I had no idea what kind of response I would get on the first HAP post, but it was fantastic. I so appreciated your support, encouragement, and commiseration. Much love.
Things I've learned since I have started, strangely enough, to think about body hair:
Because so many people of all genders remove or conceal their hair, no one knows what "normal" is. The internet is full of women asking, "Is it normal to have hair on my feet/chest/stomach/face/back?" And I don't have a clue. Nor do I have any idea what is "normal" for my ethnicity. There seems to be some agreement that Mediterranean and Eastern European peoples are especially hairy (I am a mix of both), but what does that even mean? (Aside from the fact that what's "sexy" on our heads is repulsive on our bodies.) When people know that they're "normal", it's much easier to not worry as much about whatever the issue may be. With the case of body hair, we never get that relief.
It's easier to show leg hair than armpit hair. I think this is probably because we're more used to seeing leg hair--mostly on men, but still. At least in my area, men with hairy legs wear shorts most places. However, men with hairy armpits only show them in the most casual settings--the gym, for instance, or the beach. American culture doesn't tend to have positive associations with men in sleeveless shirts. Uhh, the phrase 'wifebeater' comes to mind.
Which leads to my conundrum. Women can show their armpits whenever, wherever, in even the most formal occasions. But the expectation, of course, is that the armpits are hairless. In the centuries before women started shaving, female clothes were much less revealing. Do I shave to wear some clothes (perhaps more fancy or formal ones) and not others? Do I change the types of things that I wear? Or do I proceed as usual with my wardrobe, unshaven? I haven't yet answered these questions for myself.
At any rate, the HAP continues apace. I continue to wear my rolled-up jeans, shorts, and even wore a skirt one day. I did wear a sleeveless shirt on two occasions, but no one really saw me on those days. No evidence yet than anyone has particularly noticed or cared about any of these things, although I still feel apprehensive that I'm going to get rude comments. Maybe I should try to change my thinking and make it my goal to get rude comments. Then if I get them, I could feel vindicated rather than diminished. I have always shied away from making people uncomfortable, but sometimes it's impossible to make a statement, whether social or artistic, without doing that. Although if no one ever says anything...that would be perfectly fine!
On the "References" page of K's blog, there are a few posts about feminism and body hair. It seems like a relevant thing to post about now, since it's the season of shorts, swim suits, and increased hair removal (at least in my hemisphere). If you search for "Body hair and feminism" on the internet, you come up with even more interesting posts. So while I may not be the first feminist to discuss body hair, I think it's a pretty fascinating issue, one that is under-discussed for all the time we spend trying to get rid of the hair in question.
First, let's get one thing straight-- Although seeing it on other people doesn't bother me, I've long had angst towards my own body hair. Even the words themselves give me the creeps. As a child, I was extremely upset about going through puberty. Yes, it's true that I'm not a big fan of major changes that I have no control over. But looking back, I think part of my fear had to do with being a young asexual. We're always told that puberty is our first step towards becoming full-fledged sexual beings. Being told "You're a woman now" can be frightening for the pubescent asexual, since in most people's minds, adulthood is linked with sexual rites of passage. And I was definitely pissed off that suddenly, I had to shave my legs and armpits. It was time-consuming, I often cut myself, and I was always self-conscious that I had missed spots (which in fact, I usually did). However, if I hadn't shaved, I would have been horribly ridiculed.
While my views on body hair have relaxed a lot since then (missed a spot? Who cares?), I have mixed feelings about putting down the razor. My fear isn't looking like a "natural, adult woman", but like a Hobbit. In truth, I only consistently shave when the parts in question will be visible-- and in usually-chilly Northern California where "layering" rules, that's not often. However, this proves the oft-made point that shaving isn't really my choice. I do it so people won't look at me funny, not because it makes me feel "cleaner" or "sexier". It's something I do not for myself, but for the public gaze. Obviously I don't feel pleased with this. Maybe I can put myself on a gradual plan...becoming more comfortable with stubble, perhaps, before I embark on a full quest to Middle Earth.
