Five years ago today, at this very hour, I published an essay titled “Coming to Terms With Things.” Given that June has universally been considered Pride Month for as long as I’ve been alive, you can guess where things were going from there. It was a valorous attempt to summarize my premature experiences with questioning identity and, in typical Thomas fashion, do so in the most overcomplicated and academic language. Now, I’m sure if you look at most essays I wrote between 2021 and 2023 you’ll find that they’re rich in verbiage, and it may all tie into my academic journey at the time. However, I wanted to ask now that the dust has settled and the novelty has faded… how do I feel about the topics discussed within?
For those who haven’t been keeping tabs, the essay specifically detailed my journey to identifying as demisexual, asexual, and queer. When looking back, I do think I was overdefensive about the most trivial of topics, possibly to the detriment of a purely emotion-driven exercise. Some of the topics probably might’ve been arbitrary and, in the case of kink at pride, a totally foolish thing to address without doing research. I’m sure some of the TikTok-related videos I embedded are gone now, as are many creators who have since transitioned either to other platforms or moved on to other careers altogether.
When compiling my thoughts for this essay, that was the hardest thing to parse out. How much of my original essay was defined by an ongoing identity crisis? As I detailed at the time, I was suffering the worst depression of my life, and part of that came from a lack of a clear identity. In all honesty, the problem lay beyond who I did and didn’t like and was as much not having the means to determine my own coping mechanisms anymore. Between Zoom classes and nearly a year in quarantine, I had grown so numb that I took whatever I could to get by… which wasn’t always healthy. On the safer side were TikTok videos while bedrotting after dinner. On the more dangerous side was fighting darker thoughts that sometimes “won” as it were. I’m frankly unsure why anyone on social media still talks to me after that time because I would’ve considered myself intentionally evasive.
Maybe that is why I originally took such a clinical approach to the topic. The real world was hard to grasp at the time, and it would take a little longer before any real healing began to take hold. Still, I wanted to believe that the essay was breaking the seal on months of rumination, that I was somehow going to escape my turmoil if I could start piecing together a larger picture. As much as I reject the notion that asexuality is directly intertwined with trauma, it does get hard not to acknowledge some anxiety feeding into ephemeral details of the time.
But enough about the prelude to that essay. What about the time since? I don’t care who you are. There’s always a good chance that your initial response is that you’re alone, that nobody out there relates to you. I think there are others in the LGBTQIA+ community who may struggle less with this due to representation, but asexuality always felt like it was demeaned. A common notion you hear, and it seems to apply to neurodivergence as well, is that you are “broken.” There’s this sense that you’re never going to feel love or that you’re just doing it for attention. I was reminded of it a few years ago when The Daily Wire did a whole video essay calling the ace umbrella narcissists.
And yet by then, I felt way different about the situation than I did halfway through 2021. Along with the timidity of being that 31-year-old who “figured it out late,” there were no guideposts that seemed apparent. It made the journey daunting. In recent years, I’ve grown tired of being into “trendy” queer topics. Flamboyance is not my modus operandi. I don’t get the affluent culture. Do I accept that some people do? Of course, but I think the term pride always makes you think of larger-than-life showmanship. Pride is not conservative. That’s what the media says. It’s bawdy, colorful, and strange. I’m not wishing to suggest ace people are inherently buttoned-up, but a major setback for finding that connection was a sense of dissimilarity. For example, I don’t get the “camp” of Lady Gaga in House of Gucci (2021) because that movie sucks to begin with.
A major advantage of having this revelation in 2021 was that it felt like a bizarre blip on the radar, where suddenly discourse was alive with support. I feel like a common notion of the time was that “TikTok changed my gender.” Polls were talking about Gen-Z being the queerest generation yet. Joe Biden seemed, for a time, like he would make a difference in the progressive stance. Sure, there was backlash, but Target still had a good reputation with Pride Month, and I do feel like the media was more willing to take risks on gay and lesbian creators. It still tickles me to see a copy of the “Chromatica” remix album in a Target, if for no other reason than it meant that Dorian Electra had infiltrated rainbow capitalism.
