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

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“Is that what asexuality is?”: A qualitative study

on how asexual people understand asexuality

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

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Abstract

In this thesis I set out to examine how asexual people come to understand asexuality through their own experiences and knowledge. Asexuality has only relatively recently come to be understood as a sexual orientation, and its existence challenges the assumption of a universal sex drive. I examined the historical psychological and sexological attitude to not wanting sex and found that it has been in turn pathologized and ignored, rendering asexuality unintelligible in the subsequent couple culture.

I examined the challenges this raises for asexual people by interviewing thirteen asexual-identified people, six of whom were aromantic-identified, recruited mainly through an internet forum for asexual people. I content analysed the interviews. I looked particularly for places where dominant discourses were negotiated, such as discourses of sex as necessary to a romantic relationship and romance as a necessary part of life. I found that asexual people reject and negotiate these discourses differently according to their romantic orientation and what they envision for their own life.

I also examined and where questions were raised regarding asexuality, such as what the precise definition of asexuality is, and what being asexual means to interpersonal relationships and the possibilities for a viable life. I found that in its unintelligible state, existing knowledge structures often fail to provide understanding and new knowledge structures do not (yet) provide all the answers. This affects how asexual people come to understand themselves and the form that their lives can take in the wake of their asexuality and aromanticism.

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Acknowledgements

I want to say thank you to everyone I interviewed for this thesis. You all gave me so much to think about, that I could have written much more, were it not for word limits. I also want to say thank you to my supervisors, Margriet van Heesch and Marci Cottingham for their feedback and support throughout this process.

Finally, I want to thank my support network of friends and family. Saoirse Victeoria for always assuring me I can do this. Rebecca and Charlie P for making sure this thesis makes sense to people who aren’t me. And many thanks to my good friends Alison Jones, Petar Marčeta, Fabio Ferrari and Simone Schneider who gave me a place to belong in a new country.

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You might choose to be with someone because you feel lonely, or you think you have to be, or you think it’s normal. Or because you’re already thirty, so you need to find someone. It’s a social demand. You go to school, enter college and university, start working, you meet someone, you have a family, you retire, you die. This is what we know as life. But I don’t think all lives have to be that way.

I was so excited to hear her speak of the problems I have pondered on, the ones that pushed me to do this thesis. That expected life she describes, of what we should be doing in order to have a ‘good life’. As I approach thirty I find I am yet interested enough in a romantic relationship to put in the effort required. As my school friends have got married and had children, like Rema described, and I have not. What happens if you do not fit that mould? What other paths are available to access the life worth living?

Then, when I started this sociology master’s course, I learnt that Austrian physician Sigmund Freud was one of the prominent figures in shaping ideas of gender and sexuality around the turn of the twentieth century (Schaffner, 2012). Freud’s theory that children are sexual and develop their sexuality from a young age was new to scientific thinking of the time (Schaffner, 2012). Freud went so far as to say that sexual desire is integral to the human psyche, and poor sexual development could affect a person for life (Freud, 1905). He founded psychoanalysis, a psychiatric theory that psychiatrist Joel Paris concluded in a 2017 article still had relevance in some form. Paris specifically mentioning the basic concepts that can be traced back to Freud. The great influence Freud’s line of thinking had made sexuality and sexual desire central to the formation of the person for years to come.

As part of the course I also read American philosopher Donna Haraway (1991). In her essay The Past Is the Contested Zone, she recounts evolutionary sociologists’ use of

chimpanzees as the basis for their theories on the formation of human societies. She shows that they applied what they saw in primates to the mythical evolutionary past of humans, such as there being a dominance hierarchy where males are the most dominant. Haraway further argues that what they saw in primates was shaped by their pre-existing ideas about the way that humans are. They constructed ‘human nature’ as an essentialist explanation of the form that society has taken. Of particular importance here, the evolutionary sociologists viewed the sexual division of labour in reproduction as central to the primates and therefore human

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societies. Haraway criticises their painting of sexual biological differences, the division of labour and the sexual drives, as natural, essential and – in being written into human DNA – unchangeable.

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

1.2 The Questions for This Thesis

I set out to examine how people come to feel that they can’t fulfil the apparently basic requirement of sexual desire. From there, how asexual people negotiate the issues of

definition and uncertainty that is raised by asexuality’s specific history and place as a

challenge to norms. Asexuality as a sexual orientation is a relatively new phenomenon, and is not yet widely known (Carrigan, 2013), which implies that people who consider themselves asexual have had an impetus to seek it out themselves (Robbins et al., 2016). The main research question that I therefore asked is:

How do asexual people come to understand asexuality?

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

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

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

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

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

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

1.3 Methodology of Data Collection and Data Analysis

My research questions required an understanding of the participant’s own views and interpretations in order to be answered. Therefore, my research design was qualitative. I collected data by interviews, which enabled me to follow the participant’s own experiences and feelings, rather than making participants fit my questions. Previous research has been conducted primarily using surveys (Carrigan, 2011; Scherrer, 2008), which allowed for gathering data from a large number of participants, but researchers would not have been able to follow the insights and experiences of each individual in their questioning. My primary source was interviews, and therefore nuanced to the individual’s own understanding of their life, rather than pushed to answer the same set of questions as everyone else. I used elements of grounded theory as described by American sociologist Kathy Charmaz (2006) to analyse and draw conclusions from the data.

