1

Freedom, Invisibility, and Community: A Qualitative Study of Self-Identification with

Asexuality

Pádraig MacNeela1, 2 and Aisling Murphy1

1School of Psychology, National University of Ireland, Galway

2To whom correspondence should be addressed at the School of Psychology, NUI Galway,

University Road, Galway, Ireland; email: [email protected] 2

ABSTRACT

A significant body of research is now emerging on the subjective meaning of asexuality. This study explored how self-identification as asexual is managed, both as a threat to the self- concept and a source of personal meaning. A total of 66 self-identified asexuals were recruited from an asexuality internet community and responded to open-ended questions on an online survey. Of these, 31 participants identified as female, 15 as male, 18 gave a different label such as genderqueer or androgynous and two did not provide information on gender. A thematic analysis of the transcripts resulted in three themes: Socially, asexuality attracted denial and resistance due to incompatibility with heteronormative societal expectations (“They don’t believe you: Social invisibility, denial, and limited disclosure”).

Despite the threat to self-integrity arising from asexuality being socially rejected, it was typically assimilated as a valued and meaningful orientation on an intra-personal level, aided by information and support from the online community (“New meaning: Discovering asexuality and being asexual”). A second level of threat to self arose whereby other self- identifications, especially gender, had to be reconciled with a non-sexual persona (“One identity among others: Negotiating gender and age”). The accommodation made to other elements of the self was reflected in complex sub-identities. The findings were interpreted using identity process theory to understand how threats arising from self-identifying as asexual are managed. Although asexuality emerges as an orientation to sexuality that can be reconciled with the self, its invisibility or outright rejection in society constitute an on-going challenge.

KEY WORDS: asexuality; sexual identity; internet communities; identity process theory. 3

INTRODUCTION

The adoption of a sexual orientation that is inconsistent with heteronormative expectations can constitute a threat to the maintenance of a stable and coherent identity

(Coyle & Rafalin, 2000; Jaspal & Cinnirella, 2010; Prause & Graham, 2007). In the case of asexuality, one source of tension between self-identification and social acceptability arises from its position relative to heterosexual relationship forms and sexual practices. Whereas identifying as sexually active and gay entails a divergence from heterosexual norms in the script for sexual expression, asexuals differ through omission, by identifying with not engaging in sex. Asexuality therefore constitutes a unique threat to the sexual identification component of the self-concept, given the nature of its departure from the accepted societal norm.

Moreover, asexuality has implications for other facets of self-concept that overlap with sexual identity. In particular, being asexual is at variance with expectations for gender roles, age-based norms, and can complicate interpersonal relations with non-asexuals

(Carrigan, 2011). Despite these issues, there has been a lack of development of research on how asexual individuals cope with and respond to threats to a stable, well-integrated self- concept. Therefore, in this article, we consider how potential threats to self-coherence arising from asexuality are managed.

Self-identification as asexual is distinct from having a low or absent desire for sex.

While it is comparatively common to experience low desire for sex for periods of time, it is much less common for adults to self-identify as asexual and not sexually attracted to males or females. In the past decade, U.S. and UK population survey data suggest that the prevalence of identifying as asexual is approximately one percent, similar to same-sex attraction

(Bogaert, 2004; Poston & Baumle, 2010; Smith, Rissel, Richters, Grulich, & De Visser,

2003). By comparison, one indicative survey of British women found that 10.7% reported a 4 lack of interest in having sex for six months or more in the previous year (Mitchell, Mercer,

Wellings, & Johnson, 2009). The critical point of interest in this article is self-identification as asexual, which researchers and community websites use as a marker of asexual status together with low reported subjective arousal and non-engagement in sex (Asexuality

Visibility & Education Network, 2011; Brotto, 2010; Poston & Baumle, 2010; Prause &

Graham, 2007). It is noteworthy that asexual self-identification is not regarded as precluding actions or responses with sexual connotations. One survey reported a similar frequency of masturbation among a sample of male asexuals compared with heterosexual males (Brotto,

Knudson, Inskip, Rhodes, & Erskine, 2010). Brotto and Yule (2011) found that self-reported and physiological arousal among asexual women were not significantly lower compared with heterosexual or bisexual women, following exposure to pornography. Thus, self- identification with the label of asexuality is the crucial distinction and is the focus of this article.

Self-identifying with asexuality has numerous implications for the individual. It could be a source of meaning, allowing some individuals who lack interest in sexual expression to name this orientation and accept it as integral to their self-concept. Our position is that, regardless of the positive contribution that identifying as asexual might bring, self- identification places the person in a threatening position that has to be managed. Identifying as asexual is likely to generate intra-personal challenges to reconcile it with components of the self, such as gender, that include expectations for sexual identification. Interpersonal challenges are likely as well, such as social stigma or lack of awareness, given that the asexual community lacks visibility in mainstream media and communications. In this study, we utilize a social psychological theoretical framework, Identity Process Theory (IPT)

(Breakwell, 1986), to explore how these threats are managed. IPT has been used in several other contexts to explore adaptation in the face of threats to the self-concept. 5

The available evidence suggests that, in common with other sexual identifications, asexuality is a complex self-categorization. For instance, the asexual sub-identities described in the literature often refer to relationship preferences (Carrigan, 2011; Diamond, 2004).

Asexuality is consistent with preferences for romantic, non-sexual relationships with the same or opposite gender, with an aromantic orientation, or a preference somewhere between these poles. These complex intersections highlight the enmeshment of asexuality and gender role identification, further attested to by the potential for asexuality to prompt questioning of traditional gender roles (Brotto et al, 2010). A significant proportion of Brotto et al.’s survey participants identified with gender-neutral, genderqueer, or androgynous labels over traditional male and female categories. Identifying as asexual may be threatening not alone due to its divergence from the heterosexual norm but because it threatens the stability of traditional gender role identification. Consequently, the implications of asexuality for gender role identification require further critical exploration (Bogaert, 2012).

Asexual Identity

Much of the research carried out on asexuality has focused on its clinical implications and links to psychiatric conditions such as hypoactive sexual desire disorder (Brotto et al.,

2010). Consistent with a framework oriented to the exploration of the self, we chose not to consider the clinical aspects of asexual identification in this study. Our intention was to explore how individuals describe the management of threats to the self arising from identifying as asexual and seek meaning from asexuality as an important component of personal identity.

Research into self-identifying as asexual has attracted growing interest in the past decade, aided by access to participants recruited from online asexuality communities that have emerged over this period. There is evidence to suggest that asexuality can be reconciled as a self-identification. Comparing self-identified asexuals with heterosexual participants, 6

Brotto et al. (2010) found no significant differences in reported mood or interpersonal functioning. Qualitative research with a similar population described asexuality as a positive contribution to self-understanding and personal coherence (Scherrer, 2008), suggesting that its potential as a threat to identity can be overcome.

The most ambivalent recent findings on the implications of identifying as asexual are not from research on asexuals recruited online, but from a study of participants recruited via flyers in a mid-Western U.S. city (Prause & Graham, 2007). This mixed-methods study included interviews with four self-identified asexuals. Although asexuality was described as a meaningful self-identification, Prause and Graham also found expressions of uncertainty and concern (“Is there something wrong with me?”, “I kind of worry for not being like everyone else,” “Am I the only one who’s not doing this?”). Negative appraisals reported in studies of online samples are linked to the lack of social acknowledgement of asexuality as a legitimate orientation (Carrigan, 2011), rather than the appraisals made on an intra-personal level

(Scherrer, 2008).

