought it might be a nice piece of edutainment for me to try to define different levels of attractiveness in people. I'll give it a shot:
Beautiful/Handsome: If you were scouting for a modeling agency, these would be the people you'd pick up. They might inspire a head-turn because they're just that aesthetically pleasing. You may or may not be attracted to them.
Cute: You sort of can't decide whether to be attracted to them, or to go "aww" and pinch their cheek. They probably have above-average looks, a boyish/girlish charm and an appealing personality.
Sexy: This person is exciting, cool, and maybe a little unconventional (see the discussion of "sexy-ugly" in the movie Kissing Jessica Stein). I think people who ride mopeds are kind of sexy. While these people have a certain mystique, you don't necessarily want to have sex with them.
Asexy: I'm not sure if we will ever pass someone on the street and be knocked out by their asexiness. To me, "asexy" signifies an intellectual attraction or the hotness that comes from being asexual (which you wouldn't know just by looking at someone).
Hot: "Hot" is where everything comes together, at least in my mind. You find the person aesthetically pleasing. They're cute, they're sexy, and if you had to actually be stuck in a secret elevator with any of these people, this is who you would choose.
I remember writing in my journal years ago that if I ever met another asexual person, I would probably find them unbearably attractive. In a word, hot. Obviously, now I've met other asexuals, and I haven't ripped the clothes off any of them. However, if I needed any evidence that asexuality is actually an orientation, it could be this: That we might be most attracted to other asexuals. Sure, plenty of us are in relationships with people who aren't asexual, but isn't it true that most of us would rather be single than date someone who's totally incompatible sexually? Maybe "hot" is elusive for me because it's something that I'm most likely to apply to the rare fellow asexual. I remember a friend whispering to me about a guy I thought was pretty hot: "No one knows this, but he's still a virgin!" Coincidence? I don't know. Come to think of it, I've never been attracted to anyone whose sexuality was completely known to me. If Alan Rickman was a raging nymphomaniac, would we still like him so darn much? We all have our ideas of what we find more attractive than anything else; to me, it's the idea that someone "understands me". And who more, perhaps, than fellow aces? Not to freak you out or anything.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
A Post-Dating World
There's one more issue discussed in Marrying Anita that made me nod in recognition. We can put men on the moon, Anita Jain says, but we can't figure out some consistent way to meet people for matrimonial purposes. I have heard (this is me talking) that we are so technologically advanced that we really only need to work for 2 hours a week. But apparently, since some critical mass of people insists on working for 40 or more, the rest of us have little choice but to do the same. Dating, like the 40-hour week, should be obsolete, but it isn't. Jain talked with some nostalgia about arranged marriages, which still occur in India. However, as an American, no one I know of has had an arranged marriage since my dad's grandparents. I doubt they'll be coming back in any great force. As frustrated as you might be with your job, you're probably not going to take up sustenance farming.
As a teenager, I always thought traditional dating existed, but apart from my own experience. I'm kind of sure that some sort of dating went on at my high school, but I was too busy studying and trying to get into college to really notice. I always assumed that in college, I would be able to find some other eligible bachelors to date. However, NO ONE DATED. I felt cheated when I discovered this. People would "hook up", which would sometimes lead to a romantic relationship. Obviously, I never hooked up with anyone, so my half-hearted desires for a boyfriend were never realized. Then I got to the "real world", which is where dating would finally happen. Or is it? Dating still seems as removed from me as it did in high school. I have no idea how it works. But I believe that no one else knows, either. That's why I get frustrated at books like He's Just Not That Into You. They assume we're still dating, but I'm pretty sure we've moved on to post-dating. From where I sit, there are no rules anymore.
One thing I actually miss about living in a rural town is the lack of choices available. In some ways, it made life easier, and I think that's why arranged marriages can seem attractive. It seems like our choices today in America have multiplied much faster than our ability to deal with them. How much time have we spent looking at 20 kinds of soymilk (okay, maybe that's just me), 50 different kinds of jeans, 500 kinds of wine? It's not a novel idea, but maybe asexuality is the new arranged marriage. Maybe having our dating choices cut way down from the get-go is a blessing in disguise. But then there's the issue of combing through huge groups of people to find the ones with little or no sex drive. Men on the moon, and we can't figure out a way to do this? Maybe the thing is that we want love to be spontaneous and serendipitous. We want, to use Roger Ebert's phrase, meet cutes. But at the same time, it sucks to be disappointed when we can't accomplish this. To quote a visionary of the 2-hour workweek, "We could be living in an earthly paradise by now". But it seems like our conflicting desires (for serendipity AND stability) stand in our own way. According to the philosopher Schopenhauer, if we were able to find our lovers with no trouble on our parts, we would be so bored that we'd kill ourselves. I don't know if I'd go that far, but it begs the question: Is the convolution of dating, or post-dating, something we can ever get past? Or are we somehow hardwired to keep confusing ourselves?
As a teenager, I always thought traditional dating existed, but apart from my own experience. I'm kind of sure that some sort of dating went on at my high school, but I was too busy studying and trying to get into college to really notice. I always assumed that in college, I would be able to find some other eligible bachelors to date. However, NO ONE DATED. I felt cheated when I discovered this. People would "hook up", which would sometimes lead to a romantic relationship. Obviously, I never hooked up with anyone, so my half-hearted desires for a boyfriend were never realized. Then I got to the "real world", which is where dating would finally happen. Or is it? Dating still seems as removed from me as it did in high school. I have no idea how it works. But I believe that no one else knows, either. That's why I get frustrated at books like He's Just Not That Into You. They assume we're still dating, but I'm pretty sure we've moved on to post-dating. From where I sit, there are no rules anymore.
One thing I actually miss about living in a rural town is the lack of choices available. In some ways, it made life easier, and I think that's why arranged marriages can seem attractive. It seems like our choices today in America have multiplied much faster than our ability to deal with them. How much time have we spent looking at 20 kinds of soymilk (okay, maybe that's just me), 50 different kinds of jeans, 500 kinds of wine? It's not a novel idea, but maybe asexuality is the new arranged marriage. Maybe having our dating choices cut way down from the get-go is a blessing in disguise. But then there's the issue of combing through huge groups of people to find the ones with little or no sex drive. Men on the moon, and we can't figure out a way to do this? Maybe the thing is that we want love to be spontaneous and serendipitous. We want, to use Roger Ebert's phrase, meet cutes. But at the same time, it sucks to be disappointed when we can't accomplish this. To quote a visionary of the 2-hour workweek, "We could be living in an earthly paradise by now". But it seems like our conflicting desires (for serendipity AND stability) stand in our own way. According to the philosopher Schopenhauer, if we were able to find our lovers with no trouble on our parts, we would be so bored that we'd kill ourselves. I don't know if I'd go that far, but it begs the question: Is the convolution of dating, or post-dating, something we can ever get past? Or are we somehow hardwired to keep confusing ourselves?
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