I recruited respondents from the forums of The Asexual Visibility & Education Network (AVEN), following their procedures for research recruitment1_{which required I} submit my proposal to the AVEN research committee. It was important to me that I followed their procedure, as I intended for my research to be geared towards the aims of visibility and legitimacy, and away from the historical treatment of asexuality in a pathological sense. I also recruited through my own network via snowball recruitment. Ultimately, I recruited eleven people through AVEN and two through my own network, resulting in a total of thirteen interviews.

My research population was defined as people who identify as asexual. I intended for this to be an inclusive, rather than exclusive definition. My wording on the research call as posted on the AVEN forum was that I was looking for people who identified themselves as asexual, but I also emphasised that I was looking for a variety of experiences, which included grey-asexual, as I wanted to look at both the commonalities that put different experiences in

1_{Rules for Researchers and Students. (2017). Retrieved from}

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the same group, and also the breadth of experience that one group can represent. For my network I merely asked if anyone knew someone who identified as asexual that would be willing to talk to me. Many operationalisations of asexuality (such as Bogaert’s, 2015) which rely on the lack of desire to have sex with another person, result in excluding a section of the asexual community. According to the vocabulary developed on the AVEN forums, there are a variety of different levels of sexuality on the asexual spectrum, such that the straightforward definition of lack of desire does not directly correspond to all in the asexual community. Further, I set out to see things from the participants’ point of view, and imposing my own definition on them was incongruent with that. It was also my goal to be as true as possible to the diversity of human sexual behaviour and feeling.

Ultimately, the participants were those who responded in time for me to interview them, which meant I had the privilege to interview the following group of people. They were aged from eighteen to fifty-three, nine considered themselves female or cisgender women, one agender/female, and three male. Because of the mainly online recruitment, the

nationalities were varied, with four Americans, three Dutch (including the two recruited through my network), two English, one Canadian, one French, one Italian and one Lebanese. Not all were living in their country of nationality. Most were highly educated, with five either having completed or working on a master’s degree, while only two had not attended

university, but had completed, or were completing exams upon leaving school at eighteen. One interviewee was grey-asexual rather than asexual, and the romantic orientations consisted of six aromantic, four heteroromantic, one gay, one pithromantic (a self-created orientation) and one undecided. I have anonymised their information as much as possible. Two of the interviewees were close enough to be interviewed in person, while most interviews were conducted through various internet phone services. The interviews lasted between thirty-five minutes and eighty minutes. Three interviews were conducted via email over the course of my interview period. These methods were chosen according to how comfortable the interviewee would be and considering technological restrictions.

I used a loosely structured interview format to account for the array of life experiences and kinds of asexuality I expected to encounter. The interview schedule was adjusted as my ideas developed and I learned new things from the interviews, as advised by Hennink et al. (2011). I transcribed the interviews during the interview period, most being transcribed within a week of the interview. I did not go into extensive detail on the artefacts of speech, as I was more interested in the words being told to me and the meaning in them. Granted, transcription is not a direct translation of the spoken word, as pointed out by Poland

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(1995), there is an element of interpretation to it, and it is difficult to capture tone in writing. However, as all spoken interviews were recorded, I had the recordings to check the specific tone of an interview section if I was unsure. For the email interviews, I copied the text from my email into a single document. I uploaded the transcripts into atlas.ti for the initial coding. My initial coding was to gather together information on similar topics and themes from all the interviews as suggested by Charmaz (2006). I already had an idea of the general topics, as I had conducted the interviews and introduced the topics. While I was intending on a mainly inductive approach, my interview topics followed both my own questions and potential themes I had seen raised in previous research on asexuality. My analysis was interpretive, in that it was constructing a particular framework with which to view the data, not a direct representation of the situation (Charmaz, 2006).

Even though I was looking for a wide array of asexual experiences, nearly half of the interviewees as aromantic, as in not wanting a romantic relationship at all. This took my research in a direction I did not expect when I started. Over the course of interviewing and coding, my research questions changed as I found themes that seemed more urgent to me than my original question. For my final stage of analysis, I considered the data explicitly in regard to Butler’s (1990; 1993; 2004) concept of intelligibility and discourses that promote sex and romantic relationships. My analysis will be presented in the following chapters. However, in order to examine the texts for these discourses, I first had to identify what those discourses are. In my next section, I shall outline the theoretical concepts and discourses I was looking for.

1.4 Theoretical Concepts

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

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I will also use Butler’s concept of intelligibility (Butler, 1990; 1993; 2004). This is the idea that people who are outside the discourse/regulatory categories become culturally

unintelligible and are denied a subject position. This is effectively a denial of their humanity, and can be painful to experience. I argue that the position of asexuality is in that place of unintelligibility, as outside of the typically known (and intelligible) sexualities. Butler argues that remaining in a place of unintelligibility is important for social action, but also that expecting people to do this difficult work with their lives and selves. Butler questions the simple creation of more categories, as is what AVEN is arguably trying to do for asexuality. However, the term asexuality has come to cover a wide range of human experience such that it remains difficult to operationalise or generalise, it could be argued to be a quest for

visibility in their unintelligibility.

