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“Is that what is?”: A qualitative study on how asexual people understand asexuality

Master of : , Sexuality and Ruth Eyles 11740655 Supervisor: Dr Margriet van Heesch Second reader: Dr Marci Cottingham

Abstract In this thesis I set out to examine how asexual people come to understand asexuality through their own experiences and knowledge. Asexuality has only relatively recently come to be understood as a , and its existence challenges the assumption of a universal drive. I examined the historical psychological and sexological attitude to not wanting sex and found that it has been in turn pathologized and ignored, rendering asexuality unintelligible in the subsequent couple culture. I examined the challenges this raises for asexual people by interviewing thirteen asexual-identified people, six of whom were aromantic-identified, recruited mainly through an internet forum for asexual people. I content analysed the interviews. I looked particularly for places where dominant discourses were negotiated, such as discourses of sex as necessary to a romantic relationship and as a necessary part of life. I found that asexual people reject and negotiate these discourses differently according to their and what they envision for their own life. I also examined and where questions were raised regarding asexuality, such as what the precise definition of asexuality is, and what being asexual means to interpersonal relationships and the possibilities for a viable life. I found that in its unintelligible state, existing knowledge structures often fail to provide understanding and new knowledge structures do not (yet) provide all the answers. This affects how asexual people come to understand themselves and the form that their lives can take in the wake of their asexuality and aromanticism. Acknowledgements I want to say thank you to everyone I interviewed for this thesis. You all gave me so much to think about, that I could have written much more, were it not for word limits. I also want to say thank you to my supervisors, Margriet van Heesch and Marci Cottingham for their feedback and support throughout this process. Finally, I want to thank my support network of friends and . Saoirse Victeoria for always assuring me I can do this. Rebecca and Charlie P for making sure this thesis makes sense to people who aren’t me. And many thanks to my good friends Alison Jones, Petar Marčeta, Fabio Ferrari and Simone Schneider who gave me a place to belong in a new country.

Contents Chapter One ...... 1 1.1 Introduction: Life is Sexual Life ...... 1 1.2 The Questions for This Thesis...... 2 1.3 Methodology of Data Collection and Data Analysis ...... 3 1.4 Theoretical Concepts ...... 5 1.5 Asexuality as a Sexual Orientation ...... 6 1.6 Roadmap to the Future ...... 8 Chapter Two – Previous Research ...... 9 2.1 How Has Asexuality Been Understood Within Academia? ...... 9 2.2 The Pathologization of Not Wanting Sex ...... 9 2.3 Non-Pathologization: Another Way to Understand Not Having Sex ...... 13 2.4 What is Asexuality? ...... 16 2.5 Intelligibility: is Asexuality a Viable Life? ...... 17 2.6 The Privilege of the Sexual Couple ...... 19 2.7 Conclusion ...... 20 Chapter Three – Asexual Certainties ...... 22 3.1 Asexuality as Different from the Norm ...... 22 3.2 Which Discourse Affects Whom? ...... 23 3.3 Discovery Stories: Deciding on Asexuality ...... 23 3.4 That Discourse Doesn’t Apply to Me ...... 29 3.5 What Have We Learnt? ...... 32 Chapter Four – Asexual Uncertainties ...... 33 4.1 The Tyranny of Definition ...... 33 4.2 The Primary Problem of Trying to Create a Position out of Not ...... 34 4.3 Worry/Knowledge/Hope That it Might Change...... 36 4.4 Not Being Understood ...... 38 4.5 What Have We Learnt? ...... 42 Chapter Five ...... 44 5.1 Bringing it All Together ...... 44 5.2 Asexual Discourse ...... 44 5.3 How to Know More (and Why?) ...... 47 5.4 How to Make a Future ...... 49 5.5 Conclusion ...... 52 Chapter Six – Conclusion ...... 53 6.1 What I Have Done ...... 53 6.2 What I Found ...... 53 6.3 What Does This Mean? ...... 54 6.4 What Should We Take with Us? ...... 55 Bibliography ...... 57 Appendix ...... 61

Chapter One 1.1 Introduction: Human Life is Sexual Life One rainy Amsterdam afternoon, I connected via Skype across Europe to Rema, a 28- year-old Italian woman. She was passionate and thoughtful, and in the course of our fifty- minute interview talking about her life and asexuality, she said to me,

You might choose to be with someone because you feel lonely, or you think you have to be, or you think it’s normal. Or because you’re already thirty, so you need to find someone. It’s a social demand. You go to school, enter college and university, start working, you meet someone, you have a family, you retire, you die. This is what we know as life. But I don’t think all lives have to be that way. I was so excited to hear her speak of the problems I have pondered on, the ones that pushed me to do this thesis. That expected life she describes, of what we should be doing in order to have a ‘good life’. As I approach thirty I find I am yet interested enough in a romantic relationship to put in the effort required. As my school friends have got married and had children, like Rema described, and I have not. What happens if you do not fit that mould? What other paths are available to access the life worth living? Then, when I started this sociology master’s course, I learnt that Austrian physician was one of the prominent figures in shaping ideas of gender and sexuality around the turn of the twentieth century (Schaffner, 2012). Freud’s theory that children are sexual and develop their sexuality from a young age was new to scientific thinking of the time (Schaffner, 2012). Freud went so far as to say that is integral to the human psyche, and poor sexual development could affect a person for life (Freud, 1905). He founded psychoanalysis, a psychiatric theory that psychiatrist Joel Paris concluded in a 2017 article still had relevance in some form. Paris specifically mentioning the basic concepts that can be traced back to Freud. The great influence Freud’s line of thinking had made sexuality and sexual desire central to the formation of the person for years to come. As part of the course I also read American philosopher Donna Haraway (1991). In her essay The Past Is the Contested Zone, she recounts evolutionary sociologists’ use of chimpanzees as the basis for their theories on the formation of human . She shows that they applied what they saw in primates to the mythical evolutionary past of , such as there being a where males are the most dominant. Haraway further argues that what they saw in primates was shaped by their pre-existing ideas about the way that humans are. They constructed ‘human nature’ as an essentialist explanation of the form that society has taken. Of particular importance here, the evolutionary sociologists viewed the sexual division of labour in reproduction as central to the primates and therefore human

1 societies. Haraway criticises their painting of sexual biological differences, the division of labour and the sexual drives, as natural, essential and – in being written into human DNA – unchangeable. These two scholars in particular brought to my mind a question of the essential nature of sexual desire. What happens to people who do not have the so-called natural desire to have sex, in a society where it is assumed that everyone does? For me, it has raised questions about how I am supposed to continue my life, where is my easy roadmap to the future? My own sexuality is so indefinable to me that I do not identify as anything in particular, but I have ‘tried on’ asexuality in the past. So, I turn to the case of asexuality. Freudian and evolutionary theories would label asexual people as defective, either improperly developed or malformed, therefore drawing a line between normal sex drive and an abnormal sex drive. Having given a brief look at the way asexuality is not supposed to exist as according to certain schools of theoretical thought (there will be more of that in the second chapter), I will now turn to my research. First, I will state my research questions and lay out my methodology. Then I shall outline the theoretical concepts I will use as a basis to understand the position of asexuality. Finally, I shall expand on asexuality as a sexual orientation.

1.2 The Questions for This Thesis I set out to examine how people come to feel that they can’t fulfil the apparently basic requirement of sexual desire. From there, how asexual people negotiate the issues of definition and uncertainty that is raised by asexuality’s specific and place as a challenge to norms. Asexuality as a sexual orientation is a relatively new phenomenon, and is not yet widely known (Carrigan, 2013), which implies that people who consider themselves asexual have had an impetus to seek it out themselves (Robbins et al., 2016). The main research question that I therefore asked is:

How do asexual people come to understand asexuality?

I broke this question down into its consummate parts in order to better answer the main question. Before I could do my own research, I had to see what came before, so I asked:

How is asexuality known in academia? How do different areas of academia approach, define and situate the topic?

For my own research, and in order to build on the previous academic understanding of asexuality, I asked the following:

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How do asexual people relate to the dominant romantic and sexual discourses?

How do asexual people negotiate uncertainties in definitions of and surrounding asexuality?

Of course, the next question is, how did I gain the knowledge needed to answer my research questions? So, the following section lays out my methodology and the people who were kind enough to help me gather data.

1.3 Methodology of Data Collection and Data Analysis My research questions required an understanding of the participant’s own views and interpretations in order to be answered. Therefore, my research design was qualitative. I collected data by interviews, which enabled me to follow the participant’s own experiences and , rather than making participants fit my questions. Previous research has been conducted primarily using surveys (Carrigan, 2011; Scherrer, 2008), which allowed for gathering data from a large number of participants, but researchers would not have been able to follow the insights and experiences of each individual in their questioning. My primary source was interviews, and therefore nuanced to the individual’s own understanding of their life, rather than pushed to answer the same set of questions as everyone else. I used elements of grounded theory as described by American sociologist Kathy Charmaz (2006) to analyse and draw conclusions from the data. I recruited respondents from the forums of The Asexual Visibility & Education Network (AVEN), following their procedures for research recruitment1 which required I submit my proposal to the AVEN research committee. It was important to me that I followed their procedure, as I intended for my research to be geared towards the aims of visibility and legitimacy, and away from the historical treatment of asexuality in a pathological sense. I also recruited through my own network via snowball recruitment. Ultimately, I recruited eleven people through AVEN and two through my own network, resulting in a total of thirteen interviews. My research population was defined as people who identify as asexual. I intended for this to be an inclusive, rather than exclusive definition. My wording on the research call as posted on the AVEN forum was that I was looking for people who identified themselves as asexual, but I also emphasised that I was looking for a variety of experiences, which included grey-asexual, as I wanted to look at both the commonalities that put different experiences in

1 Rules for Researchers and Students. (2017). Retrieved from http://www.asexuality.org/en/topic/153382- rules-for-researchers-and-students/

3 the same group, and also the breadth of experience that one group can represent. For my network I merely asked if anyone knew someone who identified as asexual that would be willing to talk to me. Many operationalisations of asexuality (such as Bogaert’s, 2015) which rely on the lack of desire to have sex with another person, result in excluding a section of the asexual community. According to the vocabulary developed on the AVEN forums, there are a variety of different levels of sexuality on the asexual spectrum, such that the straightforward definition of lack of desire does not directly correspond to all in the asexual community. Further, I set out to see things from the participants’ point of view, and imposing my own definition on them was incongruent with that. It was also my goal to be as true as possible to the of human sexual behaviour and feeling. Ultimately, the participants were those who responded in time for me to interview them, which meant I had the privilege to interview the following group of people. They were aged from eighteen to fifty-three, nine considered themselves female or women, one agender/female, and three male. Because of the mainly online recruitment, the nationalities were varied, with four Americans, three Dutch (including the two recruited through my network), two English, one Canadian, one French, one Italian and one Lebanese. Not all were living in their country of nationality. Most were highly educated, with five either having completed or working on a master’s degree, while only two had not attended university, but had completed, or were completing exams upon leaving school at eighteen. One interviewee was grey-asexual rather than asexual, and the romantic orientations consisted of six aromantic, four heteroromantic, one , one pithromantic (a self-created orientation) and one undecided. I have anonymised their information as much as possible. Two of the interviewees were close enough to be interviewed in person, while most interviews were conducted through various internet phone services. The interviews lasted between thirty-five minutes and eighty minutes. Three interviews were conducted via email over the course of my interview period. These methods were chosen according to how comfortable the interviewee would be and considering technological restrictions. I used a loosely structured interview format to account for the array of life experiences and kinds of asexuality I expected to encounter. The interview schedule was adjusted as my ideas developed and I learned new things from the interviews, as advised by Hennink et al. (2011). I transcribed the interviews during the interview period, most being transcribed within a week of the interview. I did not go into extensive detail on the artefacts of speech, as I was more interested in the words being told to me and the meaning in them. Granted, transcription is not a direct translation of the spoken word, as pointed out by Poland

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(1995), there is an element of interpretation to it, and it is difficult to capture tone in writing. However, as all spoken interviews were recorded, I had the recordings to check the specific tone of an interview section if I was unsure. For the email interviews, I copied the text from my email into a single document. I uploaded the transcripts into atlas.ti for the initial coding. My initial coding was to gather together information on similar topics and themes from all the interviews as suggested by Charmaz (2006). I already had an idea of the general topics, as I had conducted the interviews and introduced the topics. While I was intending on a mainly inductive approach, my interview topics followed both my own questions and potential themes I had seen raised in previous research on asexuality. My analysis was interpretive, in that it was constructing a particular framework with which to view the data, not a direct representation of the situation (Charmaz, 2006). Even though I was looking for a wide array of asexual experiences, nearly half of the interviewees as aromantic, as in not wanting a romantic relationship at all. This took my research in a direction I did not expect when I started. Over the course of interviewing and coding, my research questions changed as I found themes that seemed more urgent to me than my original question. For my final stage of analysis, I considered the data explicitly in regard to Butler’s (1990; 1993; 2004) concept of intelligibility and discourses that promote sex and romantic relationships. My analysis will be presented in the following chapters. However, in order to examine the texts for these discourses, I first had to identify what those discourses are. In my next section, I shall outline the theoretical concepts and discourses I was looking for.

1.4 Theoretical Concepts In 2008, sociologist Shelley Budgeon conducted a study on single people, having noticed that relationship research is only conducted on people in relationships. From it, she produced the concept of couple culture to establish the existing condition that being in a couple is privileged over being single. Couple culture establishes the normative expectations within society of a couple relationship, such as that everyone desires a sexual relationship, and that it is the most important relationship in a person’s life. Further, that societal institutions of and family encourage coupling, and that coupling is central to the normative structuring of sexual relations. The concept of asexuality is in direct opposition to the assumption that a sexual relationship is always the goal, yet asexuality is not necessarily opposed to coupling, therefore there is room to both accept and resist this ideology. I will analyse how the interviewees interact with the discourses that uphold couple culture.

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I will also use Butler’s concept of intelligibility (Butler, 1990; 1993; 2004). This is the idea that people who are outside the discourse/regulatory categories become culturally unintelligible and are denied a subject position. This is effectively a denial of their humanity, and can be painful to experience. I argue that the position of asexuality is in that place of unintelligibility, as outside of the typically known (and intelligible) sexualities. Butler argues that remaining in a place of unintelligibility is important for social action, but also that expecting people to do this difficult work with their lives and selves. Butler questions the simple creation of more categories, as is what AVEN is arguably trying to do for asexuality. However, the term asexuality has come to cover a wide range of human experience such that it remains difficult to operationalise or generalise, it could be argued to be a quest for visibility in their unintelligibility. I will approach asexuality as a currently unintelligible place to be. I will look into how these interviewees manage it in their lives, and what made them feel that they fell outside of other categories. The next section will look at asexuality as a sexual orientation; a more recent way of understanding a lack of wanting sex than I have so far looked at.