Here is an article about how harrowing life can be as a hairy female, complete with $10,000 electrolysis, risky medications, and bacterial infections from waxing. The conclusion of the article is basically: "Tough shit. If you don't want to be ridiculed and live a life of shame, torture yourself through hair removal". (Lest you think this is a woman-only issue, even men, who were long able to be hairy in peace, are facing increasing pressure to remove their body hair.) In the article, interviewees express hurt, shame, and fatigue. But working to change the social standards that led them there was never mentioned as a possible solution. To me, it looks like the only one that will actually empower people, rather than making them feel continually worse.
For comments, all I ask is that people don't criticize the appearance of others. I've seen it happen way too much in discussions on similar topics. (For instance: "Body hair is okay, as long as it's not dark! EWWW!" Uh...what? If we're accepting body hair, let's do away with arbitrary, Eurocentric beauty standards at the same time, shall we?) This blog is supposed to be a safe space, and body-related issues can be sensitive. Let's make it easier on each other, yes?
A recent post from Espikai got me thinking about certain party games and the asexuals who loathe them. You know the type: Truth or Dare, Spin the Bottle, I Never. If you think that everyone escapes these games in grade school, well, you'd be incorrect. I've heard tell of people playing Spin the Bottle in college, and I have personally played I Never over the age of 18. From early childhood, I would do everything in my power to not participate in these games. My MO was usually to disparage the games as stupid and immature, portraying myself as far above it all. This was a line I held from grade school until college. But, no one ever seemed to find it odd: While I would rope unsuspecting friends into Monkeys-in-a-Barrel tournaments, I was much too adult and mature to play I Never.
The game I feared most wasn't actually a game, but a sort of ritual that my sorority had. At our chapter meetings, someone would get into "the hot seat" for a few minutes and field no-holds-barred questions from the rest of the group. Of course, most of the questions involved guys and sex. Unlike some other groups, our sorority didn't really have any hazing, so maybe this event was a sort of substitute. No one ever seemed to express any disapproval of it. And even though I found the activity to be somewhat cruel, I didn't speak up against it either; I didn't want to be thought of as a spoilsport, a prude, or someone with something to hide. Even though these were people I trusted and a community I cared about greatly, at the time, I wasn't yet out as asexual. My sexual inexperience seemed so beyond the pale that I couldn't risk bringing it up. Every meeting, a different person was called on, and I would always dread the moment. However, and here's the odd part again: I was never called on. Even when there was an, "Okay, who's never been called?", it was still never me. We were a very small group and it was impossible that people would not know that I'd never been in the hot seat. And I think I might have been the only person who was spared. Whether it was an oversight or an intention, I was allowed to keep my secret.
Why are these sorts of games so popular? I think it's because we really want to know what's going on in other people's sex lives. Not necessarily because we want to gossip about it, but because we want to share experiences and see if ours are normal. However, we got the notion somewhere that it's inappropriate to have honest conversations about these topics, and so we couch them in awkward and embarrassing games. No one wants to admit that they might be seriously interested about the subject of their friends' virginity. At least, this is one theory. A more cynical theory is that having people air their sex lives semi-publicly can have the effect of fostering conformity or policing a group, and emphasizing what is "okay" to say and what should be kept secret. People with more "standard" sexual experiences might be more willing to talk about them (or be honest about them), leaving people with more "non-standard" experiences more likely to be quiet about theirs.