I will approach asexuality as a currently unintelligible place to be. I will look into how these interviewees manage it in their lives, and what made them feel that they fell outside of other categories. The next section will look at asexuality as a sexual orientation; a more recent way of understanding a lack of wanting sex than I have so far looked at.

1.5 Asexuality as a Sexual Orientation

The simplicity with which ‘human nature’ has been constructed, as examined by Haraway (1991) leaves a lot to be desired and challenging that is important for the viability of many different ways of living. It is important to allow these different ways of living because, as discussed, there are people who do not fit the current expectations embedded in the norms of a culture that favours sexual desire. For an inclusive society – such as I want to live in – the more possibilities for living that are uncovered, the better.

For asexual people in particular, it is important because, as a population, they are not often taken into consideration. The Asexuality Visibility and Education Network (AVEN) has existed for over 15 years, started by David Jay, an asexual person himself, and now run by and for asexuals and people who want to know more about asexuality. Its aim is clear in the title: to increase the visibility of asexuality and educate people about it. By doing so, they hope to increase the legitimacy and acceptance of asexuality as a sexual orientation. The front page of AVEN is the first result on Google when searching for ‘asexuality’ and contains the definition of an asexual person as “a person who does not experience sexual attraction”. This prominence of AVEN is therefore influential in informing people’s understanding (Carrigan, 2013; Chasin, 2015; Robbins et al, 2016). On the Frequently Asked Questions page, AVEN explicitly excludes celibates from asexuality, as they choose to not engage in sex in spite of

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their desire to, rather than not having the desire at all. Asexuality is not defined by not having sex, but by not having an internal impetus to have sex with another person.

The AVEN site includes forums for discussion to which anyone can sign up, a wiki with further definitions and explanations, and a place for researchers to place research calls. AVEN takes an active role in creating knowledge of asexuality, and therefore is able to exercise some power in shaping that knowledge. This is not a bad thing, as with a

Foucauldian understanding, all knowledge is shaped by groups that have an interest in the subject (Foucault, 1978), and I shall go on to show in chapter two the previous knowledge and discourse surrounding asexuality of which AVEN is critical.

AVEN is not synonymous with the asexual community, although it forms part of it; there are other online resources for asexual people, such as groups on Tumblr and Facebook. However, AVEN is the most prominent, and devoted solely to asexuality and asexual people. Not all asexual people agree with AVEN or find it useful. However, it holds a prominent place in the creation of asexual identity, not least because it actively facilitates scientific study and discussion, and is where much asexual vocabulary was formed (Chu, 2014; Robbins et al., 2016). The AVEN forums are not a place of unanimous agreement, though, and discussion and disagreements are had on where the boundaries of asexuality lie, although the forums are moderated and there are rules on what can and cannot be said. What I am trying to say is that AVEN has been and still is important for the formation of asexual as a sexual orientation, but it is not the only resource for asexual people and it is not uncontested, even between people who use the site.

CJ DeLuzio Chasin (2013), social psychologist and self-identified asexual, gives the community’s definition of asexuality as “a lack of sexual attraction combined with one's identification as asexual” (p.405) I find this the most useful definition among many in

academic research as it contains a basic description of the lack of sexual attraction that can be easily understood, but also precludes anyone pressing the label of ‘asexual’ on an unwilling (or unknowing) person. Asexuality can also be understood as part of a spectrum, from asexual to sexual. This understanding means that there are people between asexual and allosexual, termed grey-asexual, who do experience sexual attraction sometimes, or in specific circumstances. Grey-asexuals are welcome in the AVEN community, which as an example, shows that the simple definition given on the front page is more of a starting point to understanding asexuality than the final destination.

There is discussion over whether or not asexuality should be considered a sexual orientation. The AVEN website refers to asexuality as a sexual orientation, and is how I use it

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

I intend for my research to support the aims of AVEN by treating asexuality as a legitimate state of being that should be respected, and by adding to the body of work that dispels mystery and myths surrounding asexuality. It was with this in mind that I shaped my own research.

1.6 Roadmap to the Future

The rest of my thesis will be laid out as follows. Chapter two will be answer my first sub-question: How do different areas of academia approach, define and situate the topic? I will examine the historical discourses surrounding asexuality or historical equivalents. I will then review the existing academic literature on asexuality and the research that has already been conducted, and consider the theoretical concepts in more detail.

Chapter three will answer my first sub-question: How do asexual people relate to the

dominant romantic and sexual discourses? I will examine the way in which the interviewees

relate to the discourses of sexual and romantic relationships, be it to reject, refute, or accept. Chapter four will answer my second sub-question: How do asexual people negotiate

uncertainties in their definitions of and surrounding asexuality? I will examine the

uncertainties involved with asexuality, and the way in which the interviewees navigate them. I will also begin to question the ability of language to encompass human experience and whether strict definitions are a useful goal, or even possible.