To stay on the subject, it also meant that I was more hyperaware about current events. As much as I don’t see myself as an activist, I do try to be a supportive type who at least carries empathy for LGBTQIA+ individuals. It also means that I was as aware of the rise of queer acceptance during those Biden years as I was of the backlash. I think of Target again, where I bought a progress flag that hangs in my room to this day. I had a good two years before they refused to sell me merch that they “discontinued” despite still being on shelves. It was disheartening to see stores give in to bullying, though it makes you understand the notion of profit over people. We all knew these corporations weren’t on our side, and yet the small validation made you feel somewhat pandered to in the right way.
I also came to realize that a lot of creators I followed on YouTube were asexual or some variant. While not everyone directly discussed themes of sexuality, there would be a point where suddenly you’d hear the word, and somehow that made things click. I’m not wishing to suggest someone is immediately a safe space because of their identity, but suddenly you feel like “they get it” a little more than other people. There’s a kinship that you can build with their comments section because they get it, too. I’ve been thankful to interact with various ace people from around the world who love breaking down amatanormativity while discovering their other passions. Let’s just say that I also really enjoyed hanging out in Yasmin Benoit’s Instagram lives, even though those have become too infrequent to plan around anymore. I’ve also helped fund a movie called Dear Luke Love Me (2025), and I will say that the Zoom call with investors was one of the most heartwarming ace community experiences I’ve had to date, if just because it was a giant love-fest and the cast and crew got nothing but positive marks.
Beyond that, there were some creators who came to mean something more to me. Of course, there’s Alice Oseman, whose “Heartstopper” series has been one of those breezy feel-good reads you need sometimes (and the Netflix show isn’t half bad, either). I also would recommend “Loveless” as a great young adult novel on asexuality that doesn’t get too treacly. With that said, nothing will ever be more amusing than watching the Freeform comedy Everything’s Gonna Be Okay during its first season and, upon catching up, discovering that the characters I most empathized with featured an autistic ace lesbian. Add in the one-two punch of the summer that brought us No Hard Feelings (2023), Joy Ride (2023), and Barbie (2023), and you get an unexpectedly strong ace-coded summer. As much as I don’t totally buy into tropes, it was still amusing to see the yellow beanie gag in Joy Ride and be like, “they know.”
If there’s been a downside to asexuality having much of a significance in this plot, it’s that there’s not that much to reflect upon. Unlike more relationship-based dynamics, asexuality often supports individuality and activities that are insignificant to further debate. At most, it feels like a sexuality defined by regimented discourse on how certain binaries can be broken down. I once did a video for a gender studies class on The Split Attraction Model, which, on some level, felt more ingrained in my love of language than any deeper resonance. It’s not to say that it isn’t important, but I also accept that at some point, you’re just making extra work for yourself. Is it important if you identify as sapiosexual? Truthfully, you do you. I like having options there, but I am in the stage of my journey where sexuality and romance are the only split attractions I care to define.
I bring this up because I admit that it’s hard to feel passionate about asexuality on a greater level. I’m sure you can get into whole codes of societal standards that still are unfair to the ace umbrella (Benoit is great at this), but there’s a reason that my go-to weekly dose of ace merriment on Sounds Fake But Okay sometimes just forgoes deeper nuance for silly Reddit episodes. For as much as I still light up at the possibility of a character being explicitly asexual – like I Saw the TV Glow (2024) – the reality is that it’s everything else about them that makes their hero’s journey fascinating. It’s not a good or bad thing. It’s maybe why “Heartstopper” books survived the Target backlash so easily. It also explains why asexuality as a collective YouTube trend is years old and probably had to do with the Jaiden Animations video.
