Almost by coincidence, the history of The Memory Tourist has aligned with my journey of being asexual. Coming 10 months after the website’s launch, I found myself beginning to explore this identity with passion, curious to know what it was that connected with me. Given that we’re coming up on the second year anniversary in December of that initial spark, I thought that I would spend some time this Ace Week looking at how my perspective has ultimately changed presumably for the better.
To be direct, I currently identify by the labels asexual, queer, and demisexual. While the last term is one that I use sparingly, it’s more out of self-consciousness. Given that many outside of the LGBTQIA+ circles struggle to understand the universality of pronouns, I think there’s too much nuance in being demi for them. The split attraction model would probably split their brains first. I’m not saying that figuring out you’re ace is easy or always the most flattering one you could go with, but what I’ve learned in two years is how difficult it is to initially break free of this type of shame.
When I first came out, I was 31. As many people that told me that figuring yourself out isn’t a race, there is that initial remorse one feels. It’s a thrilling a-ha moment, but you’re also dealing with this duality of feeling like you’re going to die alone and putting into context years of feeling misplaced in social groups. The idea of being alone and a loser is inevitable given the pressure I’ve especially experienced since the myth that prom exists almost exclusively for hookups. Why wasn’t I doing that? Why did none of my impulses push me in that direction? It continued to just… be there. A sense of nothingness.
Again, it felt like I was behind the curve and those first few months were erratic. Trying to find any community was difficult and to conjure the word “asexual” in any discourse came with pressure for someone to acknowledge that I said it. When you’re not used to seeing asexuality anywhere, it messes with your mind. How, in the modern age of limitless information, was I not able to feel connected to a single being?
Don’t get me wrong. Being queer in 2022 comes with certain anxieties. As I write this, we’re days out from somebody announcing a nationwide “Don’t Say Gay” bill. The number of anti-transgender legislation is appallingly high and on the rise. Pro-LGBTQIA+ literature is being banned. People are using predatory language to describe gays while others somehow think that self-expression (i.e. drag shows) is bad for children. I'm too far on the queer side of matters at this point to sympathize with those who don’t at least stop and listen, to show some compassion for your fellow citizens. It’s uncomfortable and while I haven’t felt personally attacked, things like the potential collapse of gay marriage in the wake of Roe vs. Wade being overturned makes me concerned. Compared to that, being ace is easy. Even with recent online criticisms that men are having less sex and that’s somehow a bad thing, I think my rights aren’t as in jeopardy as my queer community who are more out and proud.
Still, I think the one thing that comes with time has been being able to see beyond the big picture. Whereas I still think that asexuality is underseen in queer circles, it’s far from the blip that I would’ve told you it was even a year ago. I am proud to say that even if I haven’t found close friends that fit that description, I have experienced a sense of welcomeness that simply took time to discover. It can be found in various Twitter mutuals, in Yasmin Benoit’s monthly Instagram hangouts, or even a backers meeting for the upcoming film Dear Luke Love Me, which I’m proud to say is being created by a largely queer crew that I think has their heart in the right place.
To be totally honest, that backers meeting still stands as probably the greatest moment in my young ace life. Maybe it will change if I ever make it out to Pride, but for now, it’s like something I’ve only heard described. Imagine the feeling of being “seen” for the first time by others, where suddenly you realize that others think like you. Sure, you could read old AVEN boards, but here was a moment where people gathered on Zoom and were publicly talking about what asexuality meant to them and, in tandem, what Dear Luke Love Me represented. More than the sneak peek, it was that sense of pride that was so beautiful to me, to know it existed. I still have faith that director Guillermo Diaz will do a good job. He’s probably the biggest reason I’m curious to see Bros (2022). If nothing else that warmth is something I wish I could see more of.
Which is the thing. This one moment gave me hope that more good things will come our way. Even if we’re small, I have found plenty that has carried the flag of representation. Some of them I’ve discussed here while others I will talk about later this week. Having jaidenanimations send a video about asexuality to the top of the YouTube charts was thrilling. Having aro-ace writer Alice Oseman create the Netflix show Heartstopper made me feel like we won June (and being able to buy said comic at a Target months later felt special too). While not official, I would even say that Good Luck to You Leo Grande (2022) is one of the best depictions of demisexuality that I’ve seen. Not that it counts, but The Las Vegas Aces also won The WNBA Championship, which feels like a counter-win. Sure, there’s a lot more that I could discuss, but what I found changing between year one and year two was this: a sense of community. Even other queer content creators seemed more supportive of ace causes than I had thought in the past. Alas, the solidarity I dreamed of was finally happening.
Outside of representation and legislation, there’s not necessarily a lot that changes externally about being asexual as you go along. Unless you put words into action, you’ll continue to express yourself however you want. Maybe that comes with needlessly blasting affirmative pop albums by Lizzo and Meghan Trainor. Maybe that comes with updating your wardrobe or expanding your vocabulary. Whatever it is, I’ve come to accept that loving what you like (both in sexuality and culture) is fine. I personally don’t get the Harry Styles thing but I’m sure all of you will make good housewives one day.
For me, year two has been continuing to explore what asexuality is like in everyday living. While I’m still uncomfortable telling people this publicly, I have observed the behavior where possible and am relieved that the younger generations come across as more confident and focused on where they want to be with their identity. I’ve been in classrooms where non-binary students have actually mentioned that they used they/them pronouns and the respect they receive makes me realize how small the pool of people who don’t get it is. I’m happy that society has progressed in that direction, where even to visit my old high school is to see a collage of pride flags that include ace AND aro among the vibrant rainbow. For as much that is terrible in the world, California’s youth is heading in the right direction.
Sure, last year saw a certain transgender asexual candidate run for governor in a reelection vote that nobody (myself included) liked, but other than that things are looking up for us. I’m happy to go to Target in June and see a wide array of ace merch. I’m happy to have miniature ace and trans flags (though they screwed up the rainbow ones somehow). I’m happy to be wearing more purple in my wardrobe as a tip of the hat (though I think the black ring is a little beyond me). I even bought a progress flag this year, which may not be a lot but makes me feel special. To be honest, as much as consumerism is crass and may be the downfall of humanity, there is something to having gay shit in your house that makes the whole thing a lot better.
The largest takeaway between years one and two is simply feeling comfortable in it. To be honest, I was embarrassing in 2021. For some, the clear image was of a puppy dog doing too much to please everybody. I think there were so many conversations that existed out of desperation and a need to belong. While I’m not entirely out of that yet, especially since I don’t have a stable community that I personally interact with daily, it is a lot more refined and more about allowing myself to be truthful without having any lack of engagement be seen as a slight of character. As much as I’d love to say that I had 1,000 followers and was RT’d by the hour, I have what I have and it’s a decent, understanding group. If I talk to you regularly, you know who you are and I love you. Thanks for being there.
I am unsure what year three will look like for asexual me. I feel like more than anything I am using more recent opportunities to explore other parts of my identity and be more engaged with those that I think are doing great things in the LGBTQIA+ circles. I am not a leader type and I do sometimes feel self-conscious about my lack of vocality on the matter, but I do try to support those who do amazing work, and I think they are what’s saving us. It’s going to be a bleak few weeks depending on what state you live in. For many, rights and survival are on the line. If the election goes south, we’re all doomed. I can only hope that we stick together.
Happy Ace Week to those who celebrate and recognize. Thank you for allowing me to be in your circles for two years now. It has been great getting to know all of you and recognizing what gifts you bring to everyday discourse. Keep doing great work and I hope somebody buys you a nice piece of garlic bread before the week is out. You deserve it.
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