1.5 Asexuality as a Sexual Orientation The simplicity with which ‘human nature’ has been constructed, as examined by Haraway (1991) leaves a lot to be desired and challenging that is important for the viability of many different ways of living. It is important to allow these different ways of living because, as discussed, there are people who do not fit the current expectations embedded in the norms of a culture that favours sexual desire. For an inclusive society – such as I want to live in – the more possibilities for living that are uncovered, the better. For asexual people in particular, it is important because, as a population, they are not often taken into consideration. The Asexuality Visibility and Education Network (AVEN) has existed for over 15 years, started by David Jay, an asexual person himself, and now run by and for asexuals and people who want to know more about asexuality. Its aim is clear in the title: to increase the visibility of asexuality and educate people about it. By doing so, they hope to increase the legitimacy and acceptance of asexuality as a sexual orientation. The front page of AVEN is the first result on Google when searching for ‘asexuality’ and contains the definition of an asexual person as “a person who does not experience ”. This prominence of AVEN is therefore influential in informing people’s understanding (Carrigan, 2013; Chasin, 2015; Robbins et al, 2016). On the Frequently Asked Questions page, AVEN explicitly excludes celibates from asexuality, as they choose to not engage in sex in spite of

6 their desire to, rather than not having the desire at all. Asexuality is not defined by not having sex, but by not having an internal impetus to have sex with another person. The AVEN site includes forums for discussion to which anyone can sign up, a wiki with further definitions and explanations, and a place for researchers to place research calls. AVEN takes an active role in creating knowledge of asexuality, and therefore is able to exercise some power in shaping that knowledge. This is not a bad thing, as with a Foucauldian understanding, all knowledge is shaped by groups that have an interest in the subject (Foucault, 1978), and I shall go on to show in chapter two the previous knowledge and discourse surrounding asexuality of which AVEN is critical. AVEN is not synonymous with the asexual community, although it forms part of it; there are other online resources for asexual people, such as groups on Tumblr and Facebook. However, AVEN is the most prominent, and devoted solely to asexuality and asexual people. Not all asexual people agree with AVEN or find it useful. However, it holds a prominent place in the creation of asexual identity, not least because it actively facilitates scientific study and discussion, and is where much asexual vocabulary was formed (Chu, 2014; Robbins et al., 2016). The AVEN forums are not a place of unanimous agreement, though, and discussion and disagreements are had on where the boundaries of asexuality lie, although the forums are moderated and there are rules on what can and cannot be said. What I am trying to say is that AVEN has been and still is important for the formation of asexual as a sexual orientation, but it is not the only resource for asexual people and it is not uncontested, even between people who use the site. CJ DeLuzio Chasin (2013), social psychologist and self-identified asexual, gives the community’s definition of asexuality as “a lack of sexual attraction combined with one's identification as asexual” (p.405) I find this the most useful definition among many in academic research as it contains a basic description of the lack of sexual attraction that can be easily understood, but also precludes anyone pressing the label of ‘asexual’ on an unwilling (or unknowing) person. Asexuality can also be understood as part of a spectrum, from asexual to sexual. This understanding means that there are people between asexual and allosexual, termed grey-asexual, who do experience sexual attraction sometimes, or in specific circumstances. Grey-asexuals are welcome in the AVEN community, which as an example, shows that the simple definition given on the front page is more of a starting point to understanding asexuality than the final destination. There is discussion over whether or not asexuality should be considered a sexual orientation. The AVEN website refers to asexuality as a sexual orientation, and is how I use it

7 in this thesis. However, it would be remiss of me to ignore that there is no consensus in the academic community on whether or not it is a sexual orientation; Cranney (2017) is wary of condoning that status as a low sex drive can co-occur with, for example, low testosterone, which can have negative symptoms. However, Carrigan (2011) recounts a participant of his having gone through hormone therapy in order to treat their low sex drive, but it having no affect. While I would never want people to not seek medical help if it was needed, the narrow view of what is and isn’t normal raises more barriers to those without medical issues and obscures possibilities of ways of living. I intend for my research to support the aims of AVEN by asexuality as a legitimate state of being that should be respected, and by adding to the body of work that dispels mystery and surrounding asexuality. It was with this in mind that I shaped my own research.

1.6 Roadmap to the Future The rest of my thesis will be laid out as follows. Chapter two will be answer my first sub-question: How do different areas of academia approach, define and situate the topic? I will examine the historical discourses surrounding asexuality or historical equivalents. I will then review the existing academic literature on asexuality and the research that has already been conducted, and consider the theoretical concepts in more detail. Chapter three will answer my first sub-question: How do asexual people relate to the dominant romantic and sexual discourses? I will examine the way in which the interviewees relate to the discourses of sexual and romantic relationships, be it to reject, refute, or accept. Chapter four will answer my second sub-question: How do asexual people negotiate uncertainties in their definitions of and surrounding asexuality? I will examine the uncertainties involved with asexuality, and the way in which the interviewees navigate them. I will also begin to question the ability of language to encompass human experience and whether strict definitions are a useful goal, or even possible. Chapter five will answer my main question: How do asexual people come to understand asexuality? I will do this by bringing together details from the previous two chapters, and the areas that are clearer to the interviewees, along with the areas that raise more questions than answers. Chapter six will discuss, summarise and show the implications of my new knowledge.

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Chapter Two – Previous Research 2.1 How Has Asexuality Been Understood Within Academia? That, as anything, depends on what is considered to be ‘asexuality’, and what part of academia is looked at. AVEN was only established in 2001, and while not synonymous with the current formation of asexuality, it is a good measure that the sexual orientation understanding of asexuality is relatively recent. However, the current formation of asexuality is not the only way that not wanting sex has been understood, and how it was previously understood informs both current understanding and general attitudes. To keep the scope of my review both manageable and relevant, I will not go further back than the late nineteenth century, though instances of people having no desire to have sex undoubtedly exist previous to this. In picking this particular timeframe, I am following French philosopher Foucault’s argument from his book History of Sexuality (1978). He theorised that this particular period is when discourse surrounding sexuality was no longer controlled by religious institutions, but concerted effort was put into the scientific (psychiatric) discourse of sexuality, which allowed for state control of the population’s sexuality. As a single-language speaker, I have only been able to read texts either written or translated into English, meaning that I am both reliant on the interpretation of the translator and unable to comment on untranslated texts in other languages. In this chapter I will content analyse and compare the historical canon of dominant knowledge in , psychiatry and through the works of Krafft-Ebing, Freud and Kinsey. Then I will move to how asexuality has been understood after AVEN was established. As part of this previous writing, it will become clear how asexuality has been viewed by different disciplines within academia, particularly psychiatry’s pathologization of non-normative sexual desire, and how the burgeoning cluster of asexuality studies argues differently. As part of my conversation with previous research, I shall lay out my approach to defining asexuality, because when it comes to measurement and study, a definition can change the outcome. I will also expand upon my theoretical basis to give a clear indication of where I started from in my writing of this thesis and analysis of the interviews. I will also explain in more depth the specific discourses that I was looking for.

2.2 The Pathologization of Not Wanting Sex I write ‘not wanting sex’ and not asexuality intentionally, because historically the word asexuality has not been used to describe people who do not want sex. In my short genealogy of asexuality, I am detailing the discourse surrounding a non-normative (low)

9 sexual desire. The way in which not wanting sex has historically been treated is important to identify the root of attitudes towards asexuality. Particularly as not wanting sex and asexuality can be considered to be the same thing. None of the theorists I refer to used the term ‘asexual’ to describe humans, therefore I will present their thinking as it pertains to not wanting sex. As argued by Foucault (1978) throughout the chapter Scientia Sexualis, physicians and psychologists in the nineteenth century categorised sexual behaviour into licit and illicit, pathologizing the latter. Power and knowledge of sexuality was moved away from the church confessional and into the walls of asylums and doctors’ offices. Pathologies were identified in people in order to bring them under the control of the medical establishment, with a view to fixing them to become socially acceptable people. What is socially acceptable is both culturally and historically specific, and in nineteenth century Europe, non-reproductive sexual acts were deemed deviant (Oosterhuis, 2000). Foucault further argued in the chapter Deployment of Sexuality that the concept of sexuality is an historically specific discursive tactic to enable the creation of knowledge (categories and pathologies) to aid in the exercise of certain power relations. What was formerly understood as separate sexual acts came to be understood as a sexuality intrinsic to the individual, a part of identity. In 1886, Austro-German physician and psychiatrist, Richard von Krafft-Ebing, published the first edition of Psychopathia Sexualis, what he called a ‘reference book’ of sexual pathologies. Dutch historian Harry Oosterhuis (2000) wrote a biography of Krafft- Ebing’s life and work, and outlines the methods Krafft-Ebing used to inform Psychopathia Sexualis. Krafft-Ebing used patients from the asylums where he worked as his examples, asylums which at that time had become, “a last resort for paupers, beggars, the disabled, the elderly, demented patients and those who were a nuisance or danger to society” (Oosterhuis, 2000: 79). Only once his fame had grown following the publication of Psychopathia Sexualis did middle-class patients and members of the public self-report their problems to him for his interpretation and inclusion in later editions of his book. The final sections of the book are dedicated to advice on how sexual deviants should be treated by the law, as in at what point they should be treated for illness rather than punished for behaviour. This is an example of how conclusions drawn from people already assessed as deviants within society were applied to society at large, and with consequences for treatment under law. Krafft-Ebing explains that he studied sexual life because it is the base on which much of civilisation is built. To this end, he begins Psychopathia Sexualis with the following:

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The propagation of the human race is […] guaranteed by the hidden laws of nature which are enforced by a mighty, irresistible impulse. […] If man were deprived of sexual distinction, […] all poetry and probably all moral tendency would be eliminated from his life. Sexual life no doubt is the one mighty factor […] which disclose his powers of activity, of acquiring property, of establishing a home, of awakening altruistic sentiments towards a person of the opposite sex, and towards his own issue [and] the whole human race (Krafft-Ebing, 1906:1). From the first lines of the book, the sexual impulse is presented as an essential part of human life, as a base from which come creative endeavours, and altruism. What is it, then, to be without this irresistible impulse that is the impetus for all higher human endeavours? Krafft-Ebing did not use the word asexuality, but did describe anaesthesia sexualis as an absence of sexual instinct, resulting in functionally sexless individuals. This is separate from , which Krafft-Ebing characterises as an exercise of will to redirect the sexual instinct, not an absence of it. Anaesthesia sexualis allegedly appears in people who always have other bodily or psychical defects, thus presenting the assurance that people without sexual impulse are malformed and not fully functioning humans. Krafft-Ebing presents eight cases of anaesthesia sexualis, some of which uphold his claims, but many of which refute that they would be deficient humans. Clearly, this never pushed him to change his theory throughout the twelve editions of Psychopathia Sexualis. He wrote from a position of authority, with his power of knowledge as it became accepted by the medical establishment. He described an ‘inherent nature’ of his patients who either submitted themselves or were submitted through criminal proceedings to his expertise. From there, his patients were treated in whatever manner his expertise deemed fit. Austrian psychiatrist Sigmund Freud also wrote on the importance of sex in his Three Essays on the Theory of Sexuality in 1905. He took a different tack to Krafft-Ebing and other prominent writers of the day by saying that a genital (sexual) drive is apparent in infants and children, as well as adults (Freud, 1905). He does not disagree with Krafft-Ebing that sexual drives are central to the formation of morality and essential , but Freud’s approach muddied the boundary between what was normal, and what was abnormal. He theorised the abnormal as a misdirection of a normal drive, and that it was culture, education and a good upbringing that resulted in a ‘normal’ heterosexual impulse. However, in theorising a sexual drive in all people at all stages of life, there is even less room for people without a sexual drive. For Freud, sexuality is central to human psycho- social development, and asexuality can only be understood as a sublimated or redirected sex drive. The assumption of the universality of a sex drive is such that a person without one is theoretically impossible. Austro-British philosopher Karl Popper (1974/2005: 44) criticised

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Freudian theory for being unfalsifiable due to the ways that unconscious (and therefore unknowable) processes can be used to explain behaviours that would otherwise disprove the theory. So a person claiming to not want to engage in sexual activity is easily treated as not knowing their unconscious desires and therefore the centrality of sexuality to the human psyche is not challenged. Kristian Kahn (2014) states that valid psychoanalytic inquiry into asexuality is thus prevented. American biologist, , oversaw a project to conduct interviews with a representative sample of the American population in the 1940s, about peoples’ sexual experiences. From his results, he published his book Sexual Behaviour of the Human Male (Kinsey et al., 1948) in which he put forward the idea of sexuality as a spectrum rather than a binary, from heterosexual to homosexual. A conception of sexuality that leaves no room for people to not engage in it. This is not because he did not find people who had not engaged in sexuality, but rather upon finding them, he did not go into any further examination of them. The only mention is in his statistical tables where he explains “percent shown as ‘X’ have no socio-sexual contacts or reactions” (p.656). Group ‘X’ included people of all ages, such as those generally considered too young to have experienced socio-sexual contacts, so I would not consider this group a direct correlate of asexuality. However, it is indicative that the potential of asexuality has been overlooked by sex research. The overlooking is representative of the attitude to low sexual desire for much of the twentieth century (Przybylo, 2013). It appeared again in the American Psychological Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders III (1980) (DSM III) as Inhibited Sexual Desire. Using ‘inhibition’ tells of an assumed universal sexual desire; the only way someone would not desire sex was because their natural sexual desire was being inhibited (Emens, 2014). The DSM III was revised in 1987 and the Inhibited Sexual Desire was replaced by Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder. The changed wording still implies that there is a normative level of sexual desire that was not being reached for a reason that could be found and fixed. This reasoning can be traced back to Krafft-Ebing and his declaration that people with sexual anaesthesia are always deficient in some other way as well, that a lack of sexual instinct is indicative of a problem elsewhere. Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder persisted into DSM IV (1994) and the subsequent revision DSM-IV-TR (2000). The DSM-5 (2013) split the diagnosis into Male Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder and Female Sexual Interest-Arousal Disorder, which I will take a closer look at now, as a representation of the current psychological thinking regarding a below normative desire for sex. The decision to split the diagnosis into two different diagnoses for male and female

12 gives a chance to look at the specific gendered expectations of the acceptable level of sexual desire. For women, the arousal is included in the diagnosis as women’s bodies are acknowledged as harder to sexually arouse than men’s.2 It is also specifically mentioned that some men prefer their partner to make the first move, which is apparently strange enough to require instructions to not pathologize this preference. There is no such note for women, revealing that men are expected to be the sexual aggressor. In both diagnoses the ‘lack’ of sexual desire is seen as a potential bodily/hormonal problem, or a psychological problem. Either way, it is a problem to be fixed in order for the person to return to a ‘normal’ state of desiring sex, and implies that if a person can be sexual, they should be (Flore, 2014). Unless the person is elderly or post-menopausal, in those cases a lack of sexual desire is expected and does not require treatment. From just a brief look at the diagnosis criteria it is clear that sexual expectations are both gendered and aged. American sociologist Eunjung Kim (2011) argues that the pathologizing of asexuality is linked to ; that disabled people are desexualised in order to dehumanise and therefore pathologizing asexuality strengthens the link between sexuality and humanity. Following pressure from the AVEN, the American Psychological Association has added the self-identification of asexuality as an exception to the diagnoses of Male Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder and Female Sexual Interest-Arousal Disorder. Thus, an uneasy truce between acceptance and pathologizing is created, where potentially, if not for this self-labelling, a person would instead be viewed as needing to be ‘fixed’. However there remains a problem with the requirement of ‘clinically significant distress’ for diagnosis, because this assumes that identifying as asexual results in a lack of distress about being asexual. This is despite the cultural conditions of assumed sexuality and subsequent expectations that presumably caused the person to seek out asexuality in the first place. It also requires that the person has been exposed to the possibility of asexuality, which is not a guarantee, as it has been frequently stated that asexuality is not generally well-known (Carrigan, 2011) hence AVEN having Visibility as part of its goal. Having given a brief look at the pathologization of not wanting sex, I will move onto the academic literature that arose in the wake of asexuality as a sexual orientation.