Comparisons of asexuality with other minority orientations are limited in that asexuality occupies a rather distinctive position in lacking public awareness of its existence. As yet, what we might describe as the social representation of asexuality (Howarth, 2006) is not readily available. By comparison, homosexuality has a strong social profile, albeit one that is subject to hostility and bullying (Birkett, Espelage, & Koenig, 2009). The resulting threats to self-acceptance arising from social responses are likely to differ as a consequence. On multiple dimensions – politically, socially, and culturally – asexuality may have more in common with bisexuality (Barker & Langdridge, 2008; Burleson, 2005). Although better recognized in society than asexuality, bisexuality is subject to de-legitimizing responses that include denial, positioning it as a transitory state, or as concealed homosexuality

(Baumgardner, 2007). Such findings provide a guide as to how asexuality might be denied 7 legitimacy by individuals to whom it is disclosed and pose a threat to the self-concept that requires management.

Identity Process Theory

This study significantly extends the existing theoretical analysis applied to asexuality by applying IPT as a framework. IPT is concerned with understanding how individuals make sense of and cope with threats to personal identity, consistent with our goal of studying self- appraisals of asexuality that are threatening or bolstering (Bogaert, 2006; Scherrer, 2008).

According to IPT, the self-concept is a complex, multi-faceted construct. It is underpinned by an organizing tendency to achieve coherence between identity referents (“identifications”) such as gender, ethnicity, and sexuality (Breakwell, 2001). Each identification is associated with beliefs, behavioral expectations, and affective evaluations that reflect on self-esteem

(Breakwell, 1986, 1992).

Breakwell (1986, 1992) conceptualized the individual as being immersed in a social matrix, the ecology of everyday life that is played out in friendships, families, and communities. Coming to self-identify as asexual changes the individual’s position in the social matrix. This change is explicit if the identity is disclosed to others. Even in the absence of disclosure, internal change occurs in the person’s understanding of their place in the social context.

Breakwell’s (1986) original conceptualization focused on threats such as bereavement and unemployment, and concentrated on maladaptive over adaptive coping responses.

Recently, qualitative researchers have demonstrated that IPT has a role in understanding threats that arise from identifying as homosexual (Jaspal & Cinnirella, 2010, 2012). These studies of gay male British South Asian Muslims continue earlier trends in IPT research of studying problematic, jarring intersections between ethnic, sexual, and gender identities

(Coyle & Rafalin, 2000; Jaspal, 2012; Jaspal & Siraq, 2011). 8

Applying this framework, asexuality is potentially a source of threat as it is a counter- normative sexual orientation. The concept of asexuality as an identity threat is yet to be explored explicitly. In IPT, a threat is represented by a disruption to one or more of the principles Breakwell (1986) identified as underpinning the self-concept, namely continuity, distinctiveness, and self-esteem. These principles have been extended latterly to encompass threats based on principles related to self-efficacy (Breakwell, 1992), social belonging

(Vignoles, Regalia, Manzi, Golledge, & Scabini, 2006), and psychological coherence (Jaspal

& Cinnirella, 2010). In sum, these principles provide a framework for studying perceptions and responses to identity threat. For instance, there may be a positive evaluation made of an identification on an intrapersonal level (Benet-Martinez & Haritatos, 2005; Campbell,

Assanand, & Di Paula, 2003; Jaspal, 2012), but discontinuity arising from the perceived social unacceptability of a particular self-identification (Coyle & Rafalin, 2000; Timotijevic

& Breakwell, 2000). Studies of gay identity development have similarly highlighted the importance of societal conditions and resources for the achievement of successful adjustment

(Narvaez, Meyer, Kertzner, Ouellette, & Gordon, 2009). Social factors help to determine the rigidity of identity boundaries, such as whether male or female categories are sufficiently flexible to co-exist coherently with a non-heteronormative sexual orientation (Breakwell,

2001; Moradi, Mohr, Worthington, & Fassinger, 2009).

Over time, individuals respond to identity threats by striving to reach a stable form of acceptance, with the goal of attaining an enhancing identity despite occupying a threatening position. Management of threats occur in IPT through assimilative and accommodative adaptation and coping processes. Assimilation refers to absorbing a new identification in a meaningful way, while accommodation entails seeking adjustment in other self- identifications, such as gender, so that they become reconciled with the new identification. It is through the identification of organizing principles and adjustment processes that IPT 9 provides an interpretative framework that has potential relevance for understanding how asexual identification is processed and managed.

One notable change has arisen in the resources available for negotiating asexuality through the emergence of online communities such as the Asexuality Visibility and

Education Network (AVEN). These communities have opened up a new source of social support relevant to assimilation and accommodation. It is acknowledged in other contexts that online communities can make available some benefits of offline social networks, such as supportive interactions and shared evaluations, thereby enabling some balance with unsupportive reactions encountered in wider society (Delanty, 2003; Harper & Schneider,

2003; Ross, 2005; Stephens, 2007; Williams, Connolly, Pepler, & Craig, 2005).

Aim

The aim of this study was to assess the potential threat that asexual identification poses to the coherence of the self-concept, the management of this threat, and how asexuality may become valued or integrated with other identifications (Bogaert, 2006; Brotto et al.,

2010; Brotto & Yule, 2011; Carrigan, 2011; Scherrer, 2008). We explored this through inductive qualitative analysis of responses to open-ended questions on an online survey, subsequently using IPT as an interpretive framework to assess how asexuality is assimilated and accommodated as a threat and source of potential personal meaning (Breakwell, 1986;

Jaspal & Cinerella, 2010, 2012; Turner & Coyle, 2000).

METHOD

An exploratory qualitative design was used to elicit data on the subjective experience of asexuality. Open-ended questions were used in an online survey of self-identified asexual individuals contacted through an internet community.

Participants 10

A total of 78 people completed the survey by writing answers to open-ended questions, accessing the survey form by clicking on a link that brought them to a commercial survey website. Twelve participants were excluded, having reported an age below the minimum of 18 years stipulated in our research ethics approval. The final sample comprised

66 participants. These individuals met the inclusion criterion for participation in the study, namely to self-identify as asexual. This criterion follows the model of recent qualitative studies of online asexuality communities (Carrigan, 2011; Scherrer, 2008).

Their age ranged from 18 to 58 years, with a mean of 26.10 (SD = 9.96). As we were conscious that some may not endorse traditional labels, participants were asked to identify their gender through an open-ended item. Thirty-one identified as women and 15 as men.

Eighteen gave a different gender label (gender-neutral = 2; neutrosis = 3; androgynous = 5; genderqueer = 5; bi-gender = 1; both genders = 2). Two participants did not respond to this item and were classified as “no gender.” Although there is some overlap in some of the labels used, we accepted the given gender label.

A majority of participants were living in the U.S. (n = 39), with four in Canada, five in the UK, three in Australia, two in Germany, two in Sweden, and one each in Ireland,

Slovenia, Brazil, Greece, Singapore, Estonia, Spain, and India. The remaining three did not identify a geographical location. A majority of the sample self-identified as Caucasian when providing open-ended information on their ethnic background.