Chapter five will answer my main question: How do asexual people come to

understand asexuality? I will do this by bringing together details from the previous two

chapters, and the areas that are clearer to the interviewees, along with the areas that raise more questions than answers.

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Chapter Two – Previous Research

2.1 How Has Asexuality Been Understood Within Academia?

That, as anything, depends on what is considered to be ‘asexuality’, and what part of academia is looked at. AVEN was only established in 2001, and while not synonymous with the current formation of asexuality, it is a good measure that the sexual orientation

understanding of asexuality is relatively recent. However, the current formation of asexuality is not the only way that not wanting sex has been understood, and how it was previously understood informs both current understanding and general attitudes.

To keep the scope of my review both manageable and relevant, I will not go further back than the late nineteenth century, though instances of people having no desire to have sex undoubtedly exist previous to this. In picking this particular timeframe, I am following French philosopher Foucault’s argument from his book History of Sexuality (1978). He theorised that this particular period is when discourse surrounding sexuality was no longer controlled by religious institutions, but concerted effort was put into the scientific

(psychiatric) discourse of sexuality, which allowed for state control of the population’s sexuality. As a single-language speaker, I have only been able to read texts either written or translated into English, meaning that I am both reliant on the interpretation of the translator and unable to comment on untranslated texts in other languages.

In this chapter I will content analyse and compare the historical canon of dominant knowledge in psychology, psychiatry and sexology through the works of Krafft-Ebing, Freud and Kinsey. Then I will move to how asexuality has been understood after AVEN was established. As part of this previous writing, it will become clear how asexuality has been viewed by different disciplines within academia, particularly psychiatry’s pathologization of non-normative sexual desire, and how the burgeoning cluster of asexuality studies argues differently. As part of my conversation with previous research, I shall lay out my approach to defining asexuality, because when it comes to measurement and study, a definition can change the outcome. I will also expand upon my theoretical basis to give a clear indication of where I started from in my writing of this thesis and analysis of the interviews. I will also explain in more depth the specific discourses that I was looking for.

2.2 The Pathologization of Not Wanting Sex

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

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sexual desire. The way in which not wanting sex has historically been treated is important to identify the root of attitudes towards asexuality. Particularly as not wanting sex and

asexuality can be considered to be the same thing. None of the theorists I refer to used the term ‘asexual’ to describe humans, therefore I will present their thinking as it pertains to not wanting sex.

As argued by Foucault (1978) throughout the chapter Scientia Sexualis, physicians and psychologists in the nineteenth century categorised sexual behaviour into licit and illicit, pathologizing the latter. Power and knowledge of sexuality was moved away from the church confessional and into the walls of asylums and doctors’ offices. Pathologies were identified in people in order to bring them under the control of the medical establishment, with a view to fixing them to become socially acceptable people. What is socially acceptable is both

culturally and historically specific, and in nineteenth century Europe, non-reproductive sexual acts were deemed deviant (Oosterhuis, 2000). Foucault further argued in the chapter

Deployment of Sexuality that the concept of sexuality is an historically specific discursive

tactic to enable the creation of knowledge (categories and pathologies) to aid in the exercise of certain power relations. What was formerly understood as separate sexual acts came to be understood as a sexuality intrinsic to the individual, a part of identity.

In 1886, Austro-German physician and psychiatrist, Richard von Krafft-Ebing, published the first edition of Psychopathia Sexualis, what he called a ‘reference book’ of sexual pathologies. Dutch historian Harry Oosterhuis (2000) wrote a biography of Krafft-Ebing’s life and work, and outlines the methods Krafft-Ebing used to inform Psychopathia

Sexualis. Krafft-Ebing used patients from the asylums where he worked as his examples,

asylums which at that time had become, “a last resort for paupers, beggars, the disabled, the elderly, demented patients and those who were a nuisance or danger to society” (Oosterhuis, 2000: 79). Only once his fame had grown following the publication of Psychopathia Sexualis did middle-class patients and members of the public self-report their problems to him for his interpretation and inclusion in later editions of his book. The final sections of the book are dedicated to advice on how sexual deviants should be treated by the law, as in at what point they should be treated for illness rather than punished for behaviour. This is an example of how conclusions drawn from people already assessed as deviants within society were applied to society at large, and with consequences for treatment under law.

Krafft-Ebing explains that he studied sexual life because it is the base on which much of civilisation is built. To this end, he begins Psychopathia Sexualis with the following:

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The propagation of the human race is […] guaranteed by the hidden laws of nature which are enforced by a mighty, irresistible impulse. […] If man were deprived of sexual distinction, […] all poetry and probably all moral tendency would be eliminated from his life. Sexual life no doubt is the one mighty factor […] which disclose his powers of activity, of acquiring property, of establishing a home, of awakening altruistic sentiments towards a person of the opposite sex, and towards his own issue [and] the whole human race (Krafft-Ebing, 1906:1).