2.3 Non-Pathologization: Another Way to Understand Not Having Sex AVEN is widely credited with raising the visibility of asexuality following establishment 2001. Cerankowski and Milks (2010) give it credit for its help in research and

2 Although exists and is a separate pathology from Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder

13 highlight the following academic efforts to separate asexuality from Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder, starting with psychologist Anthony Bogaert’s study in 2004. Bogaert was interested in establishing the prevalence of asexuality, which he did by analysing data from a 1994 survey of the British population. He considered anyone who answered as having never had sexual attraction to either men or women as being asexual and concluded that around 1% of the British population was asexual. The methodological problems with this include: the original survey was not about asexuality, and the definition of asexuality restricts it to only people who have never experienced sexual attraction. However, he is not seeking to liken asexuality to a state that requires treatment. He continued on writing about asexuality and eventually published an article in 2015 arguing for asexuality to be recognised as a sexual orientation; a big change from the historical psychological treatment of asexual behaviour. Trying to identify the points of divergence between self-identified asexuality and pathologies of low sexual desire has been a consistent point of investigation among other psychologists and sexologists as well (Prause and Graham, 2007; Brotto et al. 2010; Hinderliter, 2013; Brotto and Yule, 2016; Chasin, 2017). An intriguing observation made in previous research is that asexuality challenges assumptions of the that all healthy people direct sexual desire towards other people (Scherrer, 2008; Cerankowski and Milks, 2010; Chasin, 2011; Przybylo, 2011). Asexuality challenges the connection between romantic relationships and sex, as not wanting sex does not preclude wanting a romantic partner, and in the is that the both go together, and behaviour outside of those norms are stigmatised (Przybylo, 2011). This assumption is often held even in sexually progressive places, such as LGBTQI+3 associations, where being in a romantic relationship still includes the norm of being sexual within that relationship (Cerankowski and Milks, 2010). Carrigan (2013) argues that the assumption of sexual desire has affected previous research, particularly psychological research that uses research instruments and questionnaires that carry the assumption that everyone desires sex. This contributes to the lack of knowledge and visibility about asexuality, though I argue that any quantification of asexuality with psychological constructs misses a lot of what asexuality has come to mean within the community. scholar Erica Chu (2014) lists the ways in which asexuality pushes for reconsideration of what ‘sexuality’ includes. Aside from differentiating

3 I do not include A for Asexuality explicitly in the acronym because of the trouble some interviewees had with acceptance in those communities.

14 between sexual and romantic orientation, they argue that preferences of physical and are separate, as well as attitudes towards sexual activity both alone and with other people. They argue that these different preferences and orientations are normally hidden behind a general understanding of what sexuality is, and that in its diversity, asexuality prompts this questioning that sexual orientation is the only category that matters.

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Asexuality as a concept challenges these norms, but not all asexual people do. Asexual people can desire a romantic relationship, or not, and asexual people in relationships can engage in every level of . Though there are those who do not wish to engage in either romantic relationships or sexual activities (and may be ‘sex-repulsed’) there are others who are willing and even want to do both. Prause and Graham (2007) described it as shifting the motivation for sex from an internal ‘sex drive’ to an external motivation out of care for a sexual (as in not-asexual) partner or, for example, in order to start a family. American law scholar Elizabeth Emens conducted the first and so far, only consideration of the interaction between the law and asexuality, in 2014. Very little has been done as of yet with the law in regard to asexuality, though asexuality is protected from under New York law. It was also explicitly mentioned in a 2012 information document about UK government plans to tackle , but was not mentioned in a 2016 re-issue of that document with the change in government.5 Emens also uses asexuality to show where the existence of is presumed in US law. She has some spurious

4 Retrieved from: https://www.maldenblueandgold.com/2015/04/asexuality-the-rise-of-sexual-minorities/ 5 Compare the 2012 version (https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/97850/e asy-read-hate-crime-action-plan.pdf) with the 2016 version (https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/553619/ action-against-hate-easy-read-160916.pdf).

15 claims about sex-indifferent asexual people and their take on the special status sex has under law, that I would rather hear opinions on from sex-indifferent people. However, her point that the special status of sex under law can reinforce sex’s special status within society, rather than just reflect it, still stands. Not all researchers agree with the ‘radical’ aspect of asexuality. British sociologists Matt Dawson, Liz MacDonnell and Susie Scott (2018) prioritised lived experience over conceptualising asexuality and so conducted their own study to examine how asexuality affects the intimate relationships of asexual people. Dawson et al. conclude that asexuality is not as radical as previous research has argued that it is, because asexual people negotiate intimacy and relationships within already existing structures and do not challenge them. That is to say, asexual people negotiate having or not having sex within relationships much the same as anyone else does. I argue that this is a misreading of ‘radical potential’; potential is not always realised. Further, that in adhering to a symbolic interactionist approach, Dawson et al. miss the power of structure to restrict some ways of living and enable others. Or the way that discourse and knowledge can close off possibilities by making them incomprehensible. As Butler (2004) puts it, if you are not seen as human (if to be human is to desire sex) then no viable life will exist for you to live as you are. Next I shall outline my own approach to asexuality in this thesis.

2.4 What is Asexuality? It should be clear from my choice of literature that a below normative desire for sexual contact is an essential part of the definition. This is an extension of Bogaert’s (2015) definition as a “lack of sexual attraction… of an enduring nature” (p. 364) to include people within the asexual community (or on the asexual spectrum) who refer to themselves as grey- A or demisexual. ‘Below normative’ further allows for a subjective aspect of the definition that can include a broader definition of ‘sexual attraction’. Bogaert defined ‘sexual attraction’ as “lustful inclinations/feelings directed toward others” (p.363). Since self-reporting is the only way to gather information about feelings, the potential for different interpretations is wide. To describe asexuality as a complete lack is to require a precise definition of what is lacking. Below normative allows the room for variation that ultimately reflects any group of humans. It emphasises that societal norms create the conditions for asexuality as a category. Lastly, it avoids using ‘lack’ as part of the definition, which even if true to how some asexuals feel, carries implications of being ‘less than’ that I disagree are inherent to asexuality.

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The second part of my definition is the self-identification, which follows Chasin’s (2013) compelling argument that self-identification is a way to let people choose their own identity in or out of the community. Self-identification is often left out of the definition, which raises several issues for me. Is it right to identify someone as something against their will? Moreover, with asexuality being far from universally known, people may not identify as asexual simply because they have not heard of the term. Self-identification is indicative of knowledge and an inclination towards questioning sexual norms rather than questioning the non-sexual self. Although identifying asexual and being at peace with being asexual do not go hand in hand. While Dawson et al. (2017) argued for the inclusion of people who do not explicitly identify as asexual in their study, for me it is awkward to include their experiences as the same as asexual experiences, as it both categorises them as asexual when they do not see themselves as such, and denies any experiential differences produced by the differing self-concepts. As Chasin (2017) explains, ‘asexual-identified’ and ‘absence of sexual attraction’ are ontologically different. My definition of asexuality and that of the interviewees may not be the same. It may seem that I am avoiding pinning down my definitions, and that is correct. I intend to represent the asexual people that were kind enough to give up their time and energy to speak with me, not define them according to my terms. I intend to preserve that diversity of experience and human expression in my study, as it is important that I do not present this as yet another dichotomy, or a simple category into which humans can be sorted. It is not part of my project to neatly categorise humanity, but to examine the edges, and therefore it would be against my interests to treat asexuality, or any human experience, as if it is simple enough to be reduced to a yes/no answer.

2.5 Intelligibility: is Asexuality a Viable Life? In this section I shall explain in more detail my theoretical groundwork and show how it both ties in the with the review of previous literature, and how I argue it is relevant as a theoretical lens for asexuality. As shown in the literature review, the history of academic text on sexuality, and certainly sociological academic texts, is neither long nor extensive. Combined with the general lack of consideration to asexuality in other institutions, this has led to a dearth of theory that explicitly considers the case of asexuality. Not to say that there is no applicable theory, just that I am using it in the mindset that it was most likely not created with asexuality in mind. I will start with American philosopher Judith Butler’s (1990, 1993, 2004) concept of

17 intelligibility, which runs through her thinking. She mainly writes with gender and sexual minorities in mind, so not everything she has written is applicable to asexuality. I am using intelligibility as the most applicable of Butler’s concepts with what I want to look at with asexuality. Being intelligible means being understandable to others within society, and by societal institutions. A person becomes intelligible through taking on identities (such as gender), and there are only certain identities available according to societal norms. There is no intelligible way of living outside of these identities (Butler, 1990). For Butler, it is the norms surrounding gender and sexuality that are the most pressing in the matter of intelligibility. She takes it further, in that the identities that are understood are the ones that ‘matter’, and they are created through rejection of other identities and ways of being (Salih, 2002, p.76). Being understood means being understood as a full human by wider society, where a human is the most important in the hierarchy of ‘lives that matter’. This is not human in the biological taxonomical meaning of the word, but rather an accepted societal concept of what is the proper human life (Butler, 2004). A human life that does not procreate is an evolutionary dead end and potentially pointless. It is here that the relevance to asexuality becomes clear. Under the evolutionary discourse – a discourse that is used to justify societal norms regarding which lives are the most important – an asexual person who does not have a ‘drive’ to engage in sexual activity does not meet the criteria of a full human. Therefore the act of creating a category into which to fit does not solve the problem of finding a liveable life, as that requires changing the grounds for what is considered human. Butler argues that maintaining unintelligibility can be useful in this;

There are advantages to remaining less than intelligible, if intelligibility is understood as that which is produced as a consequence of recognition according to prevailing social norms. Indeed, if my options are loathsome, […] then it follows that my sense of survival depends upon escaping the clutch of those norms by which recognition is conferred. It may well be that my sense of social belonging is impaired […] but surely that estrangement is preferable to gaining a sense of intelligibility by virtue of norms that will only do me in from another direction (Butler, 2004: 3).

Not being intelligible, then, is a way of resisting norms. Not denying that they have an effect, for even living outside of norms necessarily references what the norms are, but in being critical of the norms. A position of unintelligibility necessitates questioning norms because it is outside of them. This ties in with the previous research that has suggested the radical potential of asexuality. Asexuality can question the assumption of sexual desire, or aromanticism can question the centrality of a romantic relationship, because for people to live

18 in an asexual or aromantic way requires that these norms are questioned. Chasin (2015) approaches asexuality as unintelligible, and posits the creation of new vocabulary and ways of understanding orientation (separating romantic from sexual) as ways of asexual people making their lives and feelings intelligible. Chasin argues by doing so, they create possibilities for themselves to live in these newly understandable ways. Butler admits that to be unintelligible is painful, but that creating categories and therefore new conditions over which people can be barred from these categories, is not a cut and dry solution to the problem (2004). I do not make it my job to decide what path the asexual community or asexual individuals should take, but to represent the issues as they have been told to me. To help me show that asexuality is not fully intelligible, I will now look at concepts that have been examined by other sociologists. They are describing discourses used to justify certain social norms that are potentially in conflict with an asexual way of life (that is, a life that does not desire sexual contact with others). For this, I move on to the idea of couple culture.

2.6 The Privilege of the Sexual Couple Sociologist Shelley Budgeon writes in her 2008 article about what she terms couple culture and the production of singleness. This refers to the privileged status of couples within society and the stigmatisation of being single, which is present across and sexualities. This relies on the following;

The placement of couple relationship at the centre of the normative practice of sexuality is underpinned by an ‘ideology of marriage and family’, which is based on the assumption that everyone desires a sexual partnership, that a sexual relationship is the only truly important personal relationship, and that those who are in one are significantly happier and more fulfilled than those who are not (Budgeon, 2008: 302).

So that the ultimate aim of human life becomes finding a , who will then be the most important person in that life. Then, because this is the ultimate aim of human life, if a person has succeeded in finding this one, most important relationship possibly with added children, they are ‘fulfilled’. Fulfilment outside of this set of circumstances is either non- existent or in some way lesser. A romantic partner is also seen as necessary to start a family; a single (particularly single ) is stigmatised and not assumed to be out of choice, and the practice of ‘co-parenting’ – to have a non-romantic partner to raise children with – is a recent fringe practice, but it includes continuing to raise a child in partnership following a , where the family was originally formed through sexual relations (Jadva, 2015).

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One of the interviewees, Anna, introduced me to a book American philosopher Elizabeth Brake wrote in 2011, Minimizing Marriage: Marriage, Morality and the Law. Brake introduces the concept of which is similar to Budgeon’s Couple Culture, though Brake’s concept is modelled explicitly on . Therefore, Brake argues of a pervasive expectation and structuring around having a single, primarily important, amorous and sexual relationship. Heteronormativity, being the expectation and privileging of a heterosexual lifestyle, also includes the expectation of a monogamous sexual relationship. However, it is largely used to question the restrictions that are put on gender and sexual activity, emphasising the kinds of gender and sexual expression that can exist outside of heterosexual relationships. Amatonormativity, on the other hand, emphasises the privileging of sexual and romantic relationships over others in a way that is more explicitly applicable to asexuality and aromanticism, though ultimately both could be applied. Both of these concepts highlight not just how sex is expected, but also romantic partnerships are more valued than other relationships. Budgeon and Shelley both argue that it is detrimental to those who cannot, have not, or do not want to engage in a romantic relationship. New Zealand sociologist Tiina Vares’ (2018) published an article detailing how difficult her asexual participants found when they did not want to have sex. Given the connection sex has to romance in the cultural understanding, this is unsurprising. It is also why a hierarchy of relationships that puts romantic partners at the top can disproportionately affect even romantic asexual people. While both concepts are applicable and describing essentially the same mechanism, I will use couple culture throughout my thesis for clarity.