It's been going on 5 years since I realized I was asexual, and no one has asked me to play any of these games. As an adult, Apples to Apples seems to be the standard, rather than Truth or Dare, and thank goodness for that. However, I almost wish I could go back to the hot seat, because my reaction today would not be the same as it was then. First of all, I would speak up and say that I didn't think it was a good idea; that if we wanted to tell people our secrets, we should be encouraged to do it of our own volition. I would tell people that for me, the innocent "who do you have a crush on?" question doesn't resonate with the chummy sense of inclusion that it might for others. I would say that for me, it was a question I've always feared, and explain why that was. I would ask why we were assuming that everyone in the group was straight, and why there was an atmosphere where it would be hard to admit that you weren't. At the time, I didn't know any better than to keep my mouth shut. But now? I would still rather play Monkeys in a Barrel than I Never, but if it came, I'd try to face it stoically, and use it as a chance to get people to rethink their assumptions about sexuality. It would be worth a try, and quite possibly, this would make everyone lose interest in the game anyway. Charades, anyone?
As I write this, it's 3:28 am and, always the insomniac, I just can't get to sleep. Earlier in the night, as I was lying in bed staring at the ceiling, I had the idea of writing a blog post about...beds. We'll see if it actually turns out to be an interesting topic. Here goes:
I find it funny how discussions of beds usually have sexual innuendo (did you ever do that thing with your fortune cookies where you added "in bed" to all your fortunes, and it was amusing for some reason?). Call me kinky, but I've never understood the connection between sex and beds. I know that sounds like a bizarre statement, but since a lot of our pop culture seems to involve people rolling around on beds, it seems oddly relevant. I don't want to get too graphic, but trying to move around in any intentional way on the mushy surface of a bed sounds like way more trouble than it's worth to me. If that's not a "You know you're asexual when...", then I don't know what is.
One indicator that I'm not getting any might be the fact that I've always had a tiny twin bed that more than one person would struggle to fit into. Sure, I would like a more luxurious model. But my bedroom has always been too small, and in one case has been an actual closet. The idea of sharing a bed with someone makes the idea of sleep sound even more elusive. And the idea of sharing a twin bed, which I know people do, is something I would just dread. I can handle it for a night or two, but if I ever dated anyone, they would have to understand the fact that I wouldn't want to sleep in the same bed as them all the time. I know I'm hypersensitive, but my bedroom is one of the few environments that I can usually control.
Bed, for me, mostly means the place where sleep evades me. I try to do what the experts say: Not using the computer or exercising late at night, not eating right before bed, not using my bed for other activities (doesn't sex count as another activity?), drinking herbal tea, reading dense and/or boring books (I minored in religious studies) etc. Someone recently told me that even if I was attracted to more people, it would be hard to think about things like romantic relationships when I'm so tired most of the time. To some, my lack of a sex drive might be cause for concern. But to me, my lack of energy and trouble sleeping is my number one medical mystery.
I seem to be in the mood for embarrassing admissions. On that note, I've always kind of liked the song "Crush" by Mandy Moore. This is for two reasons: First of all, it states what exactly a crush is, in no uncertain terms-- "I get a rush when I'm with you. I've got a crush on you". And second, it seems oddly asexual for a mainstream pop song, in that, like me, Mandy doesn't seem to have any plans for actually pursuing her crush. Much like the situation in this song, whenever I had a crush, I had no expectation that it would be mutual or lead to anything more than that.
But this post is a little more specific than crushes in general. I guess everyone fakes it to some extent, and asexuals are no different. The last crush I had, about four years ago, seemed to be largely inspired by the power of suggestion. I'd received an invitation to a party, and it was suggested that I bring whomever I had a crush on. This made me feel bad, because what, did everyone have a crush besides me? Was having a crush really so standard? So I sat around listening to Weezer's "El Scorcho", which happens to be about a massive crush. Of course, I wanted a crush of my own, so I somehow developed one on the next guy I saw. Although this was my only sucessful "manufactured" crush thus far, what I felt was real-- I did, indeed, get a rush when I was with him. (Although, like all my crushes, I'm no longer sure why I liked him so much.)