Measures

In designing the open-ended survey form, we were aware of the tension in seeking subjective, experiential data through a static, non-interactive data collection strategy. We therefore elected to encourage participants to make responses by covering a wide range of life domains that could have a bearing on, or be influenced by, asexual identification. Questions and topics were organised into eight topics, labeled on the basis of a review of topic coverage 11 on AVEN discussion forum topics. The online survey first asked for a self-report of age and nationality, followed by the question “How would you define your gender identity (e.g., male, female, do not identify with gender).” The first four questions of the open-ended survey addressed key referents for identity (gender, age, ethnicity/nationality, spirituality/religion).

The next three questions concerned social referents (non-asexuals generally, family/friends, asexual community), and the final question addressed self-concept specifically (see

Appendix).

Procedure

Approval was granted by a research ethics committee at the authors’ institution. The study was advertized on our behalf by the administrator of a widely cited asexuality community website (asexuality.org), who posted information describing the study and that included a link to a questionnaire comprizing open-ended questions. Any community member could click on the link during a three-week data collection period. Those who did so viewed an informed consent page on the survey website before deciding whether or not to proceed to the main survey. Contact details for the authors were provided. The median response time was 50 minutes and the written responses averaged 950 words in length.

The transcripts were analyzed using Braun and Clarke’s (2006) methodological approach to thematic analysis. Both authors read and re-read the transcripts, independently notating sentences, phrases, and passages of text with inductive labels. The analysis was focused by the study aim of exploring the meaning of asexuality as a sexual identity and component of the self-concept. Emergent clusters in the analysis were developed through constant comparison into three super-ordinate themes with sub-themes.

We were aware that Braun and Clarke’s (2006) approach involved attending to the subjective experience. This is difficult to satisfy in the context of having a large set of participants. Having to analyze a large number of transcripts could limit our individual 12 interaction with each one. We responded by giving careful consideration to transcripts through repeated reading during the iterative process of category development, taking care to apprehend each individual narrative. For instance, one female participant aged over 35 lived in a conservative, family-oriented small town in the U.S. where church was a key social venue. Her experience of hidden asexuality read differently to that of a female of similar age living in a large European city open to a queer lifestyle, who did not reference religion at all.

We found the concepts of convergence and divergence useful in identifying common issues and points of difference between participants (Smith, Flowers, & Larkin, 2009).

RESULTS

1. They Don’t Believe You: Social Invisibility, Denial, and Limited Disclosure.

The first superordinate theme explored the participants’ understanding of their social environment with regard to the visibility of asexuality and the degree to which it was acceptable to identify as asexual. Overwhelmingly, asexuality lacked social credibility. It was not visible or believable in the heteronormative cultures where participants typically lived.

These conditions posed a significant threat to positive self-perceptions, as it was anticipated that asexuality would be disbelieved or refuted as a legitimate identification. In response, the participants typically managed this social unease through a strategy of limited disclosure and

“passing” in the educational, occupational, and social environments where heterosexuality was assumed (“I consider myself ‘out,’ even if I pass for sexual 90% of the time,” Participant

59, female, 20s).

Social invisibility and denial of legitimacy

A perplexed societal reaction to the disclosure of asexuality was described. Disclosure was typically met with “total bafflement” (P7, female, 18) that regarded asexuality as a

“bizarre oddity” (P32, androgynous, 20s). Sexual people chose not to question their own ideology and so denied asexuality the status of a legitimate orientation: “Most of the time, 13 people find a way to dismiss asexuality so that they can continue to claim that all human beings are fundamentally sexual creatures” (P46, female, 20s). Across continents and cultures, sexual people drew on familiar social discourses to account for this departure from gender-typed developmental narratives. These denial narratives used lay knowledge of psychiatric diagnosis and biomedical factors:

1. A disorder of desire: A biomedical disorder of sexual desire, repressed sexual desire,

frigidity, or closeted homosexuality.

2. Transitional immaturity: Attention seeking, a young person going through a phase, a

“late bloomer.”

3. An amendable state: Not having met the right person yet.

4. An expression of the female gender stereotype: Disinterest in sex as reflective of

women generally.

These representations were disempowering and undermining, denying asexuality recognition as a meaningful, acceptable orientation. Denial arguments were described from interactions with family members, demonstrating lack of acceptance even among trusted relatives:

1. Re-interpretation: “My parents…for some years appeared to believe that I was a

closeted lesbian or that I might possibly be transsexual” (P7, female, aged 18).

2. Angry disbelief: “My family is angry that I ‘lie’ to them” (P54, gender-neutral, 20s).

3. Convenient forgetting: “My mother…constantly and repeatedly forgets that I have

come out as asexual each time I bring it up” (P39, genderqueer, 20s).

These reactions illustrate the threat posed by the social environment to a positive self- image of being asexual. This female participant depicted what it was like to live in a non- accepting climate where an asexual lifestyle was counter-normative (a conservative, religiously-oriented small town in the U.S.): 14

“Why don’t you have any babies?” “You better hurry up and get married!”…People

have no knowledge of asexuality, so they assume you’re a lesbian, and ask rude

personal questions, or…they assume that you must “desperately need a good f---”

(P4, female, 40s).

She lived in a community where everyone seemed to hold the same views. Open disclosure was hardly realistic in threatening social contexts such as these. A critical gendered gaze had implications for men too, given stereotyped expectations for men having a strong sex drive.

Some participants had attempted to manage the threat posed by social conditions by conforming to “normal” expectations for sexual relationships, only to experience incongruence and self-doubt (“I spent a lot of years wondering what was wrong with me…wasted a lot of time trying to figure out how to be in a sexual relationship,” P11, gender-neutral, 30s). The consequence of living in heterosexual communities was that the label of asexuality had to be sought out and self-applied. Once the label was found, asexual relationship preferences were negotiated. This posed challenges for those seeking romantic, affectionate relationships (“It has been confusing because I desire intimacy with women, just not sexual intimacy,” P43, female, 20s), especially if the partner was sexual (“This same person seems to think that you do not love them if you are not willing to have sex with them,” P6, female, aged 19).

Aromantic asexuals did not desire close affectionate attachments, thereby avoiding relationship difficulties but leaving these individuals the most distant from mainstream culture: “Love songs and most movie plotlines proclaim the beauty and supremacy of love, portraying people without such attachments as lonely, misanthropic, or deeply flawed in some way” (P41, female, aged 18). One male participant jokingly noted only two asexual 15 figures in mainstream culture, both of whom lacked emotional depth (“Sherlock Holmes,”

“Mr. Spock,” P16, 20s).