2.7 Conclusion To conclude this chapter, I shall summarise what I have said here. Firstly, I have shown that the state of having no desire to have sex has been historically pathologized, if it has been mentioned at all. Pathologization reinforces the idea that having sex and sexual relationships is normal, and not wanting to means that something is wrong. The other historical reaction has been to overlook the existence of people who do not desire to have sexual relationships; to assume that such a thing does not happen. This has led to (or resulted from, or a combination of the two) a lack of legitimacy for asexuality. To be asexual was to either not exist in the cultural milieu, or to need to change. The same can be said for aromanticism, perhaps even to a greater degree, as asexuals who are romantic can still desire a romantic relationship, though with potentially more difficulty than a non-asexual person. I then showed the more recent research on asexuality that did not pathologize. At first

20 the interest from psychologists in measuring asexuality in the wider population, and trying to distinguish asexuality from the diagnoses in the DSM. Then onto sociologists and sexuality researchers being more critical of the established norms that surround asexuality, and looking toward the potential of asexuality to question those very norms that had earlier relegated it to be pathologized and overlooked. Lastly, I brought forward the argument that asexuality and aromantic is a less than intelligible place to be, using Butler’s conception of intelligibility. Drawing from the previous research on questioning norms, I introduced the discourses of couple culture and amatonormativity that encompass the norms that asexuality and aromanticism can be at odds with. In my next chapter, I will begin my analysis of the interviews using these concepts and discourses.

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Chapter Three – Asexual Certainties 3.1 Asexuality as Different from the Norm I interviewed Angela, a 53-year-old from the USA, by email. She immediately came across as someone who takes no nonsense. From the start she used her age to debunk myths about asexual people being too young to know themselves, her health and activities to show that asexual people are not ill or broken. I had not even started to ask about asexuality and she was already getting straight to the point. When I did ask about her asexuality, she told me, “I've been asexual and aromantic all my life, so that would be slightly more than half a century... I just did not know that it "had a name." She had known herself as different from expectations of her for years, and for longer than asexuality as a sexual orientation has existed. Asexual discourse is not what caused Angela to reject sexual and romantic norms. So how did the process of coming to identify as asexual start? I posit that it begins with a dissatisfaction in the prescribed sexual and romantic expectations. Therefore the question to be answered this chapter is: how do asexual people relate to sexual and romantic discourses? That is to say, the ways in which they came to realise they may not agree or meet with sexual or romantic expectations, as Angela did. The one point of similarity among all people who identify as asexual is that they have found reason in their lives to identify as asexual. It seems obvious, but with the oft-mentioned diversity of asexuality, it and undeniable point of similarity. The aspect of asexuality that I shall tackle in this chapter are the parts of identifying that are more certain. I shall do this through a content analysis of the interviews, showing where the interviewees have encountered sexual and romantic discourses, and how they negotiated them. Discourse in itself is not an inherently good or bad thing, but essentially a way of understanding; an understanding that is conveyed through language. In simple terms, it comes down to how the interviewees relate to the accepted ways of thinking about sexual and romantic life. The specific ideas that I have considered as part of these discourses are that which I laid out in the previous chapter: that being sexual is natural, and not being sexual is unnatural, and that the ideal in life is to have one romantic partner who is more important than all other relationships. Firstly, I will describe where the difficulties already begin, as asexuality is the commonality among the interviewees, but they are otherwise different. I will outline a

22 definition of aromanticism. Then I will show how the interviewees first came to think of themselves as different through their stories of deciding to be asexual. Finally, I will examine how the interviewees distance themselves from the relevant discourses.

3.2 Which Discourse Affects Whom? As mentioned previously, one aspect of the asexual discourse is teasing apart sex from romance. This means that being asexual does not necessarily lead to not wanting a romantic relationship. Part of the asexual discourse is that sexual orientation (who you are sexually attracted to) is different from romantic orientation (who you are romantically attracted to). Romantic orientations follow the gender-attraction logic of orientations as in heteroromantic meaning attracted to the opposite gender, homoromantic meaning attracted to the same gender and so on. Therefore, it is possible to see how a hypothetical asexual person could completely accept a discourse of romance – having one true to whom they are devoted above all else to the end of their days – while refuting that sex is a necessary and natural component of that relationship. However, six out of the thirteen interviewees I spoke to explicitly identified as aromantic, which in turn affects how they relate to both sexual and romantic discourses. But first, I must answer the most obvious question that aromanticism raises. What is aromanticism? Not nearly as much scholarly thought has been put into answering the question of what aromanticism is as has gone into asexuality. For now, I shall follow the implications of the naming convention and say: aromanticism is to romantic orientation what asexuality is to sexual orientation. So, to take from my working definition of asexuality, I will say that aromanticism is both having a below-normative desire for a romantic relationship and identifying as aromantic. Romantic orientations are used primarily by the asexual community as part of dividing the sex from romance where they are assumed to go together. The previous research on asexual romantic orientations has often been about negotiating physical intimacy with sexual partners, or about asexuality with little thought to differences in romantic orientation. I have not found any that concentrates specifically on aromanticism. Therefore, very little research has been done into the specific issues encountered by aromantics.

3.3 Discovery Stories: Deciding on Asexuality One of the most useful sources of why the interviewees chose asexuality as a sexual orientation were their stories of when they made the decision to describe themselves as asexual. I shall look at them in detail here and identify the places of resistance, as well as

23 similarities and differences between each of them. Not all the interviewees are represented here, because I unfortunately lack the space, so I have chosen a representative selection of quotes that show the full range of experiences I encountered. The often late discovery of asexuality results in an opportunity to see the difference in understanding between people who know of asexuality and people who do not. It shows that self-concept can change when choosing asexuality, or even just in finding out that it is an available choice. I am aware of the discourse that sexual orientation (including asexuality) is not a choice, but I hold that the act of deciding to take on the label even if it is not openly, is a choice. I intend ‘choice’ to emphasise the individual agency, not to imply that asexuality and the feelings that lead to or stem from it are not real. There are two broad themes in the discovery stories: firstly, people who decided their sexuality after sexual and romantic experience, and secondly, people who came to it without that experience. I will start with the cases of people testing out their sexuality. I spoke with Camilla over Skype, a 34-year-old Canadian cis woman. She is asexual and aromantic, though had only come to describe herself as such in the last three years. She told me,

It took me a while to come to identify as asexual and it took actually trying things out and having experiences, because I had always assumed that when I get around to it I’ll enjoy having sex and enjoy having a . There were various things that stopped me from pursuing that for a while. I either thought that I was not attractive enough, or I had too high standards, so I couldn’t find anyone. But when those didn’t apply anymore, I still didn’t want to have sex, it just did nothing for me. Her assumption that she would enjoy sex when she had it shows the power that discourse has in shaping the expectations people have for themselves. She also displays many reasons the discourse provides as explanations for why she may not meet the expectations: that she was not meeting standards or that others weren’t meeting her standards. The use of ‘too high’ standards then implies that her standards should be lowered in order to experience the ultimate goal of sex. This places the sexual experience above personal feeling, which must be adjusted in order to achieve sex. Then, once sex is achieved it will be enjoyable, because it is understood to be universally enjoyable. However, once Camilla eventually experienced sex, and on multiple occasions, she found it did not meet the expectations that had been instilled in her. The failure of the discourse to provide a good enough reason to Camilla for why she still was not enjoying sex led her to re-evaluate and ultimately reject the idea that the discourse is applicable to her, or the best way to understand her experience. Experience as needed to work out feelings came up again with TJ. I met TJ at her

24 workplace at the end of her workday. She came across as a cheerful soul who, at 26 years old, is asexual but still deciding on her romantic orientation.

I [used] a dating site and I had dates with three boys. But I thought no, this isn’t it. And I also wasn’t like, “Okay, now I am going to date some women.” I didn’t feel that I wanted to go further. TJ mentions being a passingly here as a possibility once she didn’t feel ‘it’ when dating the boys. She tried to find an understanding that fit with her experience. Sara and Becca also considered being gay when they found that the idea of heterosexual dating was not provoking the ‘correct’ feelings in them. It is a process of interpellation, of looking at the existing categories and trying to fit themselves in. If not heterosexual, then homosexual. If not heterosexual or homosexual, then what? TJ explained where she encountered asexuality,

I read about [asexuality] and thought maybe this is what I am. There was also a programme on the TV with some asexual people who wanted to explain about their lives. In the same year my mother also found an article in the newspaper about asexuality and she said, “Oh, maybe this is you.” I thought yeah, I see a lot of things where I think that’s me. It was a process. I was really thinking about it because you see in your surroundings that people have , or , people ask you about it. I don’t care, I just want to have fun in life. Only after TJ discovered asexuality could she take it as a third option to homo- or . But it is still not an easy answer to accept when surrounded by people who are in relationships and who expect her to want to get into a relationship. She is undecided as to her romantic orientation because for her, to say she is aromantic would be too final, and would shut off the possibility of later in life. But she still is not looking to engage in romance and sexuality on other people’s terms. Being asexual gives her a frame of reference with which to understand that, and acknowledgement that there is a place for that. Rema is a 28-year-old Italian, and she raised the idea of wanting to be sure before committing to the asexual and aromantic orientation as well.

I’ve kind of always known it. But a few years ago, I decided to start a relationship, which confirmed to me that I was asexual and aromantic, because the relationship was horrible and was quite a mess. It was just like, giving myself this last opportunity to confirm what I was. Despite tentatively knowing that she was not interested in sex or relationships, she still felt the need to test herself in a sexual relationship before deciding. As an explanation for why she needed to test, she said, “I didn’t want to admit it, or I was hoping for some other explanation.” There is a stigma to identifying as different to other people, and potential difficulty in changing that aspect of self-concept and what it means for the future, when so much of an expected future life can be tied up in having a partner. Therefore, Rema tested the

25 idea that she really did not enjoy being in a relationship before she could admit that her life would be better if she accepted that she did not want a relationship. As an example of discovering asexuality relatively late in life, there is Adam. He is 33, English and married his before he knew of asexuality.

I think prior to that knowledge of asexuality I thought I was broken, there was something wrong with me. I have no interest in something that, as a man, people told me, the media told me, my friends told me, I have to want sex. I have to be this virile thing. Prior to finding asexuality I believed all the, “One day it’ll happen,” or, “You just haven’t found the right person.” I wasn’t aware that there was a possibility it would just be the person I am. Here there is very explicit evidence of the way that asexuality changed his self-concept, from being broken to it being a part of him. This idea that asexuality is a root or a culmination of other parts of his personality crops up elsewhere. I asked if he would stop being asexual if he could and he replied that it makes up too large a part of him. For Adam, it is not just that he is uninterested in sex, it is that his disinterest in sex affects enough of what he sees about the world or how he reacts to the world, that he would not want to change it. For example, being asexual and meeting others in the asexual community led to him questioning the importance of gender as a category, especially in regard to romance. Adam identifies himself as pithromantic, a term that he created himself to mean being attracted to someone’s soul or essence, because he felt that all the other categories refer too much to gender. Even panromantic, meaning ‘attracted to all genders’, still follows the logic of expressing romantic orientation in relation to gender. He says he understands gender as a social construct, and undoubtedly it helps that he is witness to the masculine ideal being not descriptive, but prescriptive. For example, being told that as a man he must want sex, when it was not the case for him. Initially he felt broken as a man who did not want sex, but with the new understanding of not being broken, the discourse he describes about the virility of men appears less natural. With new knowledge he is able to question the veracity of the discourse. The discourse puts forward that not being sexually enthusiastic is a fault on the individual’s part, and the individual must do something to rectify it. Therefore, once Adam understood that wanting sex is not necessary to the human experience, he no longer has the onus of fixing it and can question the discourse that created the expectation in the first place. Gavin, 43-year-old American, also found asexual discourse late in life. He had thought of himself as asexual prior to finding out others used the term, because having studied English, the word made sense to describe himself. He is heteroromantic and

26 describes how important experience was for him to decide his sexual and romantic orientations.

I enjoy being with women, I’ve had three relationships, each of which lasted more than a year […] So I know there’s romantic attachment there, but at no point in any of those did I have any [sexual] desire for my partner or anyone else. Which - I didn’t realise at the time I was in those relationships - was a challenge in the relationship. One of Gavin’s primary points about understanding his own asexuality is that it took experience to realise the pattern. Experience which he has now that he is 43, but did not have earlier. It was harder to separate sexual interest from romantic interest when he had not encountered the idea that they could be separate, and he had a definite romantic desire. He later explained how relationship experience was essential to self-definition, particularly in finding the difference between being asexual (never experiences sexual attraction) and demi- sexual (only experiences sexual attraction following a strong emotional bond). Without having experienced a strong emotional bond, a person won’t know if they experience sexual attraction in that situation or not. He also stated how that can unfortunately play into the ‘you’ll find the right one someday’ , and be used against asexual people. Gavin has also been subject to the discourses of how sexual men ought to be, as Adam above. It again shows a way that asexuality gave him an understanding that helped him make sense of his past relationships and why they had failed. He said later he and his “would use terms like, ‘you’re not passionate enough’. They were euphemisms, not because we were avoiding talking about the subject, but because we didn’t know how to talk about it.” It was the lack of a suitable framework to understand the situation that he felt led to them growing apart. Now he is asexual as in the orientation, he feels he has the knowledge and resources to be able to talk about it in a way that would be helpful. When I asked Gavin how it felt to find other people with similar experiences on AVEN, he replied,

Because I’m such an introvert, the fact that it was other people didn’t mean as much as the fact that a site that seemed to be recognised and respected spoke from a position of authority, like the FAQ on AVEN, I really found helpful, much more than the people. I include this because it shows the importance AVEN has for some people as an authority. Having an established organisation that gets mentioned in news articles and so on is important to lend credence to the idea of asexuality. Even though the general understanding of asexuality in places outside of AVEN and other asexuality-specific groups may not be exactly as desired by asexual people, the paths through which discourses are validated can still be important for individuals to see. For example, though news media may question the

27 validity of asexuality, that people from AVEN make an appearance and are ‘important enough’ to be asked for comment, is still giving more validity than completely ignoring asexuality. Next, I shall give examples of the people who did not need to try out relationships or sex before deciding. 18-year-old Jenny, a female from the UK who is asexual and tentatively heteroromantic told me,

There was a long period when I was fifteen where I was thinking about sex all the time. Literally. But not in the way that you’d expect for a teenager. Like, “I have to get this over with as quickly as possible and then I never ever have to do it again,” kind of way. But it took me ages to click that I didn’t actually have to do it at all. And it took me ages to realise that that probably meant I was asexual. Jenny speaks of the powerful pressure that discourse can exert. Her choices were constrained by a lack of alternatives to having sex. She speaks of it is an act that must be gone through, not for the fun of it, but to lose the stigmatised ‘virgin’ status, or as a rite of passage to adulthood. Being one of the youngest interviewees, Jenny is one of the few interviewees who knew of asexuality in her early teens, but the dominant discourse still exerted pressure on her to be sexual. Especially with the idea that she alludes to herself: that teenagers are supposed to be thinking about sex all the time, and with the implication that they are supposed to be thinking that they want to have it all the time. This creates the impression that not wanting sex as a teenager is abnormal. Choosing asexuality enabled Jenny to see outside of that discourse and realise that not having sex is also a valid option. Nicole is a 37-year-old, Dutch cisgender woman, who I interviewed by email. She is asexual and heteroromantic, and presents a much less conflicted version of events for herself.