Another crush I had was inspired by a boring work environment. And now, I'm stuck in one again. I found myself wishing I had a crush on one of my co-workers, which would make the day pass in a more exciting way. The only problem? I would have to make one up, since it wasn't presenting itself organically. Here's how I went about it: I decided to target straight men, since they would be the most numerous group. I didn't want to have a crush on someone who had no chance of ever reciprocating. So, I zeroed in on one of the very few youngish, straight men in our office. I chose this particular guy, let's call him Pablo, because he dressed fairly well and seemed like a genuinely nice person. He also shared a name with an infamous celebrity, which I found highly amuisng. So now all I had to do was...wait? Whenever Pablo passed by my cubicle, I tried to conjure some giggly, schoolgirly twitter deep within my core. But mostly, this was just funny, not crushworthy. After that, and sure that Pablo was not attempting to do the same thing, I was, like Mandy Moore, not sure how to proceed.
But there was a larger obstacle. I wasn't sure how to conjure up a crush in such a sterile, unlovable environment. I mean, what do you think of in a place like this:
Large armies of zombies hyped up on caffeine? Overthrowing capitalism? Aren't crushes, at their heart, sort of about hope, and cubicles are sort of...not? However, I'm hoping that my constant efforts to decorate my portion of my cubicle will make me an object of affection around the office. I guess I'll have to save my own crushes for after hours.
I can’t believe I missed my perfectly-wrought every 3 days schedule…I’m moving to a new house (new people! Strange animals! Frightening!) and got caught up in the preparations. Anyway, I’ll make up for it with a lengthy post!
As you may know, the new AVEN homepage with new content is LIVE! I feel honored to be included in the revamped “Asexual Perspectives” section. I’ve written about myself before, but I never really told the whole story of my asexual “journey”, so to speak. I wanted to convey my initial negativity but also be encouraging to newbies. And if you have any ideas for the title, please share…I called it “Life After Asexuality” but that doesn’t make much sense. Anyway, here’s my story, which is going to mess up the RSS feed, but oh well, I just wanted to share:
This was my introduction to asexuality:I was 20 and in the fall of my junior year of college.I was standing in my room with a small group of my sorority sisters.The girls were talking about which boys they currently had crushes on, and I remarked that I didn’t have a crush on anyone.One of my good friends mentioned casually, “Maybe you’re asexual.”
“NO I’M NOT!”I replied with horrified vehemence.
When I came out to her as asexual more than a year later, she was quite accepting.
But we’re not there yet.That spring, I studied abroad for a semester in London.I had a lot of time of time alone with my thoughts.After my internship in the evenings, I would walk along the Thames and come to important realizations about my life (sigh…).But not every realization was entirely welcome.This is what I wrote in my journal in April of 2005:
“I wanted to figure out my views on sex because it’s everywhere and everyone’s always talking about it.So I thought.And theoretically, sex sounds all well and good.But in actuality, it doesn’t appeal to me at all.I’ve always thought so, but I used to think it was just because I was too young.Well, I’m not too young anymore.And the idea of sex just doesn’t excite me like it seems to for other people.So could I be asexual, or what?There’s an asexuality LJ comm. [a sort of online group]…and those people all seem lonely and frustrated.If you’re gay, at least most people will understand that.But no one will understand if you’re not interested in sex.I’m not even sure I understand it.I never thought I’d be one of those people that ‘question their sexuality’, but here I am and I’m pretty confused.Maybe I’m making too much of this whole thing.But these are my thoughts & opinions—doesn’t that mean anything?”
When I got back from London, I got some bad news about something that had happened at school.What followed was an extremely depressing summer.When I first realized I was asexual, it seemed like even more bad news.I wanted so badly to be “normal”, although I had no idea why being “normal” was so essential in the first place.While I never wanted to have kids (when the girls in my middle school class were discussing how many children they’d like to have, I declared that I wanted iguanas), I always pictured myself getting married someday, or at least having a boyfriend.I wasn’t sure if asexuality was compatible with those visions.But looking back, asexuality was the least of my problems.I think I blamed a lot on it, because it was the “exotic” new development in my life.Maybe it took my mind off my other problems, ones that I was tired of dealing with.Since the culture at large seemed to view a lack of sexual desire as a problem, it wasn’t hard for me to think of it as a problem, too.Unfortunately, what I see now as my “real problems” at that time were things our culture couldn’t care less about.Always a bit impressionable, I soldiered on.