From the first lines of the book, the sexual impulse is presented as an essential part of human life, as a base from which come creative endeavours, morality and altruism. What is it, then, to be without this irresistible impulse that is the impetus for all higher human endeavours? Krafft-Ebing did not use the word asexuality, but did describe anaesthesia sexualis as an absence of sexual instinct, resulting in functionally sexless individuals. This is separate from celibacy, which Krafft-Ebing characterises as an exercise of will to redirect the sexual instinct, not an absence of it. Anaesthesia sexualis allegedly appears in people who always have other bodily or psychical defects, thus presenting the assurance that people without sexual impulse are malformed and not fully functioning humans. Krafft-Ebing presents eight cases of anaesthesia sexualis, some of which uphold his claims, but many of which refute that they would be deficient humans. Clearly, this never pushed him to change his theory

throughout the twelve editions of Psychopathia Sexualis. He wrote from a position of authority, with his power of knowledge as it became accepted by the medical establishment. He described an ‘inherent nature’ of his patients who either submitted themselves or were submitted through criminal proceedings to his expertise. From there, his patients were treated in whatever manner his expertise deemed fit.

Austrian psychiatrist Sigmund Freud also wrote on the importance of sex in his Three

Essays on the Theory of Sexuality in 1905. He took a different tack to Krafft-Ebing and other

prominent writers of the day by saying that a genital (sexual) drive is apparent in infants and children, as well as adults (Freud, 1905). He does not disagree with Krafft-Ebing that sexual drives are central to the formation of morality and essential emotions, but Freud’s approach muddied the boundary between what was normal, and what was abnormal. He theorised the abnormal as a misdirection of a normal drive, and that it was culture, education and a good upbringing that resulted in a ‘normal’ heterosexual impulse.

However, in theorising a sexual drive in all people at all stages of life, there is even less room for people without a sexual drive. For Freud, sexuality is central to human psycho-social development, and asexuality can only be understood as a sublimated or redirected sex drive. The assumption of the universality of a sex drive is such that a person without one is theoretically impossible. Austro-British philosopher Karl Popper (1974/2005: 44) criticised

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Freudian theory for being unfalsifiable due to the ways that unconscious (and therefore unknowable) processes can be used to explain behaviours that would otherwise disprove the theory. So a person claiming to not want to engage in sexual activity is easily treated as not knowing their unconscious desires and therefore the centrality of sexuality to the human psyche is not challenged. Kristian Kahn (2014) states that valid psychoanalytic inquiry into asexuality is thus prevented.

American biologist, Alfred Kinsey, oversaw a project to conduct interviews with a representative sample of the American population in the 1940s, about peoples’ sexual experiences. From his results, he published his book Sexual Behaviour of the Human Male (Kinsey et al., 1948) in which he put forward the idea of sexuality as a spectrum rather than a binary, from heterosexual to homosexual. A conception of sexuality that leaves no room for people to not engage in it. This is not because he did not find people who had not engaged in sexuality, but rather upon finding them, he did not go into any further examination of them. The only mention is in his statistical tables where he explains “percent shown as ‘X’ have no socio-sexual contacts or reactions” (p.656). Group ‘X’ included people of all ages, such as those generally considered too young to have experienced socio-sexual contacts, so I would not consider this group a direct correlate of asexuality. However, it is indicative that the potential of asexuality has been overlooked by sex research.

The overlooking is representative of the attitude to low sexual desire for much of the twentieth century (Przybylo, 2013). It appeared again in the American Psychological

Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders III (1980) (DSM III) as Inhibited Sexual Desire. Using ‘inhibition’ tells of an assumed universal sexual desire; the only way someone would not desire sex was because their natural sexual desire was being inhibited (Emens, 2014). The DSM III was revised in 1987 and the Inhibited Sexual Desire was replaced by Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder. The changed wording still implies that there is a normative level of sexual desire that was not being reached for a reason that could be found and fixed. This reasoning can be traced back to Krafft-Ebing and his declaration that people with sexual anaesthesia are always deficient in some other way as well, that a lack of sexual instinct is indicative of a problem elsewhere. Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder persisted into DSM IV (1994) and the subsequent revision DSM-IV-TR (2000). The DSM-5 (2013) split the diagnosis into Male Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder and Female Sexual Interest-Arousal Disorder, which I will take a closer look at now, as a representation of the current psychological thinking regarding a below normative desire for sex.

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gives a chance to look at the specific gendered expectations of the acceptable level of sexual desire. For women, the arousal is included in the diagnosis as women’s bodies are

acknowledged as harder to sexually arouse than men’s.2_{It is also specifically mentioned that} some men prefer their partner to make the first move, which is apparently strange enough to require instructions to not pathologize this preference. There is no such note for women, revealing that men are expected to be the sexual aggressor. In both diagnoses the ‘lack’ of sexual desire is seen as a potential bodily/hormonal problem, or a psychological problem. Either way, it is a problem to be fixed in order for the person to return to a ‘normal’ state of desiring sex, and implies that if a person can be sexual, they should be (Flore, 2014). Unless the person is elderly or post-menopausal, in those cases a lack of sexual desire is expected and does not require treatment. From just a brief look at the diagnosis criteria it is clear that sexual expectations are both gendered and aged. American sociologist Eunjung Kim (2011) argues that the pathologizing of asexuality is linked to disability; that disabled people are desexualised in order to dehumanise and therefore pathologizing asexuality strengthens the link between sexuality and humanity.