When I was eleven years old, I already knew that marriage, sex and children were not for me. I do not need the ritual of marriage to show my love for someone. Neither do I need sex to show my love for someone.

She quite firmly distances herself from discourses that surround marriage as a necessary step in a romance, calling it a ritual. This distances marriage from emotions, or presenting it a ‘natural’ way to be, instead revealing it to be a cultural construct. Sex is perhaps similar in that both it and marriage are ways of expressing feelings, ‘showing love’. Sex and marriage are culturally sanctioned ways of showing love, but not necessary to Nicole. Nicole sought to avoid the negotiation of sexual acts involved in a relationship with a non-asexual by only dating asexual people. So, she outright rejects the need for sex, but parts of romantic discourse suit her, such as living with her partner. She succeeded in finding him through an asexual dating site, which is certainly interesting when presented in the light of

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Emens (2014) saying asexuality does not have the same gathering capabilities as homosexual identities, such as in gay bars, because asexuals want to do nothing, rather than homosexual people looking to date other homosexual people. Emens assumes the difference is intrinsic to asexuality, rather than as a result of its previous invisibility and growing visibility in a time when the internet is widely available. For romantic asexual people, while it is possible to date sexual people, it is one less hurdle to jump if both partners are asexual. Let alone that sexual activity is not the only reason that people would want to meet others with a similar struggle. Perhaps Emen’s assumption that asexual people do not need to meet each other because they do not want to have sex could be seen as applying sexual logic to asexual people. Next, I will turn to other places where the interviewees directly confronted discourses, and the way they deal with the sexual and romantic discourses still existing after they have chosen asexuality. I identified three main approaches, firstly that of saying it just doesn’t apply to them as an individual, secondly of identifying how other people’s lives are shaped by discourse as well, and lastly being in complete opposition to the discourse as a sensible route to take.

3.4 That Discourse Doesn’t Apply to Me One of the most frequently used negotiations was to treat asexuality or aromanticism as a kind of ‘get out of jail free card’. I spoke to Sara by Skype, she was French, 22-years-old and working on her own master’s thesis. I asked her if being asexual meant a lot to her in her daily life. She said,

Yes, actually. Because I know that I don’t have to conform. [There’s a] certain sort of liberty of knowing that when people say something, it doesn’t concern me. Not in general, but when they say, “You have to do this,” in terms of looking for a relationship or in terms of how you dress for a party, or anything actually. I think that it doesn’t apply to me, I have the liberty. In essence, Sara gives asexuality as justification for not having to conform to romantic and sexual ideals. She is exempt from that discourse being applicable to her. Her wording also brings some insight into the many aspects of life that the “how to get a partner” questions can touch. Just dressing for a party is expected to be an opportunity to raise your attractiveness to potential partners. It brings some perspective on to how much of a ’s life is expected to be driven by trying to find a partner. Enough that there is relief from not having to do it. Knowledge of asexuality provides the potential for a change of perspective change that makes adhering to the idea of one true love and coupling seem less required in life. Sara went on to say,

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If I didn’t have the label but I was still asexual, and family members said something to me about not having a , then I would still question myself. Whereas now, having the label, having the community with me, I know that-- I probably would act the same because I don’t want to come out to my family. But I would at least feel very different. I don’t question myself in the first instance, I question them. Sara uses the knowledge of asexuality to be sure in herself. Not the knowledge alone, but also that the knowledge is validated by people other than herself within the asexual community. Similar to Adam earlier, that other people experience asexuality gives her assurance enough to question the discourse itself, and further to question why other people do not question it. Camilla also used asexuality as a tool to excuse herself from expectations.

I’m aware that there is some underlying expectation. Just because I’m a person who exists in this society. But I have made peace with the fact that I don’t want to have a relationship and therefore I don’t need to, and that’s not really the case with a lot of other things I feel expected to do. As far as career-wise, or financially, or other things that are often expected of people. But not wanting to be in a relationship is the defiant characteristic of me that I feel most comfortable with and confident in. Camilla acknowledges the existence of the expectation, and that it is a universal one. As she frames it, there is no section of society that could fail to realise there is an imperative to have a relationship. But like Sara before, she is exempt from the expectation. She ‘has made peace’ with it, and it is no longer an issue that needs worrying about. I thought it was useful to include the second part of Camilla’s statement as a way of contextualising this issue within her life. Although she is speaking to me as an asexual person, and asexuality is part of her self-concept, there are other parts to her life, and her as an individual, which can be more pressing or stressful. Indeed, here she says that asexuality can make her life less stressful. I do not want to give the impression that asexuality is a central aspect of every interviewee’s life, although it can seem that way in that I am only referring to people in reference to their asexuality. Asexuality is by and large one thing among many, and not always one of the biggest things. Rema took a slightly different approach to discourse. She acknowledged that it didn’t apply to her personally, because of her asexuality and aromanticism. She went further in questioning the ideal, that perhaps it wasn’t the ‘best thing’ for non-asexuals either.

You waste more time with a person you don’t really like, or you don’t really love than just waiting for the right one. […] I think people are scared of [being alone], so they just end up in relationships that are not really good for them, they’re not being fulfilled, and they are just miserable. But at least they can say, “I have someone, even if I hate him, hate her, or just don’t think it’s the best person I can have on my side”. So, actually I feel really fortunate in that, because I have no regrets. I’m happy the way I am. I’m always very careful about surrounding myself with people I think are good for me.

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Rema puts forward that the pressure to find a partner can push people into bad decisions, asexual or not. She questions the implication that people naturally fall into relationships, or are always following some innate urge. Instead, she notes that the pressure she has felt to be in a relationship is felt by everyone, and the desire to not be single is sometimes a greater drive than the desire for a particular person. Being aromantic is her personal reason for being happy alone, but she says that she supports all single people in doing what they want despite pressure to pair up. Therefore, because other people are just as pressured, making it acceptable to escape that pressure and live an aromantic life could be beneficial for more than just aromantic people. The third way I identified the interviewees negotiating the discourses was to outright not understand it. Anna gave a good example of this, an American who is asexual and aromantic, emailed me,

I'm twenty-four and have never even been on a date. I still don't really know why people date or what makes them feel such a way about certain people. Do people date because they're bored or because they're genuinely lonely? If they're lonely why can't they make more friends? Do they feel something is missing in their life? I think it doesn't take an aromantic person to look at romance and see the absurdities behind it. In past eras it was widely considered to be foolish when things like marriage had more of a practical purpose and had little to do with romantic or sexual . Anna has never felt the need to be in a relationship and does not want to try it out. As can be seen here, rather than accept that romance is a separate need, she asks what other needs romance fulfils. She calls back to older forms of marriage when people got married for reasons other than love to prove that the romance ideal is essentially a constructed one. Romance has not always been seen as something that everyone needs in their lives, therefore why does everyone need to engage in it now? Especially as the potential argument that everyone has a sexual desire that needs to be fulfilled is debunked by her existence as a person who does not need a sexual desire fulfilled. There is a split in experience between aromantics and romantics, because of the different discourses they are fundamentally challenging. Asexual romantics potentially have to engage with non-asexuals and deal with the personal differences in sexual desire and expectations, but are potentially able to benefit from a relationship status. Asexual aromantics do not have to negotiate levels of sexual activity, but are unlikely to fulfil the coupling expectation, and face the stigma that can bring within couple culture. Anna expressed dismay at still not finding many aromantic people in asexual spaces, because while it was reassuring to find other asexual people, it was clear their experiences and struggles differed by virtue of

31 being romantic. I will now conclude this chapter by drawing together the analysis I have presented.

3.5 What Have We Learnt? To summarise this chapter, I will lay out what I take to be the most important points. Firstly, that asexuality is a real and useful way for some people to understand their feelings and situation. Secondly, that people can only know what they know. What I mean by this, is that the knowledge of asexuality can change how people understand their own feelings. The discovery of asexuality changing self-understanding has been found by others as well (Carrigan, 2011; MacNeela and Murphy, 2014). Psychologists Nicolette Robbins, Kathryn Low and Anna Query (2016) outline six stages of asexual identification, beginning with identity confusion, the place where existing categories do not feel right, followed by discovery of terminology, which agrees with what I found in this chapter. Access to the discourse of asexuality can help people resist the power of other discourses in their lives. It does not necessarily need to create a change in behaviour to be important; it has value in helping people understand their situation. It can be seen in how some of the interviewees’ understanding of their situation changed before and after discovering and choosing asexuality. Also, in considering a homosexual understanding of sexuality, even though they did not feel it, it shows that people’s options are constrained by the discourses they have access to. And access to the discourse of asexuality is very uneven. Thirdly, there is diversity in the way that each person resists the discourses they are subject to. This is not least due to the different way discourse affects people in relation to other aspects of their identity, such as gender and age. It is also apparent in the romantic orientation that people choose, in that heteroromantic people and aromantic people respond differently to discourse surrounding romantic partnership. However, even within groups that are created by people using the same word to describe themselves, there is diversity, depending on how they view and understand asexuality itself. It is this final point that my next chapter will go into in more detail. It will cover the uncertainties of asexuality, and the way that people who identify the same way, may still have different ideas of what it means to them.

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Chapter Four – Asexual Uncertainties 4.1 The Tyranny of Definition On the online AVEN forums, there is a reference post for sexual orientation lexicon, labelled as “read me”. It is there to ensure that forum users are aware of it before they start adding comments and participate in the discussion.6 The post lists forty-five separate categories and sub-categories to describe sexual orientation. Only some are compatible with asexuality, but they do not even touch on the romantic orientations, all of which are compatible with asexuality and introduce at least five further categories (hetero-, homo-, bi-, - or aromantic). Or, as Sara put it,

I decided I was asexual when I was 18 or 19. Aromantic must have been year later. Time to notice that there was still more. The closer you look at something, the more you see detail, the more you dig in and again you see new categories. Sara expresses where some of her problems lie when trying to categorise sexuality. Namely, that human behaviour is infinitely complex, and categories have the potential to be very specific. Therefore, where the line is drawn between categories, or which categories encompass others is essentially down to individual or group consensus. Leading to the question for this chapter: how do asexual people negotiate uncertainties in their definitions of and surrounding asexuality? I want to be clear that in examining the uncertainties in asexuality, I am not saying that it is unreal, or not legitimate. Rather, I am saying that the historical and cultural processes that produced asexuality as a sexual orientation have resulted in a definition that is not always clear in its delineations, or even the same in its conception between two people. I do not think this is something that should necessarily change, indeed language can only ever approximate lived experience. Without ever having had the state- backed institutional setting that decides precisely where the boundaries are, as is the case with sex and gender, asexuality has never had strict boundaries placed upon it. As AVEN ultimately states:

There is no litmus test to determine if someone is asexual. Asexuality is like any other identity- at its core, it’s just a word that people use to help figure themselves out. If at any point someone finds the word asexual useful to describe themselves, we encourage them to use it for as long as it makes sense to do so.7 AVEN emphasises the usefulness of the word to the individual, not as a category to measure and divide people up. I support this approach, and the community as a way to bring people

6 (scarletlatitude, 2015) 7 (Retrieved from: https://www.asexuality.org/?q=overview.html)

33 together as a group with broadly shared experience, not as people who are all the same and have been through the same thing. As researchers such as Carrigan (2013), Dawson et al. (2018), Chasin (2011) have pointed out, the asexual community is diverse, and diverse in what it counts as asexual.8 In this chapter I will analyse where I found uncertainties surrounding the definition, formulation and consequences of asexuality and aromanticism. I asked for definitions of admittedly indefinable things such as relationships and feelings, but these are the aspects of life affected by asexuality. I will begin this chapter with the difficulties of identifying with a sexual orientation that is also no sexual orientation. Then I will move onto the uncertainty that arises from the consideration that asexuality need not be a life-long commitment. Finally, I will show where other people’s reactions to asexuality can impact on the experiences of the interviewees.