In the fall of 2005, I joined AVEN.I still remember my intro post—it was about how I’d rather listen to music than hook up with people.Immediately, I got welcomes and traditional AVEN cake from people all over the world.It felt wonderful to know I wasn’t alone, and that my fellow asexuals were such a friendly and diverse group.I wouldn’t meet any AVENites for quite awhile, but just knowing AVEN was there was comforting.I still celebrate my AVENiversary every year on November 27th.
It was a year later, November of 2006, that I made it to my first AVEN meetup.I had moved from the rural town where I’d gone to college, and was living in San Francisco, an hour’s drive from the town where I’d attended high school.I met three AVENites at a Berkeley karaoke bar, sang “Bizarre Love Triangle”, and for some reason agreed to helm the future San Francisco meetups.I started to embrace the idea that I could lead and organize things, and acknowledge community as one of the most important parts of my life.When I was told that I was “good at finding community” by a near-stranger, it didn’t sound like the way I saw myself.Oddly enough, I hadn’t detected a pattern in my twelve years of Girl Scouts and subsequent loyalty to my sorority sisters.It was the loss of community that crushed me after I returned from London.With AVEN meets, I tried to get it back.Even if the turnout wasn’t good, talking with asexuals in the flesh always left me exhilarated.
In the summer of 2007, I started another asexual-themed enterprise:My blog, Asexy Beast.I began it as a way to comment on portrayals of asexuality in the media.Needless to say, I’ve had to branch out a lot, but I’ve somehow managed to write almost 300 entries, with no sign of stopping anytime soon.Who said that if you weren’t interested in sex, that you didn’t have anything to talk about, again?I’d like to think I proved them wrong.Recently, in December of 2008, I wrote an entry about how it isn’t obvious to everyone that asexuality is a sexual orientation, like being straight, gay, or bi.I wrote:
“When I first discovered the magical world of asexuality, I didn't want to be it either. But various involvements-- in AVEN, this blog, and meetups, made me more comfortable identifying as asexual. Now, I can't imagine being anything else. The advantages to being asexual-- honesty with yourself, an accepting community, lack of pressure to be sexy-- are not as obvious as the perceived disadvantages. When I first discovered asexuality, the disadvantages hit me hard, as they might for many others. It was only later that I began to see the advantages. I think the advantages to our orientation is something we need to be more upfront and vocal about. Of course, we're not superior to anyone else, but we do have much to offer.”
I really believe that the asexual community has gifts to offer, not only to its members, but to the larger world as well.Those gifts are something that I want to explore, and to share.Who should care about asexuality?Everyone who’s ever felt pressured to kiss someone they weren’t attracted to, suffer through a boring blind date, or have sex because everyone else was doing it. Everyone who ever wondered if there was something more than the dating-marriage track, and why we have so few meaningful relationship options.Asexuals are tired of our culture’s constant pressure to be sexual and sexy. We envision a world where people are free to explore their sexuality in their own way and in their own time, whether their libido is at zero or hyperdrive. Why would anyone disagree with that idea of freedom?
Questioning one’s sexuality is rarely met with delight, but it ended up being a positive force in my life.I wanted to admit to my initial fears, how I turned them around, and in the end, “be upfront” about the advantages of our orientation.Once, after a meetup, I remember sitting around late into the night talking with two other AVENites about asexual relationships.Well, they were talking, and I was mostly just listening.It occurred to me at that moment that I was in the midst of the beginning of a movement.It was so exciting, I thought, that I was there and a part of it.And the thing is, anyone that is asking the same questions that we are can be a part of it, too.Anyone who wants to expand the possibilities of how we love and relate.What we’re talking about as asexuals has never really been talked about before.I don’t know what we’ll find.But in that excitement, that feeling of being on the edge of a discovery, maybe it’s worth the not knowing.