These perceptions of being far outside the mainstream of society were consistent internationally, illustrated by the description of a Brazilian participant: “I have disclosed my sexual identity to only one person. At first, she thought that I needed to go see a psychologist or something” (P52, male, 20s). A similar disjunction was apparent for one German man who felt that “asexuality is seen as a malfunction” in his country and that workplace disclosure would harm his career (P42, male, 40s). Most participants were American and described a highly sexualized, demanding society, regardless of age (“I’m a white North American female: I must like pink, purses, dresses, romance, sex, making babies,” P54, no gender, 20s;

“For a healthy Italian woman not to have sexual needs and display a come-hither quality no matter the age is completely unheard of,” P40, female, 50s). Particularly resistant reactions were reported in more traditional societies, as in this quote from an Indian participant: “It scares me that there would be no place for me among these people” (P33, female, 20s). b) Curtailed disclosure

The typical response to the threats posed by denial and social resistance was a strategy of highly restricted disclosure, even among immediate family or trusted friends (“I don’t feel the need to tell my family and friends that I’m asexual. Only my best friend knows,” P25, female, 20s). The resulting social isolation from not knowing other asexuals is illustrated here: “Asexuality is very much closeted and I don’t feel capable of discussing it with other people, even close friends or family members...it leaves me feeling isolated...I don’t have a local support network who understands what I am going through” (P34, female, 20s).

At the very least, disclosing usually posed the hassle of having to explain oneself.

This participant saw herself as relatively open about asexuality but still did not say until it seemed relevant: “I have not figured out how to tell people without it seeming like a big deal, 16 so unfortunately I feel stuck in a position where I can’t tell them, but I don’t want to lie”

(P59, female, 20s). Even if it was implicated in perpetuating isolation and the social invisibility of asexuality, curtailed disclosure was often a feasible strategy. Lacking a ready social label, sexual people were unlikely to directly “out” someone as asexual.

One male did not intend disclosing beyond close friends but still benefited from articulating his sexuality within this inner circle: “Saying the words out loud to someone and answering whatever questions they may have had also helped me to understand my asexuality better” (P57, male, 20s). Outside of close confidantes, the default option was to acquiesce to gender-typed assumptions made about sexual orientation, thereby passively passing in largely heterosexual social networks. Discussion of dating, sex, and heterosexual relationships were the main challenge to preserving this facade unnoticed.

Although the participants had typically disclosed to just a few people offline or no one at all (“Most people don’t need to know,” P13, female, 20s), there were exceptions in which disclosure was described as stimulating and enriching. Asexuality was affirmed in non-threatening, accepting environments, where it provoked curiosity and open discussion.

These examples illustrated that the potential for friendship networks or the community more generally to support disclosure. One woman described her supportive social milieu in a large

European city as:

Very liberal...full of queer relationship concepts...they are really interested and enjoy

talking with me about our different views on e.g.…relationship and friendships…I

wouldn’t want to deprive myself of inspiring talks like this by not coming out to them

(P22, female, 30s).

After encountering a non-accepting environment in school, one participant identified with the gay community as an alternative and was able to access support because of living in an urban area: “I tend to favor full disclosure of my identity, because I am not in a situation 17 wherein there is sufficient pressure to ‘fit in’ to a rigid norm” (P39, genderqueer, 20s). Other accepting social environments included college campuses and liberal communities:

I’ve “come out,” figuratively speaking, to a fairly large circle of friends. Granted, this

was easy; there is another asexual (aromantic asexual) within the group, and thus they

understood what I was getting at (P45, male, 20s).

In California, a whole range of sexualities is generally accepted...depending on where

you go...None of my friends have a problem with my asexual identity; in fact, they’re

very supportive...I mean, asexuality is pretty benign and neutral, that’s the whole

point (P23, female, 20s).

2. New Meaning: Discovering Asexuality and Being Asexual

This theme explores the assimilation of asexuality as a self-identified orientation, in the context of the threat posed to asexuality as an openly avowed social identity. Although it was denied social legitimacy, identification with asexuality was typically satisfying and reconcilable at the individual level. Notwithstanding counter-examples of on-going difficulty in assimilating asexuality, it usually enhanced self-understanding:

I used to have this nagging fear that there was something wrong with me...I seriously

considered the possibility that I was mentally ill because I couldn’t understand

people’s obsession with and desire for sex. When I learned what asexuality was, I

realized that it was an integral part of who I was, and since then I have been able to be

more confident and certain (P61, female, 20s).

The positive evaluation of asexuality did not hold for all participants. For one male, it was associated with disability: “I don’t believe it has brought me anything positive. I’m not sure how asexuality could positively influence a person’s life. It’s a disability that I will have to work around, nothing more” (P12, male, aged 18). One genderqueer person described asexuality as an unwelcome neutrality of experience: “Sometimes it makes me feel like less 18 of a person. I feel like I’m middle-of-the-road with everything, and that I don’t have any interests. I wish that I could experience attraction” (P51, 20s). These examples depict asexuality as an active, unsettling threat to the self-concept, but the majority of responses described positive internal representations of asexual identification. a) A good fit

Positive evaluations of asexuality were grounded in it being a satisfying identification and source of personal meaning, despite it being socially invisible. The discovery of the label had been rewarding, as in this example where asexuality clicked as a good fit: “I heard the term asexual and said ‘that’s it’” (P11, gender-neutral, 30s). Illustrating the variation among participants, this person describes a more deliberative process of unfolding assimilation:

“Eight months ago, I found AVEN and read the discussions about the different kinds of attractions: sexual, romantic, aesthetic, sensual...At the beginning, I identified as asexual or in the gray zone, but the more I read stories of asexual people, the more I identified [as] asexual” (P35, male, 20s). Acceptance of asexuality as a positive identity inverted the threatening deficit and denial narratives found in society, with the asexual label now a secure base: “Today, I have a deep sense of satisfaction without having sex in my life, and I feel that

I appreciate people more without sexual strings attached to them” (P49, none, 50s). It was similarly meaningful for another male participant: “Asexuality, being an orientation in and of itself, is not just a lack of desire for a sex life” (P57, male, 20s).

Re-appropriating “asexual” as a meaningful label re-positioned it as a means to resolve rather than stir uncertainty: “Knowing that this is how I am, how I’m likely to stay and that I’m not ‘a late bloomer,’ not ‘broken,’ means I no longer have anything to wait for. I don’t have the uncertainty I used to” (P19, female, aged 19). Re-interpretation meant that, instead of being pathological or unreal, asexuality could be viewed as bringing desirable characteristics and relief from stress (“You are calmer, more relaxed and more open-minded 19 when you get to acknowledge you are asexual,” P56, male, aged 18). This participant appraised his aromantic orientation as one that was meaningful rather than empty: “There is a higher priority of reason in my life” (P42, male, 40s), echoed by another participant who felt more objective:

It has lent me a perspective on heteronormativity and sexual norms that is very useful,

and in a way allowed me to see what is wrong with the way society views sex and

relationships (P46, female, 20s).

Grounded by her identification, one woman had a framework in which to experiment with relationship forms, which she was able to do in an accepting social environment: “To have it as my identity allows me to explore passion, trust, tenderness, love, intimacy, etc. under my own conditions, without it being ultimately linked to sex…to test my limits and happily transgress them without falling into an identity crisis” (P22, female, 30s). In another instance of variety among participants, there were differences in the degree to which asexuality was a dynamic or stable identity. Here it is a steady, permanent identification: “I am fairly certain that I will be asexual for the rest of my life” (P41, female, aged 18), compared with this dynamic perspective in which the assimilation of asexuality is part of an unfolding process: “I’m allowing for anything to change and I don’t want to create a fixed definition of who I am” (P30, androgynous, 30s). Another participant (P64, genderqueer, aged 19) concluded that “identities can be fluid, and that doesn’t make them any less valid.” b) An integral identification

Participants typically described asexuality as integral to their self-image, illustrating their capacity to overcome the social threats associated with it. For some, it was simply part of themselves, hard to distinguish it or articulate further: “I am who I am. It’s as simple as that for me and being asexual is as much a part of me as my hair is” (P37, both genders, 20s).