4.2 The Primary Problem of Trying to Create a Position out of Not Feeling The point I will first cover, because it is often mentioned by other researchers Hinderliter, 2009; Flore, 2014), is asexuality is a position created out of not feeling something, often framed as a position of negative identification. As I have said before, to say that asexuality is a lack of something requires a definition of what is lacking. However, when it comes to feelings, which cannot be recreated in a person who does not feel them, realising that there is a difference can be difficult. Succinctly described by Sara here,

It’s difficult to know because you don’t feel [sexual] attraction, but don’t realise that others do. You feel some attraction. You feel aesthetic attraction, you feel different kinds, you don’t realise that you feel different. It is only through language that feelings can be shared, interpreted and inferred. So for Sara, she felt attraction, but it took her time to realise that other people felt a different kind of attraction. The only way for her know what others were feeling was by the discourse that surrounds and refers to them. But without a valid option to not feel sexual or romantic desire, the realisation that other people feel differently had to be reached by her alone. As in the attraction example that Sara used, it highlights the need for definition of concepts that are not easily defined. What is attraction, for example? Are there numerous kinds? Can it be just an appreciation of aesthetics or does it have to include some kind of wish to act on the attraction? Camilla, although certain of herself now, struggled with this at first,

8 While I am saying that I find this a good approach, I am not claiming that every asexual person agrees.

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I found the AVEN FAQ to be very confusing at first, because of the way that it defines asexuality using sexual attraction. I can look at somebody who’s deemed to be sexually attractive by society as a whole and say, “Oh yeah, that person is very good looking.” So I could feel like that’s sexual attraction, right? There’s a difference between finding something to be sexy by society’s standards and actually wanting to have sex with the person. I think seeing the definition being worded as an asexual person as a person who does not experience sexual attraction really made me doubt if that applied to me at first. For Camilla, ‘sexual attraction’ was not well-defined enough to know if she felt it or not. It is not explicit or delineated enough to explain to people who do not experience it, what precisely they are not experiencing. This is partly a consequence of a society where sexual attraction is assumed to be experienced by everyone, and therefore a feeling that everyone should know when they feel it. Furthermore, the idea expressed here of knowing what is sexy by society’s standards echoes gender studies scholar Ela Przybylo’s (2011) concept of sexusociety, a merging of sexual and society. She emphasised that asexual people are not outside of sexusociety, but part of it. Therefore, asexual people come to understand their lives from within sexusociety, using its definitions and expectations, and standards. In this case, Camilla was aware of what is generally considered sexy and was able to make that judgement about people, despite not having the desire to actually have sex with someone. A desire that may be assumed in the judgement of ‘sexy’, but is not necessary to judge someone according to general societal standards of sexy. Aside from needing a good definition, a second issue arises from a position of not wanting to have sex, which is that the act of sex is unimportant. Therefore asexuality as an identifier relates to a less important aspect of their lives. This has been found before by Dawson et al. (2018) and Carrigan (2011). Asexuality was often not the most pressing problem for interviewees, but as one issue among many that all people experience to some extent. For Camilla, it was not important enough to let other people know unless they asked, Robert characterised asexuality as an “itch” in his mind that he wants to understand, but that it does not have a “crippling effect” on his life. The frustration of creating a position out of something that does not mean much to him is present in Gavin’s following quote:

The question you see on so many research projects: does your ideal relationship include sex, yes or no? Where’s the answer who cares? Does your ideal relationship include eating sandwiches? It doesn’t matter! Here Gavin questions the assumption in research and among some asexual people, that he must care about sex one way or the other, when he does not. He compares this to not caring about sandwiches one way or the other, but there is not a need to form an identity around sandwiches because sandwiches are not meaningful within couple culture. It is the meaning

35 that is put into sex in the wider culture that creates the need for a negative identity. The assumption that sex is a universal need means that not needing it must be articulated, even though not needing sex makes it a less important part of life. Therefore, it is cultural emphasis on sex that makes it important. Next, I will explore another theme of uncertainty that some of the interviewees showed.

4.3 Worry/Knowledge/Hope That it Might Change The second theme of uncertainty among the interviewees was the thought that perhaps their preferences might change, or that they may meet someone with whom they develop a romantic or sexual bond. The idea of change was expressed primarily by younger interviewees, while none of the five interviewees who are over 30 considered that their feelings might change in regard to whether they want a partner or sex. While Cranney (2016) may argue that this openness to change is evidence of asexuality not being stable enough to be a sexual orientation, that is applying the construction that any sexual orientation requires stability to be considered ‘real’. As I am not taking a stance on what the underlying causes of not having sexual desire may be, and my definition of sexual orientation does not require it be lifelong, I do not adhere to the idea that asexuality must be for life to be ‘real’.9 Sara and Anna, aged 22 and 24 respectively, both asexual and aromantic presented themselves as open to change. There was no intent among them to actively look for someone who would change their situation, but that they were simply open to it. As a good representation of this attitude, Anna said,

My view on dating is still "if it happens, it happens," but now I know that it's completely fine if it doesn't happen, that not having a partner doesn't make your life any less fulfilling. It's ok to not look. It's ok to not care. Again, for Anna, the change of perspective that the asexual discourse gives is still present. More to the point here there is a lack of worry. Just as previously asexuality and aromanticism were freedoms from the expectation of have to have sex, it does not mean that a lack of sex or must be self-imposed for the entire lifespan. One of the only definite aspects of the AVEN definition is that it is not celibacy, which is someone with a sexual desire who has chosen specifically to not have sex. So, if for whatever reason feelings change, the option is there. 18-year-old Becca had a similar attitude to future relationships in that she was not

9 Chasin (2017) argues the lifelong model of sexual orientation is androcentric and that women more often report a change in sexual orientation over their lifetime.

36 actively searching for one, however, as she is demi-sexual it would not be the same change in self-concept that it would be for asexual interviewees. So while the content of her words was similar in this regard, the context was that she still expected to one day find a romantic partner to be sexual with. Part of what makes asexuality difficult to pin down is the heterogeneity, and I have found this not just in the range of different experiences, but also the similar experiences that are interpreted differently and ultimately come through in a completely different contextual light. Not all the interviewees viewed change so neutrally, however. Jenny, who is 18, said,

I’m still unwilling to 100% commit to the idea that I am asexual because there’s this stupid fear that if I am, that means I won’t have sex for like thirty, forty years. Then suddenly, in forty years’ time, a virgin, I’ll wake up and just not want to be asexual anymore and that would be horribly embarrassing. That’s not a scenario that’s going to happen, but it’s still in the back of my mind. The spectre of having the stigmatised status of virgin to an older age than most worries Jenny. That she will later regret the choice of asexuality. As she says, it is not a rational fear, but all the same, there is self-doubt incurred when experience is at odds with general discourse. And it is a commitment to not consider engaging in an activity that is viewed as a sign of maturity and experience. What is it to grow up without that experience? Part of the discourse that everyone wants sex is that all normal people have sex and those that do not, or are older than usual when they do are laughable or have something wrong with them. ‘Losing ’ is also seen as a mark of maturity. To knowingly enter the state of being older without that experience is difficult. TJ had a slightly different problem with committing. For her, aromanticism gives rise to the ambivalence of both knowing she does not have to engage in romance, and knowing that she therefore will not feel the positive emotions involved in a romantic relationship.

I’m not really interested in sex so that’s why I think I’m asexual. But I’m not sure if I can be romantically attracted to someone, if I can fall in love. So I’m not sure if I’m aromantic. It’s like everybody says, “Oh, I’m in love,” and then I think, how does that feel? I also want to feel that! So I don’t want to say I’m aromantic because maybe then I’ll never know if I really can feel it. She said that for her, unlike Anna, if she chose aromanticism it would rule out any other orientation, and therefore the possibilities another orientation might give her. Because of this, she does not want to commit to aromanticism because she still wants the potential of a romantic relationship. While asexuality helped her to better understand herself, she is not entirely happy that she has not felt the desire to be romantic with someone. She still wants the

37 experiences that the discourse of romantic love promises her. However, the discourse of romantic love is also that it cannot be forced, and TJ had the idea that she would have to ‘feel it’ with someone before she chose a romantic relationship with them. Therefore, she cannot find out if she is capable of romantic love until she finds someone with whom that feeling appears. This idea of waiting for love leads into an interesting statement from 24-year-old Ella,

I am glad that marriage is not as expected as in the past. Fifty years ago, it probably wouldn’t have been a possibility for me to do my own thing, live on my own. Back then it would’ve been expected for me to marry, find a man, have that stereotypical life. In a way that might also have been easier. I mean, there are plenty of people who I think are asexual who just made themselves be with someone just because it was what society expected of them. They didn’t know any different. I guess it’s cool that I do have the freedom to be my own person. Ella is reconsidering the marriage imperative. She wonders that perhaps the marriage imperative would have made it easier for her. Still, she ultimately concludes that the difficulty is worth it for the personal freedom. Unlike Przybylo (2011) saying asexuality is a way to get away from overt sexuality, this quote is better framed as asexuality and aromanticism as a way to deal with the uncertainty of the future. Ella cannot plan for ‘the right man’ or ‘one day’ but she can plan for remaining alone. Marriage as a more rigid requirement would give a more certain life trajectory, but at a cost to personal freedom. With this framing, asexuality and aromanticism are protection against the uncertainties of life. Ella’s experience has led her to believe she will not find romantic love. Like TJ, she was disappointed and would be glad to find someone she could love romantically, however, accepting aromanticism removes the need for Ella to find a romantic partner in order to fulfil her life plans. Therefore, life is more under her control and not reliant on the mythical ‘right man’ to come along. I will examine the uncertainty that arises from asexuality and aromanticism as unintelligible in the next section. That is, the uncertainty of whether others consider them valid orientations, or are willing to believe and understand.

4.4 Not Being Understood Even if assumptions of sex and romance are being questioned within the asexual community, this may not be the case in an individual’s everyday life. With the assumption that romantic and sexual relationships are universally tied together, ways to have a romantic relationship without sex become restricted. Without a way to understand sexual and romantic orientation as different, a non-sexual romance is not intelligible. Others’ reactions to asexuality are also unpredictable, which can impact whether the interviewees choose to

38 disclose their asexuality. Robert had particular trouble trying to work out how his sexuality operates. He is 26, Lebanese and when I pushed him to give himself a definition, he said gay asexual.

I’m really not interested in sex, so the symptoms indicated asexuality. But that’s my problem, it’s a paradox. I don’t know how to be homosexual and asexual at the same time. […] If you think about it, homosexuals are the symbols of sex in the modern era. For Robert, there is a problem negotiating between being understood as very sex-centred, and asexuality. There is no place in gay for asexual. He does not use a romantic orientation, but then romantic orientation, being relational, is of limited use if no one else understands it. Further, he seems to be questioning what homosexuality is without the sex. Homosexuality has a different context in Lebanon, as it is technically still illegal, and I do not have enough knowledge to comment on the specific differences. However, Robert would not fit neatly into the category of homoromantic, as he does not wish to have a romantic relationship either. Yet he does prefer the company and aesthetics of men, or perhaps specifically in the context of Lebanon. Robert was troubled by this paradox when he stopped to think about it, but did not consider sex and relationships a large enough part of his life to constitute a big problem. Robert also uses medical terms such as ‘symptom’ to describe how he came to asexuality. While he does not consider his asexuality something to be treated, the language he uses does suggest that he is using a medical frame of reference for categorising himself, where specific symptoms lead to specific diagnoses. This is likely due to his educational background in and psychology. However, he could not reconcile the nebulously defined concept of asexuality with a definite and precise medical framework, leaving him with his paradox. He was also unable to discuss his asexuality with anyone in his life because of their dismissal of asexuality when he brought it up, therefore leaving him with little opportunity to develop a new framework for understanding. and harassment against asexuality people is under-studied. Psychologists Cara MacInnis and Gordon Hodson (2012) conducted the only study I have found that measures prejudice against asexual people. Other studies have included a section on it from their interviews and surveys, much the same as I am doing here. Others’ reactions to asexuality were present to some extent in all the interviews. The way other people react or the assumptions they have had a few themes, which I shall run through now. The first theme was misunderstanding the interviewee’s position on sex in general. For example, Ella told me that people tend to assume she does not want to hear anything to

39 do with sexuality because she is asexual, and she has to explain that this is not the case. Or in the other direction, Camilla finds that people tend to assume she is a very sexual person based on her general sex-positivity. Speaking on what she would like to see in research on asexuality, she told me,

I think it would be interesting and beneficial just for me to be able to show where I’m represented in the knowledge base that we have about asexuality. To look into the difference between sexual orientation and attitudes towards sex. So that people would not just assume if they heard the word asexual that I’m uncomfortable with the amount of sex in society. That people would no longer find it contradictory that I have a very open and liberal attitude towards sexuality even though I would never want to actually partake in it directly. Camilla feels that there is an area missing in asexuality research. She described going to very sexually charged entertainment and enjoying it, but chooses asexuality and aromanticism because she does not want to share her life with anyone in those particular ways. All of the interviewees were willing to talk about sex and relationships with friends and family to some extent, though not all would enjoy watching sexual entertainment. However, Camilla’s example does point to another assumption; that people’s personal preferences colour what they think other people should do, as opposed to the ability to appreciate differences between people. The second theme was people not accepting asexuality as a valid option and thinking it evidence of something wrong. In other words, assuming asexuality to be a pathology. For example, Adam told me of his co-workers who insisted that they could take him out for drinks and “have him sexual by the end of the night.” They thought that having the right sexual experience would be enough to ‘fix’ Adam’s asexuality. He declined their offer. Nicole had a different experience with her , but with the same theme of needing to be fixed. She wrote to me,

I told [my parents] about my asexuality about ten years ago. At first, it was difficult to accept for my parents. After my , my searched on the Internet and found an article in which a Dutch sexologist claimed that asexuality doesn't exist. She claimed that asexuals in reality have a low hormone level and should be treated with hormone injections. My father suggested that it would be a good idea to go to the doctor for such an injection. I refused. Nicole explains the importance of expert opinion, and one reason that education and visibility is valuable. It also shows the legacy of pathologizing not wanting sex. It was treated first and foremost as a defect, not as a legitimate way of being. Nicole’s father used the authority of the sexologist to back up the idea that it is an illegitimate orientation. Nicole wrote that they have since come to accept her asexuality, and that it was helped by more sexologists

40 accepting asexuality as a legitimate orientation. It also helped that she found a partner to live with. The combination of being successful in meeting the romantic imperative, and the change of thought from sexual authorities legitimised asexuality. The third theme is just not being believed. Rema was particularly passionate about this, and described to me,

Not everyone will understand or believe you. They’ll say, “Okay, that’s because you haven’t met the right guy.” Or, “When you are 30 you’ll see.” So it’s like they don’t believe you. And not believing you is denying what you say, what you think, what you are, which is kind of disrespectful if you think about it. Like you are not valid, your opinion is not valid, what you feel is not valid. It’s like they are telling this to you continuously. They think it’s harmless but actually it hurts. In Rema’s experience, others think she does not have enough experience, or is not old enough to know herself, even though she did have a trial relationship to prove to herself that she was aromantic. Among the interviewees, age was a commonly brought up in regard to legitimacy. Angela and Camilla, being 53 and 34 respectively, used their age to prove that asexuality and aromanticism are not a phase, or something only younger people go through. They both used their age as proof it is a legitimate orientation. On the other hand, Sara (22), Jenny (18), Rema (28), Robert (26) and Anna (24) all mentioned age as a reason their asexuality may not be taken seriously, particularly with their . This is tied to whether or not ‘not wanting sex’ is a good enough reason to not have sex, as younger people have less experience and can be seen as not knowing themselves. Angela expresses her frustration after detailing the many times people have tried to get her to go on a date even though she does not want to, “People just don't get that if I'm not interested, then why should I have to?” This is affected by the gendered ideals of , with men doing the ‘hunting’ and women ‘playing hard to get’. For Adam and Gavin, they found that they were (and are) expected to be sexual at all times, and their motivations for being kind are sometimes interpreted as sexual. Meanwhile, when I asked Rema why she does not enjoy nights out, she answered,

I don’t like the idea of explaining, because I’m already imagining the kind of feedback and questions and answer I would get from these people. You always have to justify yourself, “Do you want to do this thing?” No thank you. “Why?” Because I said no, but that is not acceptable. They have to convince you they are super cool, they are the right guy for the evening, for the night, for the one-night stand, whatever. Rema explains that she avoids places that are typically used for finding sexual partners such as clubs, because she finds herself subject to their assumptions that she wants sex. Rema has found that not wanting sex is not taken as a good enough reason to not want sex. This leads to

41 a wider question of whether asexuality a better (more authoritative) way of not engaging in sex, or if it is another way of saying “I don’t want to” and therefore just as potentially ignorable as someone saying, “I don’t want to”. Meanwhile, Ella told me that she feels she is not considered as a romantic partner because she is openly asexual. Therefore, it seems that it is a case of whether the people around the interviewees consider asexuality a valid orientation as to whether or not it is respected as a reason to not want sex. Whether or not it is respected relies on both having heard of it and understanding it. Being both known and intelligible. The reliance on other people to understand can affect how asexuality is experienced. Anna spoke to me of how her family’s inability to understand asexuality and aromanticism as valid orientations has taken its toll,

A week ago [my parents] signed me up for an online therapy program. My second session is tomorrow. I feel like I've really been painted into a corner. Needless to say, I don't plan on telling anyone else I'm asexual. At this point I can't even say for sure if asexuality is real. All I know is that I don't want to have sex, I don't want anyone to touch me, and I have no desire for a romantic relationship. People can call that whatever they want.