Recently, I was talking with a friend (hi!) about peer pressure and sex. She asked how I avoided the peer pressure to be sexual (or at least, that's what I think she asked). I don't think I've ever written about peer pressure directly, so I thought it would be fun to write about.
One of my best-remembered experiences with peer pressure was around seventh grade, when I had recently moved across the country. I bought Chumbawamba's Tubthumping album because everyone else was into it, even though it had no relation to any of my own musical tastes at the time. Later, this seemed so stupid to me that I vowed never to be moved by peer pressure again. I did lapse a few times, most notably when I wrote an angry letter to a teacher because the other kids asked me to. That was really a terrible idea, and, before high school even started, turned me off to peer pressure even further.
I don't think anyone "avoids" peer pressure, although that's mainly an issue of semantics. Unless you're a wolf-child, you'll have peers that will pressure you. But, I always felt a disconnect with the other kids in school. I couldn't relate to most of my peers at all-- when most of the girls were talking about things like Jonathan Taylor Thomas (remember him?), I was most interested in environmentalism and science. Whenever I went to school, I felt like a tourist visiting another culture. Finally, in high school, others began to share my interests-- my favorite part of school was working in the organic garden with about 3 other "alternative" kids.
Later on, I think having an asexual identity is precisely what helped me most to avoid the peer pressure to be sexual. If I hadn't discovered asexuality, and still identified as heterosexual, I shudder to think about the unwanted sexual contact I might have had by now, trying to prove to myself that I was "normal" (operative word being "unwanted"--scary thought!). I got new peers in terms of sexuality, which enabled me to withstand the pressure. Instead of coming from my own group, like it did when I identified as straight, the pressure now comes from "outside", making it easier to ignore.
Little did I know that peer pressure would persist into adulthood, and it would be the same as childhood peer pressure. The pressure as a kid is to be a "grown up", and apparently, this is the pressure that we'll still face, apparently until we're around 50. How many times have you heard someone's marriage announcement, and someone else invariably comments about how "grown up" we're getting? As if a marriage is some kind of timewarp that ages you beyond the rest of us! Perhaps Michael J. Fox should look into that.
People often ask why an "asexual identity" is necessary. I always thought it was important for the purpose of finding others like ourselves. Sharing an identity makes this possible. And it was a gut feeling, too. Not identifying as asexual made me feel like I was in massive denial. Like an attraction you can't resist, I had to give in to it. I'm glad I did. But I just realized that there's another reason why I'm glad I decided to identify as asexual. I can finally be honest about things in my life without being embarrassed. When I thought I was heterosexual, I was mortified that I'd never kissed anyone. Now, I can say with absolutely no embarrassment that I haven't kissed anyone in about 4 years (I once had a friend bemoan the fact that she hadn't made out with anyone in 2 months-- I felt pretty dern left out of that conversation). I haven't had a crush on anyone in about 4 years either (sadly, those were not the same people) and I've only been on 2 "real" dates. I've never had a boyfriend or girlfriend, etc. It's because I'm asexual, not because I'm the universe's idea of a bad joke. It isn't a personal flaw. I'm not a "bad heterosexual", I'm something else. And hopefully, being able to be open about this will help convince younger folks that, asexual or not, there's absolutely nothing wrong with their never-been-kissed selves.
Friend: So, Ily, there's something I've been meaning to ask you... Ily: (Thinking: Oh crap, he's going to ask me about my sexuality, isn't he? And it's going to be so awkward and I won't be able to explain it well! Jesus!) Friend: ...What kind of donut is this?