While this description demonstrates its integrity to the self, it does not necessarily imply a 20 high degree of salience in the self-concept. There were varied descriptions of its centrality, with more examples citing it as relatively strong: “It’s a core identity to me...I was open about how I felt during my teenage years so have been effectively ‘out’ for most of my life. I find it difficult to imagine any version of myself that isn’t asexual” (P31, male, 40s). Another participant’s positioning of asexuality alongside primary identifications demonstrates its salience: “It’s a part of who I am, like being a female or an atheist” (P61, female, 20s).

In other cases, minimizing terms were used to convey lesser salience (“just a side note,” P45, male, 20s; “It’s just my sexual identity,” P65, female, 20s). The following example suggests it might lose salience over time due to becoming well-reconciled with the self, thus not attracting active identity management: “It is not, however, a particularly large part of my identity, because I feel content with it and am therefore not devoting a lot of time or effort to it” (P59, female, 20s). c) Not just one identity

Having established that asexuality was typically a positively evaluated, important self-identification, it is important to describe the complexity of the asexual identity. It was agreed that lack of sexual attraction was a core characteristic, but a number of sub-identities were possible. Asexuality was a flexible self-identification, compatible with a range of relationship preferences, from companionate, enduring relationships to a preference for being aromantic, or any position across this spectrum. No patterns by age or gender identification were apparent in these preferences. Thus, one male described his preference for affectionate bonds: “I tend to be attracted to women in emotional, intellectual, and aesthetic terms (I refer to myself as ‘hetero-affectionate’)” (P57, male, 20s). Another man found value in being on his own: “The most important part is that I don’t depend on the affection of others” (P42, male, 40s). 21

Illustrating the adaptive possibilities for asexuality as a self-construct, the next participant specified an asexual identity that incorporates a synthesis of gender and relationship reference points: “‘asexual B/R/A’ The B/R/A stands for

Bi/Romantic/Affectionate” (P6, female, aged 19). The use of such qualifiers demonstrates the capacity for asexuality to accommodate nuanced preferences. Several other relationship- based asexual sub-identities drew on gender and sexual referents (e.g., hetero, queer, gender- neutral). Gray-A was a distinctive sub-identity in that it blurred the boundary of sexual attraction, being an asexual sub-identity “with some aspects of sexuality…two people who are intimate with and committed to each other” (P57, male, 20s). For this androgynous participant, Gray-A made sense as a label because it incorporated periodic, mild feelings of sexual attraction:

At the moment,...I am somewhere between female and feminine androgyne...Gender

identity may be closely related to my asexuality. I consider myself to be gray-asexual,

and fluctuate between...fairly muted sexual attraction and being very much asexual

(P32, androgynous, 20s). d) The asexual community

The online community was the critical resource that supported the assimilation of asexuality and negotiation of sub-identities, despite social invisibility and denial. It allowed the personal exploration of asexuality to occur and enabled threatening social invalidation arguments to be neutralized and worked through (“I love the asexual community: Without it, many people would be going through life thinking that they are freaks, broken, alone, etc.,”

P27, androgynous, 20s; “There are so many of us here that we have to work out terminology for what we experience,” P63, neutrosis, aged 19). It was satisfying to know other asexual people exist (“It is just good to see that you are not the only person on earth with that

‘diagnosis’ of asexuality,” P42, male, 40s). Besides providing informational support, 22 affiliation was important in overcoming the loneliness reported by some of the participants

(“I am a loner. Asexuality is another feature of my loneliness,” P35, male, 20s).

While it represented a valued resource, identification with the online asexual community varied. For some, it was a primary support (“There is a sense of shared experiences, shared knowledge, and shared vocabulary”; P9, male, 20s; “My lost tribe,” P4, gender-neutral, 40s). Others described a minimal affiliation with the community (“I don’t spend enough time in it to have much of an opinion about this. But it’s good to know that I’m not alone,” P53, genderqueer, aged 19; “My online interaction has been limited to a single introductory message board post on AVEN,” P57, male, 20s), and several questioned the concept of community entirely: “I don’t really have any concept of ‘asexual community’”

(P24, female, 20s). Even among participants who did not feel a sense of affiliation, the community still satisfied the important function of solidarity in the face of social invisibility:

“It is not very intimate, but fulfilling. I read the posts they write...It’s just nice to hear thought processes like my own” (P18, female, 40s).

The community experience was described as beginning with navigation of discussion threads and forums to understand the concept of asexuality (“I did a lot of reading when I first found AVEN to help determine if I was truly asexual,” P11, gender-neutral, 30s). This was followed by differing levels of participation, from continued lurking to occasional posting and onto activism. Participants reflected on an experience of identity work that was typically marked by a wave of initial activity until asexuality became “backgrounded” as a subject requiring continuous self-reflection: “People usually go there [AVEN] for support, ask questions that are particular to a certain phase of coming out (to oneself or others), read and post until they reach a certain threshold, then…asexuality becomes more of a backgrounded part of their identity” (P46, female, 20s).

3. One Identity Among Others: Negotiating Gender and Age 23

Apart from the assimilation of an asexual orientation, the key issue in reconciling asexuality with the self was accommodation in existing components of the self-concept. The potential for asexuality to threaten traditional identifications with age, gender, nationality, and spirituality had to be negotiated. Out of these components of personal identity, asexual identification impacted most on gender. Despite this, gender proved to be a flexible self- categorization, whereas age-related expectations were less easily reformulated to accommodate both traditional developmental expectations and asexuality. a) Gender and asexuality as separate or interacting identifications

Traditional gender stereotypes were consistently critiqued and re-worked. Thus, for the most part, socialized gender beliefs, such as the perceived inevitability of male sex- seeking, proved flexible to modification. Among the two-thirds of the sample who identified with the male or female gender, some did reference traditional roles (e.g., “attractive, feminine,” P4). More commonly, participants identified as male or female but critically questioned traditional expectations, drawing on or distancing from one or both genders (“So I call myself a girl with boylike traits,” P1, female, 20s; “I’ve identified as female most of my life by virtue of being told I was one,” P30, female, 30s; “Nominally male,” P9, male, 20s).

Almost one-third of the participants rejected a traditional gender identification altogether (“I do not identify with gender,” P62, none, 20s; “Neutrosis (i.e. no gender)…given my choice,

I’d have genital nullification,” P63, no gender, aged 19), or identified with both genders (“I define myself as fluid bigender, which means that I identify my gender as between male and female...I may feel androgynous one day, but very feminine or masculine the next,” P36, bigender, aged 19).