Ultimately Anna’s uncertainty in asexuality is exacerbated by the way others around her treat it, even though she is certain of the acts she does not want to engage in. ‘Asexuality’ is a tool for understanding, a different discourse to push for a different way of understanding sex and relationships. However, its usefulness relies on how others treat it. Anna’s parents continue to understand asexuality as a pathology and exert disciplinary power over Anna by signing her up for therapy. With Foucault’s understanding of knowledge and power feeding into each other, it becomes clear that this is a site of struggle, with Anna’s parents trying to subject her to therapeutic power and knowledge, with the goal of getting Anna to align with sexual norms. Thereby discarding her different knowledge gained from asexual discourse. The disciplinary power enacted by Anna’s parents succeeds in feeding her uncertainty. Therefore, how asexuality is treated by those around an asexual individual affects their relationship to asexuality discourse.

4.5 What Have We Learnt? To conclude this chapter, uncertainty arises from a number of places, and they are both uncertainties as to the meaning of asexuality, and how others will or will not understand asexuality if they are exposed to the concept. Firstly, I analysed the negotiations of not feeling something, in that it makes it difficult to know what it is that is not being felt. Emotions are conveyed by language and rely on some shared experience of those emotions to

42 be understood. Without a shared experience, and without the acknowledgement that there may not be a shared experience, makes it difficult to identify what is not there, and to agree on what is not there. Beyond that, not feeling sexual desire or attraction makes it less important to the person, and yet sexual desire is important culturally. Asexuality as an articulation of no sexual desire or attraction is required because of the cultural importance of those things, not necessarily because the individual has strong feelings about it. The assumption of universal sexual desire is what makes asexuality necessary. Secondly, I analysed the way in which the possibility of feelings changing brought uncertainty. For some, the change was a neutral consequence of change in life, and age was a factor in this, perhaps more in the amount of experience. the younger interviewees had less relationship experience and tended to be in a period of more life-change such as going through university, or finishing schooling and finding a job. For others change was not positive, and rather held the spectre of missed opportunity, of committing to no sex or relationships only to regret it later. For yet others, the possibility of change was a hopeful one, in that the promise of romantic love was attractive, but they did not think themselves capable of it. I also explored to possibility that asexuality and aromanticism offer certainty in that it allows for future that does not rely on finding or having the one around which an ideal life is built under couple culture. Finally, I examined the way in which others’ reactions affect the lived experience of asexuality. Primarily that a lot of experiences with asexuality are dependent on whether or not others will agree to treat asexuality as a valid orientation. Or else asexuality can be treated as a status that requires fixing, or taken as proof of a person being naïve and ignorant about their own sexuality. Also, that lacking others’ acceptance can weaken the power of asexuality discourse to provide a way to understand. In the next chapter, I shall integrate everything I have found in the past three chapters and use everything I have learnt to answer my main research question: how do asexual people come to understand asexuality?

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Chapter Five 5.1 Bringing it All Together Where am I going with my analysis? First, I shall summarise the previous chapters to show where I have been. In chapter two, I followed in Foucault’s (1978) footsteps and conducted a brief genealogy of discourse surrounding not wanting sex. I established that the typical understanding is that not wanting sex is an anomaly. Since the beginning of scientific study of sexuality, not having a sex drive has been considered a sign that something is physiologically or psychologically wrong. This works to uphold the assumption that all people desire sexual activity with another person. It is only more recently that asexuality as a sexual orientation became a way to understand a lack of sexual attraction or desire. This historical assumption of abnormality has brought asexuality as a sexual orientation in a place of being unintelligible. In the third chapter I looked at the ways in which asexuality is needed and used by my interviewees. the interviewees distance themselves from discourses that require them to act in non-asexual ways, which was helped by adopting an asexual discourse. In the fourth chapter I examined the places where asexuality was less certain, such as in the details of what it means to be something that is unintelligible in a culture. As well as uncertainties brought on in communicating with people who may not understand. For this chapter, I shall look at the interactions between both knowing and not knowing asexuality to answer my research question: how do asexual people come to understand asexuality? To answer this question I will take three sections in this chapter to look more closely at where knowledge of asexuality comes from. Firstly, in a way that relates more to the certainties of asexuality, I shall look at asexual discourse and its origins and place. The specific historical and cultural position of asexual discourse will suggest reasons as to why it has left the interviewees with uncertainties as well. Secondly, I will look into ways that the interviewees hope to find more knowledge about asexuality by using existing scientific structures of knowledge. I show that this too leads to both answers and more questions, as asexuality and aromanticism are not fully intelligible within these structures. Lastly, I will show how the interviewees conceive of their own life paths in the wake of choosing asexuality and aromanticism, as life experience is another way to come to understand.

5.2 Asexual Discourse As seen in chapter three there is power in asexual discourse; it gave some interviewees the option to not have sex without being ‘broken’, and gave them reason to

44 question the dominant discourses rather than themselves. The knowledge of asexuality as a sexual orientation structured the understanding of the self. To understand asexuality as a legitimate option puts paid to the idea that sex is necessary to be a full human, and aromanticism does the same for romantic relationships. An asexual discourse gave legitimacy to the interviewees not wanting to have sex, allowing them to ‘opt out’ of certain cultural pressures. It allowed a space for them to voice how they do not understand the accepted ways of expressing love, and reject the centrality of a single romantic partner to human life. However, without a single definitive source for what asexuality is, the details of what asexuality entails are unclear. Ella says that she, “noticed that there were very different definitions of asexuality within the community. But it helped to know that it was a thing.” AVEN emphasises asexuality’s usefulness to the individual in understanding themselves. However, that leads to a diverse group that has not much in common bar finding asexuality a useful term. This is a similar argument that Butler (1990) has in regard to , in that the group ‘Women’ is actually more diverse than advocating for women’s rights makes it seem. Diversity is not a problem unique to asexuality, if it can be called a problem rather than a matter of dealing with humans. Nonetheless, Butler’s argument is that the category ‘Women’ makes a unifying claim that disguises diversity, while it appeared to me that the interviewees were very aware of the uncertainties and differing experiences involved in being asexual. Not having the unity across definitions and experiences of asexuality was part of what created uncertainty. A potential reason is that asexuality as a sexual orientation does not have a long history, as examined in chapter two. While not wanting sex was pathologized, it was never done so under the term ‘asexuality’. There has not been a state or other institution that has delineated the boundaries of asexuality, the way that homosexuality was defined by psychology, or male and female defined by biology. The illusion of a definite category was never instigated by an authoritative institution. Instead, the category has been created by asexual people themselves, and due to the modes of communication available, much of it has been done using the internet as the source of information on asexuality and place for discussion (Jay, 2003). I will reference the Asexual Visibility and Education Network more than other sources, because all of the interviewees mentioned AVEN, and only Ella recounted being more active on a Facebook group than anywhere else. The internet is the primary way that the interviewees discovered asexuality, or how they found out more about it. In recruiting from an internet site, this was perhaps a predictable finding, but offline groups are few and far between. Gavin approached his local LGBT group only to find that as a heteroromantic asexual, he would not be welcome in their

45 meetings. Israeli Psychologists Amir Rosenmann and Marilyn Safir (2006) theorise that the small number of people and lack of offline groups pushes sexual minorities into starting online groups in order to find a place of support and belonging. Thus, the internet is an important resource in the creation of the asexual discourse. AVEN is perhaps the most prominent authority on asexuality, which is backed by its media presence, prominence on search engines when searching ‘asexuality’ and being referred to in most literature on asexuality. However, AVEN has no concrete power to incarcerate or treat, as medical institutions have. Therefore, the places where asexual discourse is created are more disparate and not gated within a medical or academic establishment. However, it is not without ; the site is largely English-speaking (there are forums in other languages, but the default is English) and an internet connection is required, so North America and other English-speaking countries are more represented leading Chasin (2015) to describe it as American-informed. AVEN has also received criticism for being primarily white, or ‘colourblind’, from Dawson, Scott and McDonnell (2018). American gender studies scholar, Kristina Gupta (2017) describes her asexual respondents, like Carrigan’s (2011) as using a similar ‘coming out’ narrative to LGB people, and she suggests that it may be the influence of AVEN in creating a structuring narrative for asexuality. Many of the interviewees also expressed a ‘coming out’ story, although I used that framing in my questions, so I am wary of attributing it to anything else. Yet, that leads me to another point regarding asexual discourse; it classifies asexuality as a sexual orientation, which has consequences in how aspects of life (such as the concept of ‘coming out’) are framed. Rema notes that asexuality can also be framed as a denial of orientation, though she does not agree. Gavin refers to the ambivalence of asexuality being accepted in LGBTQI+ organisations. As mentioned, his asexuality was not enough because he is otherwise heteroromantic, but he also told me of discussions with asexual people where they were uncomfortable with the emphasis on sex in those organisations. Chu (2014) argues that the LGBTQI+ attitude to sex would benefit from a change that would include asexual people. She claims asexuality is currently perceived to be a conservative expression of sexuality, which is of lower importance than radical expressions of sexuality. This could explain the less than enthusiastic reply Gavin received. Further, asexuality is not only unintelligible in the light of heterosexuality, but also to other identities constructed around sexual desire and attraction. TJ expressed the way she sees asexuality as different to the other sexualities.

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I think if you are heterosexual, you can figure out how homosexual or bisexual people can feel because they will fall in love and have sex. It’s in a different way, but also the same. But asexuals are different again. TJ presents asexuality as different to the other sexualities in a way that makes it harder for others to understand. When understood in the terms of a universal sex drive, asexuality is the only sexual orientation that inherently questions it, making it unintelligible in light of that assumption. Adam provided a good example of this idea when he recounted that someone had told him, “they’d understand it more if I was a paedophile because then at least I would experience sexual desire.” To say asexuality is less understandable than paedophilia, a very stigmatised , demonstrates the unintelligibility of not desiring sex, and the divide that creates between sexual orientations that include sexual desire and asexuality. Ultimately, sexual orientations are how sexual practices are understood, and asexual discourse uses that framework, because not actively wanting sex is a notable practice under couple culture. Just as the interviewees could only know of asexuality after they found out about it, (AVEN) asexuality discourse used how sexualities are understood as a template because that is how sexuality is understood. So, asexual discourse provides a way to understand, but is not without points of contention. The use of an asexual discourse to understand the self is both helpful and raises more questions. Chasin (2015) argues that asexual discourse provides a way of becoming intelligible, however asexual discourse is not well known and so asexuality remains unintelligible to many. Asexual discourse is often directly at odds with other discourses to do with sex and romance, but the youngest any of the interviewees heard of asexuality was Jenny at 13 years old. This means that the interviewees had to change their understanding from the conventional discourses to asexual discourse, resulting in coming to know it from a place where it was previously unintelligible. The ways of understanding life that wider culture provide are not all compatible with asexuality, so there is a struggle with taking on an unintelligible position. Butler (2004) acknowledges unintelligibility as a painful place to be, even as she argues for its use politically. Therefore, with the struggles of being unintelligible, answering questions is a way to become intelligible. Robert in particular wanted to find a way to reconcile his asexuality with being gay. It was not a rare desire among the interviewees to want more known about asexuality. And so I move to my next section.

5.3 How to Know More (and Why?) ` There is no ultimate authority on the part of asexuality, nor is there a place that claims to be the ultimate authority. By that I mean a place that has the power and the means to rule

47 on whether or not an individual meets the criteria for inclusion. Although AVEN has an authoritative place, the forums are open to anyone to join, and discussions and disagreements are easy to find. AVEN also facilitates research outside of its jurisdiction, the power ultimately lies with the researcher what they do with the information AVEN allowed access to. Therefore, nowhere has all the answers. So where do answers to questions come from? Given that the internet is an interactive medium, answers can be found simply by asking questions and discussing with other people. This is how Ella, Jenny and Adam used internet groups to understand more about themselves. However, they expressed a diminished use for discussion after an initial period of working out what asexuality meant and how other people manage it. Camilla, on the other hand, has remained active on AVEN’s forums after the initial discovery period, and also volunteers her time for AVEN to help other asexual people. I asked each interviewee if there was anything they would like to see explored, specifically in research, and the replies were varied (as always). Sara was very interested in the possibility of scientific research, unsatisfied with the ‘born this way’ narrative that was offered on AVEN and the resistance she encountered to finding other ways of understanding. She appealed to other forms of knowledge, specifically, biology, sociology and psychology. She wanted to know the underlying reason or reasons, and had a hypothesis that it is at least partly genetic, due to experiences with her own family. Robert had ruled out a psychological answer from his own experiences, but struggled to understand asexuality from an evolutionary perspective beyond as a form of population control. He said that his understanding of biology did not help him to understand asexuality. However, Ella expressed interest in a biological explanation, citing previous work done with homosexuality, and Becca was interested in an examination of brain structures. There is a desire to know more, to be more intelligible, despite the history of pathologizing not wanting sex in the medical and psychological discourses. Subjects can only be known through the existing structures of knowledge, of which biology and psychology are authoritative examples, often used to explain other human phenomena. These can be interpreted as an expression of essentialist thinking. Social psychologists Thomas Morton and Tom Postmes (2009) found that members of minority sexuality groups were more like to take an essentialist stance on sexuality if they felt their sexuality was being denied by the wider culture. Denial of asexuality, as seen in chapter four, is a common experience for the interviewees, and so it would fit that they would search for essential traits. However, Gupta (2017) argues that sexuality is more generally understood as an essential trait in Western culture. From this perspective, the interviewees are trying to be understood as sexual orientations are understood.