Following pressure from the AVEN, the American Psychological Association has added the self-identification of asexuality as an exception to the diagnoses of Male

Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder and Female Sexual Interest-Arousal Disorder. Thus, an uneasy truce between acceptance and pathologizing is created, where potentially, if not for this self-labelling, a person would instead be viewed as needing to be ‘fixed’. However there remains a problem with the requirement of ‘clinically significant distress’ for diagnosis, because this assumes that identifying as asexual results in a lack of distress about being asexual. This is despite the cultural conditions of assumed sexuality and subsequent

expectations that presumably caused the person to seek out asexuality in the first place. It also requires that the person has been exposed to the possibility of asexuality, which is not a guarantee, as it has been frequently stated that asexuality is not generally well-known

(Carrigan, 2011) hence AVEN having Visibility as part of its goal. Having given a brief look at the pathologization of not wanting sex, I will move onto the academic literature that arose in the wake of asexuality as a sexual orientation.

2.3 Non-Pathologization: Another Way to Understand Not Having Sex

AVEN is widely credited with raising the visibility of asexuality following

establishment 2001. Cerankowski and Milks (2010) give it credit for its help in research and

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highlight the following academic efforts to separate asexuality from Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder, starting with psychologist Anthony Bogaert’s study in 2004.

Bogaert was interested in establishing the prevalence of asexuality, which he did by analysing data from a 1994 survey of the British population. He considered anyone who answered as having never had sexual attraction to either men or women as being asexual and concluded that around 1% of the British population was asexual. The methodological

problems with this include: the original survey was not about asexuality, and the definition of asexuality restricts it to only people who have never experienced sexual attraction. However, he is not seeking to liken asexuality to a state that requires treatment. He continued on writing about asexuality and eventually published an article in 2015 arguing for asexuality to be recognised as a sexual orientation; a big change from the historical psychological treatment of asexual behaviour. Trying to identify the points of divergence between self-identified asexuality and pathologies of low sexual desire has been a consistent point of investigation among other psychologists and sexologists as well (Prause and Graham, 2007; Brotto et al. 2010; Hinderliter, 2013; Brotto and Yule, 2016; Chasin, 2017).

An intriguing observation made in previous research is that asexuality challenges assumptions of the sexual norm that all healthy people direct sexual desire towards other people (Scherrer, 2008; Cerankowski and Milks, 2010; Chasin, 2011; Przybylo, 2011). Asexuality challenges the connection between romantic relationships and sex, as not wanting sex does not preclude wanting a romantic partner, and in Western culture the ideal is that the both go together, and behaviour outside of those norms are stigmatised (Przybylo, 2011). This assumption is often held even in sexually progressive places, such as LGBTQI+3 associations, where being in a romantic relationship still includes the norm of being sexual within that relationship (Cerankowski and Milks, 2010).

Carrigan (2013) argues that the assumption of sexual desire has affected previous research, particularly psychological research that uses research instruments and

questionnaires that carry the assumption that everyone desires sex. This contributes to the lack of knowledge and visibility about asexuality, though I argue that any quantification of asexuality with psychological constructs misses a lot of what asexuality has come to mean within the community. Gender studies scholar Erica Chu (2014) lists the ways in which asexuality pushes for reconsideration of what ‘sexuality’ includes. Aside from differentiating

3_{I do not include A for Asexuality explicitly in the acronym because of the trouble some interviewees had with}

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between sexual and romantic orientation, they argue that preferences of physical and emotional intimacy are separate, as well as attitudes towards sexual activity both alone and with other people. They argue that these different preferences and orientations are normally hidden behind a general understanding of what sexuality is, and that in its diversity,

asexuality prompts this questioning that sexual orientation is the only category that matters.

4

Asexuality as a concept challenges these norms, but not all asexual people do.

Asexual people can desire a romantic relationship, or not, and asexual people in relationships can engage in every level of physical intimacy. Though there are those who do not wish to engage in either romantic relationships or sexual activities (and may be ‘sex-repulsed’) there are others who are willing and even want to do both. Prause and Graham (2007) described it as shifting the motivation for sex from an internal ‘sex drive’ to an external motivation out of care for a sexual (as in not-asexual) partner or, for example, in order to start a family.