The questioning of traditional gender roles could reflect accommodation as a consequence of identifying as asexual or represent separate self-explorations of sexuality and gender. A range of positions was taken on the relationship between asexuality and gender. 24

This example illustrates the position in which asexuality and gender were kept separate in the self-concept: “I don’t usually regard gender in my sexuality. I am a female by biological standards and never really give any thought to how my gender and sexuality would be related” (P15, female, 20s). Similarly, another person did not see meaning in a compound female-asexual identification: “I can’t really say what’s distinctive about being a female asexual” (P18, female, 40s). Interactions of the two categories were subtle and sometimes implicit. One young woman first indicated no relationship: “Gender affects how I personally experience and see the world, but it does not affect my sexuality” (P23, female, 20s), but subsequently described having refined her relational orientation with reference to gender:

“Before I knew asexual was something I was allowed to be, I considered myself bisexual.

Now I know that I am bi-affectional and asexual.”

The view that asexuality and gender do interact was as common as that of viewing the two as separate. One participant characterized the interaction positively and felt more defined by asexuality than by gender: “I’ve stopped denying and fighting myself, and accepted that this is who I am. And it brings a sense of relief and peace...When I have more then two choices, I don’t like to identify as female. I identify as asexual and queer” (P64, genderqueer, aged 19). One male participant described an intersection of asexuality and masculinity that enabled him to feel free from the pressure to want sex by accommodating the idea of being a non-sexual male: “Since I now knew I didn’t necessarily have to conform to the societal idea of being a sexual male, I could stop worrying about that non-aspect of my life” (P57, male,

20s). The next response was less typical, but was strongly felt, conveying a negative implication for gender in which it was not possible to accommodate asexuality successfully with a male gender identification: “I feel like less of a man because I’m asexual, like it’s a weakness or a failure” (P12, male, aged 18). 25

Several asexuals who did not identify with traditional gender labels perceived the two identifications as non-interacting: “I do not think gender has any bearing on my asexuality, as for my ‘lack’ of gender I feel it is just a part of who I am” (P37, both genders, 20s). More commonly, participants who did not identify with traditional gender labels gave well- elaborated accounts of linkage between asexuality and gender-related identifications, as in this reference to androgyny and relationship preference: “I think my being androgynous relates to me being a ‘pan-romantic’ asexual” (P27, androgynous, 20s). Another participant linked asexuality explicitly to the questioning of gender expectations: “Realizing I was asexual made me begin to think about my gender in a way I never had” (P36, bi-gender, aged

19). Similarly, asexuality was strongly linked to the “deconstruction of gender” for this genderqueer participant:

It is also likely that my asexuality has shaped and aided my deconstruction of gender

and what it means as I was never invested in the high school ritual of shaping my

gender identity in order to meet a social approval to engage in sexual activities (P39,

genderqueer, 20s).

Gender identification did not predict a preference for particular relationship forms. A diverse range of preferences was expressed, both by males and females and by participants who did not identify with a traditional gender label. To illustrate, one woman described a desire for intimacy in the context of a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship: “I only want a boyfriend for the companionship…I enjoy closeness, kissing, cuddling. But that’s really enough for me” (P46, female, 20s), whereas another woman described life outside a gendered relationship script: “Usually, a relationship involves two people that compliment each other and become a more solid whole. Humans are meant to form that family unit. Instead, I have to fill both roles by myself, or turn to friends” (P29, female, 20s). b) Social implications of asexuality and gender intersections 26

Societal expectations for ascribed gender roles contributed an additional layering to the threatened social position that resulted from a non-sexual lifestyle. Social pressures were especially felt by males (“asexual men look like freaks, whereas women are seen as only frigid,” P52, male, 20s), indicating the compromized position brought about by being asexual in a culture which attributes sexual agency to the male: “As society expects the man to take the initiative in a relationship, you are assumed shy or gay” (P35, male, 20s). Societal expectations might be rejected privately but were immutable in the social environment. The situation was described by one male in his 40s, who wrote “There is real social stigma around adult men who have never had sexual relations” (P31).

Women indicated that non-participation in dating attracted less attention for them than for men, due to the more passive role assigned to women in heteronormative ideology.

Expectations of female sexuality were certainly not negated, however, as for a participant who described gender-typed assumptions others held for her: “People who are unaware of your orientation assume you fall into the sexual category and treat you as such” (P34, female,

20s). Having been shaped by a traditional, heterosexual environment, another participant had to wrench herself from the relational expectations associated with the female role: “I had intense feelings of guilt for not wanting to be part of the dating paradigm, not wanting to marry or have children, not wanting a partner, etc.” (P34, female, 20s). The gender role was an advantage in another way, as it enabled affection to be more readily sought from same-sex companions without having to enter a romantic relationship: “Females also tend to be more touchy-feely, so I didn’t feel the need to get into a relationship simply because occasionally, I wanted to be able to cuddle with someone” (P47, female, aged 19).

A particular threat that arose from the intersection of asexuality with gender was the feeling of having outsider status in those interpersonal interactions where knowledge of sexual and relationship scripts was required (“In discussions of a personal nature, I do have a 27 feeling of being out of place and uncomfortable,” P10, male, 20s). This was one area where it was more difficult to pass: “We don’t relate on subjects such as marriage, dating, sex, children, and so on, but every other subject we can discuss with great ease” (P34, female,

20s). Another female participant described feeling completely isolated among other woman for a similar reason: “Now I feel like some outside creature who has no real connection to other women with active sexualities, either straight, bi, gay” (P43, female, 20s). Similarly, another participant tended not to distinguish between male and female as much as other people and, as a result, had more trouble de-coding sexual intentions and references:

My biggest issue is not knowing how to flirt, how to recognize flirting, and where to

go from there…I can read regular body language pretty well, but not in this instance.

I feel a little autistic in that nonverbal social cues have to be explained to me with

words (P64, genderqueer, aged 19). c) Age-related identifications

Compared with the participants’ elastic and malleable self-constructions of gender, age-related expectations were rather fixed. Age cohorts in youth or middle age found that the threat of isolation unfolded over time, being sidelined from dating networks during youth and later as outsiders to social networks based on families and children. Positive re-interpretations of age-based stereotypes were offered less frequently or pervasively than for gender. This positive example interprets living outside the normative biographical script as a freedom from claustrophobic regulations:

Their age rules their life. They feel like, I gotta get married by 26, gotta have kids by

29…I feel free to change careers in the middle of life if I want to...If I want to get on

a jet and go somewhere, I will (P4, female, 40s).

More often, prospective or lived biographies suggested that living outside the mainstream had threatening consequences for the self. One participant recounted denial 28 arguments used by others that were predicated on age: “under 20 = ‘you just haven’t met the right one yet’ over 40 = ‘it’s the old age’” (P8, male, 20s). This young woman’s imagined future was characterized by fear of loneliness: “I’m terribly afraid that as I age, my friendships will gradually die and I’ll end up alone…I feel very alone and awkward sometimes, as if I don’t fit in with the greater society” (P7, female, aged 18). Another participant in his 20s reported that maintaining a sense of social purpose was challenging in a family-dominated society: “The older you are, the more difficult for people to understand your lack of relationships” (P35, male, 20s). Later on in life, one male in his 40s described how remaining single meant he had been gradually stigmatised as deviant:

When you are younger, you are just a single among others and there are friends with

time to spend with you. Later in life you are more like a loner...they probably think

that you are gay and not courageous enough to come out...that you are some kind of

pervert who has to keep his sexual obsessions a secret, or that you suffer from severe

inhibitions and ought to see a shrink (P42).