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There was also a want for scientific research in order to legitimise asexuality, and to be able to better convince others that asexuality is a valid orientation. Rema specifically referred to science as a way to make other people believe asexuality’s legitimacy, saying in an ironic tone that because it’s science, it must be true. While frustrated by it, she acknowledged the strategic use of scientific knowledge. Sara mentioned the usefulness of Bogaert’s (2004) 1% prevalence in explaining asexuality to people that had never heard of it. She explained that in her experience, the authority of scientific knowledge helped to make it real, whereas a ‘made up’ sexual orientation that did not have scientific backing was likely to be dismissed, particularly among older generations. Prause and Graham (2007) found in their study of asexual people that a biological basis was used to offer both legitimacy and a conceptual framework, which reflects what I have found here. However, Gupta (2017) mentioned the possibility that the use of essentialism in interviews may be to convince the interviewer of asexuality’s legitimacy as much as a true belief. Przybylo (2013) is critical of medical science and biology making asexuality culturally intelligible. She claims that the need to read asexuality in the body obliterates social and cultural reasons, as well as making asexuality beholden to a biological imperative where sex is a central part of the self. Some of these problems can be seen in a pilot fMRI study conducted by American neuroscientists Prause and Harenski (2014) on an asexual person’s brain activity. Their study suffers from methodological problems such as defining who is asexual enough to be tested. There is also potential to interpret brain activity as despite the person not reporting sexual arousal, and the study has overtones of comparing asexual brain activity to normal brain activity. Despite acknowledging the heterogeneity of asexual people, their study effectively ignores it by saying that the truth of asexuality is in the body, not in the agentic expression of the individual. Interviewees were able to see the difficulties of scientific research. Ella acknowledged she was unlikely to ever see a satisfactory answer to the question of how many people are asexual because it is difficult to operationalise. There is tension between wanting to know more and what knowing more would mean. To be part of a category of people that is hard to define is especially difficult in a culture that gives more authority to the strict definitions of scientific knowledge. I will now move on to the more practical implications of asexuality and aromanticism, and how understanding is formed not just of asexuality, but of an asexual life.

5.4 How to Make a Future Acceptance of asexuality and particularly aromanticism has implications for what

49 futures are available. Ella had realised that with her asexuality and aromanticism, getting married and raising a family was incredibly unlikely, even though she had assumed that future for herself from a young age. She had to rethink her life plan. Choosing asexuality raises questions of finding a partner, and how to interact with that partner. Choosing aromanticism raises questions of where fulfilment comes from if not from a romantic relationship? Ella and TJ both expressed ambivalence in finding a way to understand themselves, but still not being able to reach the life they had expected. The personal experiences of romantic relationships contribute a lot to understanding how each individual feels about what they want. But relationships, especially without sex, are difficult to define as romantic relationships are usually synonymous with sexual relationships. Vares (2018) outlines how her participants felt asexuality made engaging in a romantic relationship very hard for this reason. The answers to my question of what makes a romantic relationship romantic varied among the interviewees. For Gavin, who had romantic experience, a romantic relationship was tied to a feeling of ‘home’ with the person. Camilla, who is aromantic, identified romantic relationships through the intention of being a romantic relationship, and presenting it that way to others. The differing definitions again arise from different feelings: a lack of romantic desire means that Camilla relates differently to a relationship defined by a feeling of romantic desire. The kind of relationships available and wanted has implications for the kind of life they will have, and the availability of that life under couple culture. All interviewees expressed how important their connections to friends and family were, but there were differences of opinion over romantic relationships. For Nicole, the option of having a romantic partner only became open to her when she found an asexual dating site, as she did not want to negotiate intimacy with a sexual person. A way to have a life without sex became open to her through connections that asexual discourse facilitated.10 Rema did not want a romantic relationship because she did not like the idea of having one all-encompassing relationship that would change her priorities and the way she lived. For Sara and Camilla, aromanticism represented an independence from relying on or being beholden to others. The autonomy and freedom allowed by , while still providing companionship and love was their ideal. Flore (2014) argues that aromanticism challenges the idea that intimate connections are required. I agree in that they challenge the need to commit to and live with

10 Without understanding asexuality as a sexual orientation, dating sites would not be created for asexual people and there would be no way to meet other asexual people because they would not understand themselves as asexual.

50 another person, but Flore’s wording implies that friendship cannot be intimate, with which I do not agree. To live a life without a romantic partner both denies access to the typical life path and opens up possibilities of new ways of living. Sara told me she had thought of living in a large house with other people, each with their own rooms, but also a communal space to spend time in. I got the impression that she meant it as a more permanent situation, so that it was more of a community, rather than a short-term room rental in a shared house. She also said that she could not say if she would actually like it, just that it was an idea. It is hard to create new ways of living with no template. Ella said she would like to try something similar in a live-in community. TJ told me that she had looked into having a child without a partner. Camilla said that as a person successful in her career and who owns her own house, she was trying to be an example of someone who can live a happy, fulfilled aromantic life. Using her life as proof that romantic relationship was not required. How to find fulfilment in life was a pressing question. Anna had thought about it a lot in her time coming to terms with what an asexual life means.

I think a lot of asexual people panic when it comes to envisioning a fulfilling life because they don't experience something that many count as a key part of being human. Nevertheless, I think it's more productive to think about the things you do want rather than the things you don't want. Anna acknowledges that what is usually expected of life hinges on sexual and romantic relationships. In rejecting that discourse, she turned to other ways finding fulfilment in her life, and ultimately decided on mastery in her field and doing well in her career. Sara imagined living in different countries, positing it as just as much a maturing experience as having a romantic partner, Jenny wanted to go to university and later write for television, Ella wanted to be the “ aunt” of her and live somewhere surrounded by friends, Robert also wanted to do a PhD and continue his research, while Adam wanted to start a family and pondered a political career. This is all to say there is more to life than sex and relationships. For those not engaging in relationships, other aspects of life are prioritised, or in a relationship, things other than sex are prioritised. Asexuality and aromanticism need not be framed as forming an identity around a lack, as much as an explanation of different priorities. Gupta (2017) terms it desexualisation, where people challenge the idea that sexuality is an important part of their identity and she mentions the paradox of asexual visibility running counter to deemphasising sexuality. However, the cultural lack of providing

51 a life path that does not require sex or romantic relationships as an essential, ‘natural’ trait, means that asexual people are required to voice their need to have a different life.

5.5 Conclusion In this chapter I have examined different knowledge structures that the interviewees used to understand asexuality, and how they access them. Ultimately, the interviewees understand their own asexuality in reference to what information they have themselves. The sources of this information are their own feelings, what they have read and discussed about asexuality, and from their own education and experiences. Being unintelligible does not just affect being understandable to other people, but also being understandable to themselves. It requires forming an understanding from already existing discourses. Robert found his background in biology made it difficult for him to understand asexuality as anything other than a fault, and had difficulty reconciling it with his own position of being happily without sex or a romantic relationship. However, understanding can be reached, Camilla seemed at ease with not finding an underlying cause for asexuality and was more interested in what she could do to make an asexual and aromantic life more liveable. Needing new life paths is also a consequence of not being intelligible. It is more difficult to live a life according to cultural norms when those norms exclude you from the ideal life. Existing discourses also conceal different possibilities of living. How do you know what you want if you only know you do not want what you can see? Intelligibility comes through creating a discourse for understanding. The point that asexuality is at is that it is not fully intelligible, shown by the many points of difficulty that asexual and aromantic people have understanding themselves and trying to get others to understand. One consequence of unintelligibility is finding a way forward for themselves in a culture that does not deem them full humans. In the next and final chapter, I shall summarise and synthesise my findings. This will involve a quick recap of the most important points from each chapter, followed by what I consider to be the most important conclusions to take from this thesis. I will then finish with the implications these conclusions have in wider society.

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Chapter Six – Conclusion 6.1 What I Have Done I began this thesis with a quote from Rema where she was uninspired by the life that had been set out for her. She looked for a new path that could include her asexual aromanticism. Over the course of this thesis I hope to have shown where the barriers to a viable life are with asexuality and how struggles with definition affect the experience of asexuality. Ultimately I hoped to answer the question: how do asexual people come to know asexuality? In order to answer this question, I used Budgeon’s concept of couple culture to establish the privileged status of romantic relationships, and that sex is intrinsically linked to romantic relationships. I also used Butler’s concept of intelligibility to examine how asexuality can be hard to define, and without a place in established knowledge structures. Finally, I used these concepts together to show how asexuality and aromanticism can affect the ability to reach a good life. I interviewed thirteen asexual-identified people, six of whom were aromantic- identified, and conducted a content analysis of the interviews to examine how they negotiate discourses surrounding the imperatives to have sex and to have a romantic partner. I also conducted a literature review and genealogy of the historical treatment of not wanting sex, and studied how that plays into the unintelligibility to asexuality and aromanticism. The next section shall lay out my main findings.

6.2 What I Found In chapter two I laid out the history of not wanting sex, as it has been treated by psychological and sexologist experts. Namely, that it had been pathologized in the nineteenth century and largely overlooked in the twentieth century. I examined how this stems from and contributes to the assumption that all healthy people are sexual beings and have sexual desire for other people. To not have desire to be sexual with another person is to not be a fully- functioning human. I also found that the recent development of a discourse for asexuality as a sexual orientation represents a change in attitude to not having sex. As opposed to thinking of it as a pathology, asexual discourse gives a way to think of not having sex as acceptable. The more recent study of asexuality from psychologists and other social scientists has reflected that change in attitude. Further, that asexuality gives another lens through which to examine the assumptions of sexuality and sexual expression.

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Chapter three centred on the ways in which the interviewees distanced themselves from sexual and romantic imperatives. I started to identify the differences in experience between romantic and aromantic interviewees. Mainly I identified what had been seen in the previous chapter: that discovery of an asexual discourse allowed a different understanding of not wanting sex. Asexuality and aromanticism allowed the possibility to live as an asexual or aromantic person. In chapter four I examined the boundaries of asexuality, where definition is difficult, and asexuality’s unintelligibility brushes against existing structures of knowledge that are not always able to account for it. This is differently applicable to each interviewee, as they all understand asexuality according to their own knowledge. I examined the particular difficulty of trying to define a concept as multiply defined as that which it rejects (sex and romantic relationships), and that it is not always a full rejection. There was also more evidence for not being intelligible in the reactions to asexuality, that it was not always understood and often disbelieved as a possibility by other people. In chapter five I examined the particular way in which asexuality and aromanticism have been formed, against invisibility as opposed to explicit , which makes them difficult to define. I also looked at the way in which the interviewees wanted to know more, and to become intelligible. Finally, I looked at the lives the interviewees wanted to create, and the possibilities they could find for their own fulfilment and their own good life. As I expected to find from previous research, the group of people calling themselves ‘asexual’ represent a diverse set of experiences. But it is the cultural importance of sex and relationships that really required the interviewees to identify in opposition to them.11 The couple culture of forming a life path around a romantic partner, and the emphasis on sex within that relationship and as an essential need. When thinking of asexuality and aromanticism, perhaps rather than as a lack of an essential trait, it is more useful to think of it being a difference of priorities. There are other parts to the interviewee’s lives, other wants and struggles, and it is only a cultural obsession with sex and relationships that makes asexual people different.

6.3 What Does This Mean? The emphasis on sex in the lives of the asexual and aromantic people I talked to is an artefact of living in a culture that privileges sexual relationships, not a reflection of the importance that sex has in their lives. The prevalence of couple culture means that it can

11 Or at least in opposition to the idea that sex and relationships are the right path for everyone.

54 affect their interpersonal relationships, be they family, friends or a potential romantic partner. It can also affect their whole life course beyond these interpersonal relationships, by shaping what future is available to them. The importance placed on sex and romance renders asexual and aromantic people unintelligible by assuming that the desire for sex and romantic relationships are universal and instinctual. This unintelligibility leads to difficulty in definition, as the definition then requires new concepts and knowledge structures. Coming to find a way of understanding that is satisfactory is individual to each person. To better understand these issues, I suggest more research is done on aromanticism and interactions between asexuality and romantic orientations. For example, how homoromantic or gay asexual men negotiate the overt sexuality of homosexual identity,12 just as Robert struggled with it. I single out aromanticism as it has particular effect on the life course, in a way that is different to asexuality: asexuality means it is potentially harder to find a romantic partner, aromanticism means a romantic partner is not an option. Therefore, all the aspects of life usually tied in with romance require rethinking. My study was also limited in ability to speak specifically of cultures, as I had people from different countries, and cultures, I am unfamiliar with. I went with the assumption that people who chose to identify asexual had a reason to do so, and I assumed at least part of it was cultural. To be able to speak more specifically of the culture would be useful in understanding the experience of coming to think of the self as asexual.

6.4 What Should We Take with Us? The cultural importance of sex and romantic relationships feeds into and draws from the assumption that they are universally important to all humans. To the point that romantic and sexual relationships are a requirement for a full human life. That is what makes it difficult to live without, and understand what it means to live without. As Camilla said, “I do wish that it was a little less awkward and more socially acceptable for me to not have a partner.” The cultural scripts she and her friends and family use do not give sufficient guidance for a woman in her thirties who does not want a romantic partner. While the importance of sex and romantic relationships cannot be entirely ignored, we can lessen their privilege by changing our framework of knowledge. Perhaps asexuality is not best framed as a lack of something. That ‘lack’ brings forth the historical spectre of lacking sexual instinct, lacking something natural, lacking something that should be there but is not because something is wrong. Lacking humanity. Perhaps asexuality and aromanticism could

12 Homosexual identity, which I also assume to be homoromantic.

55 be helpfully framed as a difference in priority. Asexual and aromantic people are not without the ability to have sex and romantic relationships, they can if they so choose, but they are inclined towards other things instead. The cultural ideal of the good, partnered life shapes all our futures, revealing some opportunities and concealing others. The pressures of couple culture do not just affect asexual and aromantic people. Realising new futures, new relationships, new ways of being as equally human can only, in the end, give us all more options.

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Appendix Interview Schedule

Age:

Ethnicity:

Highest Education:

Do you consider yourself to have a disability?

Gender identity:

Country living in/nationality:

Sexual/romantic orientation:

Why that particular sexuality formation? How did you learn about it? How did you come to think of yourself as asexual? Was there an inciting incident?

How long have you thought of yourself that way?

What was it like before you came to that conclusion? Does it mean a lot to you?

Are you in a relationship? Have you ever been?

Does it affect you on a daily basis? When is it most salient?

Where/when do you feel most at ease with your orientation?

Have you “come out” to anyone? How did that feel? How did they react?

What is your ideal level of physical intimacy? Who would you ideally have that with? Do you have it with anyone?

What would you say is the different between a friend and a romantic partner?

What is the role of sexuality in society? Where do you see it most?

Where or who does it come from in your life?

Do you think your gender has an effect on expectations? Or your experience of asexuality?

Do you feel like you miss out on anything?

Would you be not asexual if you could?

Do you raise awareness for asexuality?

How do you envision your (asexual) life in the future?

What would you like to see in future asexuality research? What interests you most about it?

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