American law scholar Elizabeth Emens conducted the first and so far, only

consideration of the interaction between the law and asexuality, in 2014. Very little has been done as of yet with the law in regard to asexuality, though asexuality is protected from discrimination under New York law. It was also explicitly mentioned in a 2012 information document about UK government plans to tackle hate crime, but was not mentioned in a 2016 re-issue of that document with the change in government.5 Emens also uses asexuality to show where the existence of human sexuality is presumed in US law. She has some spurious

4_{Retrieved from: https://www.maldenblueandgold.com/2015/04/asexuality-the-rise-of-sexual-minorities/} 5_{Compare the 2012 version}

(https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/97850/e

asy-read-hate-crime-action-plan.pdf) with the 2016 version

(https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/553619/

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claims about sex-indifferent asexual people and their take on the special status sex has under law, that I would rather hear opinions on from sex-indifferent people. However, her point that the special status of sex under law can reinforce sex’s special status within society, rather than just reflect it, still stands.

Not all researchers agree with the ‘radical’ aspect of asexuality. British sociologists Matt Dawson, Liz MacDonnell and Susie Scott (2018) prioritised lived experience over conceptualising asexuality and so conducted their own study to examine how asexuality affects the intimate relationships of asexual people. Dawson et al. conclude that asexuality is not as radical as previous research has argued that it is, because asexual people negotiate intimacy and relationships within already existing structures and do not challenge them. That is to say, asexual people negotiate having or not having sex within relationships much the same as anyone else does. I argue that this is a misreading of ‘radical potential’; potential is not always realised. Further, that in adhering to a symbolic interactionist approach, Dawson et al. miss the power of structure to restrict some ways of living and enable others. Or the way that discourse and knowledge can close off possibilities by making them

incomprehensible. As Butler (2004) puts it, if you are not seen as human (if to be human is to desire sex) then no viable life will exist for you to live as you are. Next I shall outline my own approach to asexuality in this thesis.

2.4 What is Asexuality?

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

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The second part of my definition is the self-identification, which follows Chasin’s (2013) compelling argument that self-identification is a way to let people choose their own identity in or out of the community. Self-identification is often left out of the definition, which raises several issues for me. Is it right to identify someone as something against their will? Moreover, with asexuality being far from universally known, people may not identify as asexual simply because they have not heard of the term. Self-identification is indicative of knowledge and an inclination towards questioning sexual norms rather than questioning the non-sexual self. Although identifying asexual and being at peace with being asexual do not go hand in hand. While Dawson et al. (2017) argued for the inclusion of people who do not explicitly identify as asexual in their study, for me it is awkward to include their experiences as the same as asexual experiences, as it both categorises them as asexual when they do not see themselves as such, and denies any experiential differences produced by the differing self-concepts. As Chasin (2017) explains, ‘asexual-identified’ and ‘absence of sexual

attraction’ are ontologically different. My definition of asexuality and that of the interviewees may not be the same.

It may seem that I am avoiding pinning down my definitions, and that is correct. I intend to represent the asexual people that were kind enough to give up their time and energy to speak with me, not define them according to my terms. I intend to preserve that diversity of experience and human expression in my study, as it is important that I do not present this as yet another dichotomy, or a simple category into which humans can be sorted. It is not part of my project to neatly categorise humanity, but to examine the edges, and therefore it would be against my interests to treat asexuality, or any human experience, as if it is simple enough to be reduced to a yes/no answer.

2.5 Intelligibility: is Asexuality a Viable Life?

In this section I shall explain in more detail my theoretical groundwork and show how it both ties in the with the review of previous literature, and how I argue it is relevant as a theoretical lens for asexuality. As shown in the literature review, the history of academic text on sexuality, and certainly sociological academic texts, is neither long nor extensive.

Combined with the general lack of consideration to asexuality in other institutions, this has led to a dearth of theory that explicitly considers the case of asexuality. Not to say that there is no applicable theory, just that I am using it in the mindset that it was most likely not created with asexuality in mind.

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intelligibility, which runs through her thinking. She mainly writes with gender and sexual minorities in mind, so not everything she has written is applicable to asexuality. I am using intelligibility as the most applicable of Butler’s concepts with what I want to look at with asexuality. Being intelligible means being understandable to others within society, and by societal institutions. A person becomes intelligible through taking on identities (such as gender), and there are only certain identities available according to societal norms. There is no intelligible way of living outside of these identities (Butler, 1990). For Butler, it is the norms surrounding gender and sexuality that are the most pressing in the matter of

intelligibility. She takes it further, in that the identities that are understood are the ones that ‘matter’, and they are created through rejection of other identities and ways of being (Salih, 2002, p.76).

Being understood means being understood as a full human by wider society, where a human is the most important in the hierarchy of ‘lives that matter’. This is not human in the biological taxonomical meaning of the word, but rather an accepted societal concept of what is the proper human life (Butler, 2004). A human life that does not procreate is an

evolutionary dead end and potentially pointless. It is here that the relevance to asexuality becomes clear. Under the evolutionary discourse – a discourse that is used to justify societal norms regarding which lives are the most important – an asexual person who does not have a ‘drive’ to engage in sexual activity does not meet the criteria of a full human.

Therefore the act of creating a category into which to fit does not solve the problem of finding a liveable life, as that requires changing the grounds for what is considered human. Butler argues that maintaining unintelligibility can be useful in this;

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

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

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in an asexual or aromantic way requires that these norms are questioned.