Older participants offered reflections about having lived the first part of their adult lives without access to terminology or support through the internet, leaving them to make sense of asexuality without a reference point. In this example, a participant in her late 50s conveyed a long struggle to assimilate asexuality and overcome the threat it posed to her conception of herself. She had never disclosed her orientation (“I have never shared this secret with anyone, ever,” P40, female, 50s). She described a long process of coming to an understanding of asexuality, conducted as individual identity work (“I’d say it was an evolution over approx 10 years. A slow ‘peeling away’ of the layers of sexual subjects in my life”). Reflecting on asexuality, she described it as a difference that, while not intrinsically unsatisfying, had set her apart: “When musing on how I would judge my own worth, it’s not 29 so much that I’m lacking but that I’m odd, different, out of place and going through these years of my life without something integral.”

Referring back to the central role of online asexuality communities in facilitating self- exploration, some younger participants described seamless identity development made possible by the internet. This meant that assimilation of an asexual orientation could occur with relative ease (“Growing up with the internet, I discovered asexuality almost as soon as I needed it,” P64, female, aged 19). The normalization of asexual identification was reflected in the account given by a young woman who progressed unimpeded through a process of self-identifying as asexual:

I’d begun to suspect I was different by age 14, by 16 I had learned about asexuality

and thought that might be it, and by 17 I knew I was asexual and began to identify as

such openly (P36, bi-gender, aged 19).

The challenge for youth was to make sense of their asexuality during a developmental transition when peers were focused on dating and sex, in which the social context was unaccepting of difference: “Being bombarded with these expectations, one would naturally have to come to terms with their sexuality should they realize that romantic/sexual attraction simply doesn’t happen to them” (P41, female, aged 18).

DISCUSSION

The goals of the study were to explore the subjective meaning of asexual identification and its implications for other components of the self, with asexuality framed as a potential threat or valued facet of the self-concept. The findings supported recent portrayals of asexuality as an orientation that was acceptable privately but rejected by others as a valid social identity (Brotto et al., 2010; Carrigan, 2011; Prause & Graham, 2007; Scherrer, 2008).

One of the core experiences most participants reported was an evaluatively positive appraisal of the concept of asexuality, indicative of its internalization or assimilation of the orientation. 30

Despite this, a keen social threat arose to the unproblematic incorporation of asexuality with the self. This stemmed from its invisibility in society and incompatibility with heteronormative expectations for gender roles, which were managed through limited social disclosure and identity exploration through internet communities. There was considerable variation and complexity within identification with asexuality, reflected in asexual sub- identities and relationship preferences that highlighted the flexibility with which participants sought to accommodate asexuality with gender.

Identity threats and coping responses

We theorized the thematic findings within an IPT framework (Turner & Coyle, 2000).

From an IPT perspective, coming to identify as asexual entails taking up a new position within the social matrix (Breakwell, 1986). This movement has the potential for feeling threatened at the level of personal identity, given the apparent incompatibility of being non- sexual and gendered. Despite this, most participants reported a positive evaluation of asexuality, consistent with Breakwell’s description of acceptance as the ability to occupy a potentially threatening position without experiencing it as such.

On an intrapersonal level, the threat asexuality posed to identity coherence was less acute than the sexuality-gender-ethnicity identity conflicts reported in IPT studies of homosexuality (Coyle & Rafalin, 2000; Jaspal, 2012; Jaspal & Cinerella, 2010, 2012; Jaspal

& Siraq, 2011). This can be partly explained by the social position of asexuality relative to heteronormative ideology. Although it is counter-normative because it involves non- participation in sexual behavior, asexuality does not represent an active alternative to the normative sexual script as does homosexuality.

IPT directs attention to the coping responses used to manage identity threats.

Restricted disclosure of asexuality to others was a recurrent interpersonal coping strategy.

While lack of public awareness was a challenge in itself, it also made it feasible to pass in 31 most social, educational, and occupational contexts without disclosing an asexual orientation.

Intra-psychic coping was characterized by acceptance, facilitated by interpersonal and group- based support from the online asexual community. Online exploration and interactions enabled an individualized assimilation of asexual identity to emerge despite isolation from other asexuals offline.

Identity principles

Breakwell’s original theory proposed that an identification is threatening if it disrupts the principles of continuity, distinctiveness, or self-esteem, as these principles underpin identity coherence. The participants were prepared to accept breaches in continuity between the private and public domains in their approach to managing identity threat, such as “private acceptance but public nondisclosure” or “online community but societal invisibility.” The private/public dichotomy was applicable to the other principles. Self-identifying as asexual contributed to a self-conception of distinctiveness, enabling the uncertainty of not having a label to be overcome and further levels of distinctive self-categorization were available through asexual sub-identities. Concurrently, asexuality was denied a distinctive identity externally as a sexual orientation. In the case of the self-esteem principle, asexuality was typically evaluated positively, but was linked to threats to self-esteem, such as isolation, worry about the future, and the pressure of normative expectations.

The relative success achieved by many participants in identity management through private acceptance and public silence can be further explored using three identity principles proposed subsequent to Breakwell’s (1986) original IPT. The need for self-efficacy

(Breakwell, 1992) was threatened by social denial narratives, which impeded the ability to identify publically as asexual. In response, control could be asserted internally by interpreting asexuality as a positive identification, combined with the ability to live and work in a sexual society without active discrimination. The principle of social belonging (Vignoles et al., 32

2006) was threatened by isolation from face-to-face interactions with other asexuals, along with feeling like an outsider during conversations about dating and sex. This was balanced by affiliation achieved through the online community.

The most recently identified principle, psychological coherence (Jaspal & Cinnirella,

2010), was threatened because there were incompatibilities to accommodating asexuality with gender and age, the two components of the self that attracted the greatest level of discussion among participants. The response to this threat to identity integration was consistent with the need for agency and self-coherence described in IPT. Internally, the exploration of gender and asexuality was represented as a positive experience, resulting in a range of different positions and nuanced self-identifications (Carrigan, 2011; DeLuzio

Chasin, 2011). The original and subsequent IPT identity principles set asexuality in context as an identification that, while posing significant threats due to external challenges, can be successfully managed through internalised identity work and a social strategy of non- disclosure.

Assimilation

In IPT, the assimilation of a novel identification is a fundamental process for managing identity threat. The process of assimilating asexuality that was described retrospectively by participants is consistent with studies of homosexual identification, beginning with encountering and self-applying the label, followed by knowledge acquisition and navigation of sub-identity preferences (Flowers, Smith, & Sheeran, 1999; Ross, 2005;

Worthington & Reynolds, 2009). The social denials of asexuality that participants were exposed to, such as its dismissal as a transitory phase or concealed homosexuality, are similar to those reported by bisexuals (Baumgardner, 2007). Nevertheless, the perception of asexuality as socially unacceptable or pathological tended not to be internalized, similar to

Herek, Gillis, and Cogan’s (2009) finding in their study of homosexual self-identification. 33

The ability to assimilate asexuality was based on internet-based support for identity exploration and the feasibility of passing in most domains of heterosexual society. Access to information and support during the identity formation stage was valued (Delanty, 2003;

Harper & Schneider, 2003; Stephens, 2007), even among participants who did not express strong affiliation or commitment to the community. Only a small number of participants lived in accepting communities or social networks. Although these recall the conditions found to support homosexual identity development (Eccles, Sayegh, Fortenberry, & Zimit, 2004;

Narvaez et al., 2009), support and social validation were more commonly unavailable.