Maybe my biggest takeaway from this time is not a better way to define myself, but a definite need to not lose sight of the people who have come to mean a lot to me. I am not some radical idealist. I’m sure a lot of my views don’t fit into a “mold” that modern discourse would like. However, I think there’s ultimately a goal to be compassionate and understanding that drives me to consider those in the LGBTQIA+ community and listen to their joys and struggles. I look for them in June as I do year-round. I watched National Anthem (2023) and am taken aback by how beautiful it is to see a trans woman express herself without it seeming exploitative. There’s a lot I’ve invested in, especially in terms of historic legacy, to better recognize patterns of how trouble has come before and will come again, and that perseverance is the best weapon. I think about the documentary All the Beauty and the Bloodshed (2022) a lot for this reason, though I’m sure way more art – including that of Louise Weard and Vera Drew – also exists to push boundaries on what the modern narrative looks like.
As the Biden years failed to maintain that positive growth, I watched initial pride go from law of the land to a commodity that was roundly mocked by pundits. I think of rainbow flags coming down from in front of government buildings in Orange County, or how there was a riot simply because a school district chose to recognize June as Pride Month. I think of the ally who did no more than fly a rainbow at her place of work and was murdered for it, mere hours from my hometown. Part of the shocking truth is realizing that California’s days as a liberal safe spot feel numbered. Even if Los Angeles County offers some reassurance, that’s a thumbprint on a larger pane of glass. It can easily be wiped away with the wrong persuasion… and it feels like that’s become more the norm since. I’m still not sure how to feel that Biden discussed transgender safety laws less than his successor, and that was mostly in a debilitating, downright genocidal manner.
The truth is that part of coming out as asexual has meant having to comprehend the larger scope of the world in ways I hadn’t before. Yes, I’ve always flirted with queer culture and have defended a lot of it since high school. However, I am imperfect, and the nuance was not always there for me. Lately, I’ve sought to do better and support artists who I think are deserving of that expression. More now than ever, there is a need to not lose that sense of hope amid darkness, especially for those who decide to stand boldly against the conversation and promise a greater potential for America. I also accept those who have left the country out of fear.
If anything, my conflicted views of patriotism as a concept right now are at constant war with reality. As much as I see the good in what this country stands for, I can also notice how it falls short, sometimes not even acknowledging the “more perfect union” line. Things are backsliding, and rights are being taken away. Selfishness and arrogance have become more celebrated than diplomacy and compromise. I know you can say it never existed, but it’s impossible to not say it had moments of getting better.
Maybe I bring this all up in self-reflection because I’m ultimately asking… have the five years since made me happier? Let me start by saying, as is evident in the essay, I am not as likely to publicly identify as demisexual anymore. It’s a term I still hold onto, but it feels too complicated to explain, and I say bless your heart to those who put up with the questions anyway. I am asexual, though it feels less indicative of my day-to-day than it probably did at one point. I feel attachment to the flag, yes. I still find comfort in the progress and rainbow varieties as well. However, I am more interested in the artistic expression that these monikers inspire than what feels genuine anymore. I’ve flirted with some other identities as well, but none that have greater substance to comment on at this time.
But yes, I do think that I have been happier now. Part of that is simply the act of slowly recovering from depression and finding ways to better appreciate the minutiae of life. I’m unsure that being ace has everything to do with it, but I think having language has opened chances for more substantial discourse to possibly arise. It’s made me feel less alone, less isolated. It’s also made me appreciate vulnerability more, and while I am in favor of moving media past strictly coming out stories, I do acknowledge that a well-crafted one still hits the sweet spot. I think of Philosophy Tube’s as an especially revolutionary one for me, if just because you notice the artistry alongside the risk.
I would like to think that things get better sooner than later, but it’s hard to say. For now, I like to think that I’m approaching this topic with more candor and experience thrown in. That isn’t to say much has happened to report on, but enough has occurred to make it feel meaningful. I haven’t been to Pride, and I feel like my opinions on kink at Pride are even less researched than before. What I can say is that I see the colors and smiling faces, and wish I saw them more. This story is ultimately one of the self. You’re the one who determines what these ideas mean to you, and I’m happy to discuss them with you. That’s kind of my deal. I’m also taking recommendations on good art or stories. Indulge me sometime.
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