Nevertheless, asexuality was not associated with distress to the extent reported in research on homosexual identity formation (Taulke-Johnson, 2008). Reframing asexuality as a natural state, online community members shared a consensual, complex social representation of the identity, even if society at large did not (Campbell & Jovchelovitch, 2000).

Accommodation

The second fundamental identity process in IPT is accommodation, in which other identifications adjust to absorb a new identity referent. Although the accommodation and critique of hegemonic masculine and submissive female gender roles was pervasive, it is not possible to be definitive about links between asexuality and gender on the basis of our findings. Some individuals reported modifying gender beliefs as a consequence of asexuality, whereas others did not connect the critique of traditional gender roles to their orientation at all. Asexuals who did not identify with traditional gender labels exhibited some variation in this regard as well, along with a tendency to describe strong links between androgyny and asexuality.

Regardless of whether gender was seen as co-existing but separate, or as interacting with asexuality, most participants did reconcile the two categories, indicative of a capacity to reach a successful accommodation. Gender and relationship scripts were co-opted in some of 34 the asexual sub-identities, as indicated by distinctions based on bi/hetero/queer relationship preferences. Romantic and affectionate asexuals aspired toward the companionate love described by Sternberg (1986), invoking the relationship script of a settled couple. The integration of asexuality, gender and relationship concepts through asexual sub-identities illustrates a high degree of creativity in achieving identity coherence (Breakwell, 1986;

Carrigan, 2011). The intersection of gender and asexuality to produce conjoined, complex new categories merits further focused investigation.

Accommodating asexuality with age-related expectations was especially challenging.

Threats to reconciling asexuality on a developmental basis emerged on a rolling basis with familiar lifespan challenges. Asexuality entailed isolation from the mainstream of norms, which were at first focused on dating, then on the search for a long-term partner and being part of a couple, and finally isolation from social networks based on family membership.

Internally, feelings of isolation or loneliness indicated a distanced relationship from heterosexual society. It was not so much that being asexual was perceived as incompatible with successive age-related identifications with youth or middle age. Instead, the tension between age and asexuality arose through the recurring motif of asexuality as personally meaningful but socially costly.

Implications

In recruiting participants from an online community we anticipated relatively positive representations of asexuality, compared with asexuals who lack access to information and support (Prause & Graham, 2007). A small number of participants did report distress and dissatisfaction with asexual identification, which suggests the need for further research on difficulties assimilating asexuality and its accommodation within the self-concept (Birkett et al., 2009; Harper & Schneider, 2003; Williams et al., 2005). Given the reactions of denial attributed to sexual people, it is also important to study directly the deflection strategies that 35 are used to deny the legitimacy of asexuality (Breakwell, 1986). Ultimately, the greatest threat reported in this study arose due to lack of social recognition or acceptance of asexuality, an issue that requires a concerted response at a societal level.

Participants themselves suggested a number of issues that merit further research.

These included longitudinal studies of the process of identifying as asexual, incorporating reference to factors such as early trauma and family attitudes to sexuality when growing up.

A number of specific topics were suggested as needing research attention to understand how they are negotiated by asexuals. Those mentioned most frequently included sub-identities, gender, sensuality, masturbation, and romantic relationships with non-asexual partners.

Limitations

Although it is acknowledged that recruiting participants via online methods can be an appropriate method for studying asexuality (Hinderliter, 2009), it nonetheless excludes asexuals who do not visit community websites. In addition, the use of convenience sampling made it uncertain how representative the participants were of the online community. As an additional limitation, the requirement to write free text responses to open-ended questions was relatively demanding and might have had an unforeseen impact on the characteristics of the sample. Despite these limitations, the findings map well onto topics discussed in online community forums and the demographics reported in previous studies (Scherrer, 2008).

The heterogeneity of the sample limited the degree to which the experience of sub- groups could be explored. Diversity within the sample extended to include participants who were still actively working through self-conceptions of gender and sexuality, and those who appeared to have reached acceptance on these issues. There is a need to expand the range of research methodologies employed to include longitudinal designs, to study the process of identification as it unfolds for particular age groups and asexual sub-identities. To note a final limitation, in this paper we focused on age and gender as the key social identifications that 36 emerged from the findings, thus limiting the discussion of other identifications that attracted less extensive discussion, such as spirituality and national identity. Further research is required to explore the links to these components of the self-concept in more depth.

Conclusions

Although its social invisibility was threatening to our participants on a social level, asexuality was typically assimilated as a valued internal component of personal identity. The balance of personal meaning and social costs was rendered more favourable by the ability to pass in heterosexual society without having to disclose asexual orientation. Nonetheless, this did not obviate the sense of social exclusion experienced from being a member of a sexual minority that was denied recognition. Asexuality was a complex self-categorisation, a self- identification explored through the information and support available from the online community. In the process of accommodating it as part of the wider self-concept, asexuality served as the focus for private questioning of culture, family, and interpersonal relationships.

Gender was a primary focus for this questioning, with a range of positions taken on its interaction with asexuality. Using identity process theory (Breakwell, 1986) as a framework, it is possible to theorize asexual identification as an process of overcoming threat and reaching acceptance.

Acknowledgements: The authors wish to acknowledge the helpful suggestions and feedback received from the reviewers. 37

APPENDIX: QUESTIONS USED IN ONLINE SURVEY

1. Does gender relate to your experience as an asexual? If you identify with the female

gender, what is distinctive about being a woman who is asexual, or if you identify

with the male gender, what is distinctive about being a man who is asexual?

2. Does your age affect your experience of being asexual? For instance, if there is

something distinctive about being asexual at your current stage of life, or if your age

affects the way in which other people respond to your asexuality.

3. Thinking about your national/ethnic culture, could you briefly describe how

asexuality is viewed?

4. If you have a particular religious/spiritual outlook, does this outlook impact on how

you view yourself as an asexual?

5. How does asexuality affect the way you relate to non-asexual people generally? We

don’t presume it does have an effect, but if it does please give some details. If you

have disclosed your asexual identity to people who are not asexual, please reflect on

their reactions to your disclosure.

6. How does asexuality affect the way you relate to non-asexual friends and family

members? If it does, please give some details. What are your views about disclosing

your asexual identity to friends, work mates, family members, etc?

7. What do you associate with the idea of the asexual community? For instance, degree

of mutual support, availability/access to support, positive support/limitations,

identifying with the community, nature of the asexual community.

8. How does asexuality relate to your self-concept (e.g., your personal identity, beliefs

about yourself, who you are as a person)? Please try to describe how asexuality relates

to who you are as a person. 38

Note: Specific prompts were included with each question (e.g., prompts for the final question included “In your experience, what challenges come with being asexual?”, “Has your identity as an asexual evolved over time?”, “In your view, what positive things has being asexual brought?”).

39

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Baumgardner, J. (2007). Look both ways: Bisexual politics. New York: Farrar, Straus and

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