Chasin (2015) approaches asexuality as unintelligible, and posits the creation of new vocabulary and ways of understanding orientation (separating romantic from sexual) as ways of asexual people making their lives and feelings intelligible. Chasin argues by doing so, they create possibilities for themselves to live in these newly understandable ways. Butler admits that to be unintelligible is painful, but that creating categories and therefore new conditions over which people can be barred from these categories, is not a cut and dry solution to the problem (2004). I do not make it my job to decide what path the asexual community or asexual individuals should take, but to represent the issues as they have been told to me.

To help me show that asexuality is not fully intelligible, I will now look at concepts that have been examined by other sociologists. They are describing discourses used to justify certain social norms that are potentially in conflict with an asexual way of life (that is, a life that does not desire sexual contact with others). For this, I move on to the idea of couple culture.

2.6 The Privilege of the Sexual Couple

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

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

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

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One of the interviewees, Anna, introduced me to a book American philosopher Elizabeth Brake wrote in 2011, Minimizing Marriage: Marriage, Morality and the Law. Brake introduces the concept of amatonormativity which is similar to Budgeon’s Couple Culture, though Brake’s concept is modelled explicitly on heteronormativity. Therefore, Brake argues of a pervasive expectation and structuring around having a single, primarily important, amorous and sexual relationship. Heteronormativity, being the expectation and privileging of a heterosexual lifestyle, also includes the expectation of a monogamous sexual relationship. However, it is largely used to question the restrictions that are put on gender and sexual activity, emphasising the kinds of gender and sexual expression that can exist outside of heterosexual relationships. Amatonormativity, on the other hand, emphasises the

privileging of sexual and romantic relationships over others in a way that is more explicitly applicable to asexuality and aromanticism, though ultimately both could be applied.

Both of these concepts highlight not just how sex is expected, but also romantic partnerships are more valued than other relationships. Budgeon and Shelley both argue that it is detrimental to those who cannot, have not, or do not want to engage in a romantic

relationship. New Zealand sociologist Tiina Vares’ (2018) published an article detailing how difficult her asexual participants found dating when they did not want to have sex. Given the connection sex has to romance in the cultural understanding, this is unsurprising. It is also why a hierarchy of relationships that puts romantic partners at the top can disproportionately affect even romantic asexual people. While both concepts are applicable and describing essentially the same mechanism, I will use couple culture throughout my thesis for clarity. 2.7 Conclusion

To conclude this chapter, I shall summarise what I have said here. Firstly, I have shown that the state of having no desire to have sex has been historically pathologized, if it has been mentioned at all. Pathologization reinforces the idea that having sex and sexual relationships is normal, and not wanting to means that something is wrong. The other historical reaction has been to overlook the existence of people who do not desire to have sexual relationships; to assume that such a thing does not happen. This has led to (or resulted from, or a combination of the two) a lack of legitimacy for asexuality. To be asexual was to either not exist in the cultural milieu, or to need to change. The same can be said for

aromanticism, perhaps even to a greater degree, as asexuals who are romantic can still desire a romantic relationship, though with potentially more difficulty than a non-asexual person.

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

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Chapter Three – Asexual Certainties

3.1 Asexuality as Different from the Norm

I interviewed Angela, a 53-year-old from the USA, by email. She immediately came across as someone who takes no nonsense. From the start she used her age to debunk myths about asexual people being too young to know themselves, her health and activities to show that asexual people are not ill or broken. I had not even started to ask about asexuality and she was already getting straight to the point. When I did ask about her asexuality, she told me, “I've been asexual and aromantic all my life, so that would be slightly more than half a century... I just did not know that it "had a name."

She had known herself as different from expectations of her for years, and for longer than asexuality as a sexual orientation has existed. Asexual discourse is not what caused Angela to reject sexual and romantic norms. So how did the process of coming to identify as asexual start? I posit that it begins with a dissatisfaction in the prescribed sexual and romantic expectations. Therefore the question to be answered this chapter is: how do asexual people

relate to sexual and romantic discourses?

That is to say, the ways in which they came to realise they may not agree or meet with sexual or romantic expectations, as Angela did. The one point of similarity among all people who identify as asexual is that they have found reason in their lives to identify as asexual. It seems obvious, but with the oft-mentioned diversity of asexuality, it and undeniable point of similarity.

The aspect of asexuality that I shall tackle in this chapter are the parts of identifying that are more certain. I shall do this through a content analysis of the interviews, showing where the interviewees have encountered sexual and romantic discourses, and how they negotiated them. Discourse in itself is not an inherently good or bad thing, but essentially a way of understanding; an understanding that is conveyed through language. In simple terms, it comes down to how the interviewees relate to the accepted ways of thinking about sexual and romantic life. The specific ideas that I have considered as part of these discourses are that which I laid out in the previous chapter: that being sexual is natural, and not being sexual is unnatural, and that the ideal in life is to have one romantic partner who is more important than all other relationships.

Firstly, I will describe where the difficulties already begin, as asexuality is the commonality among the interviewees, but they are otherwise different. I will outline a

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

3.2 Which Discourse Affects Whom?

As mentioned previously, one aspect of the asexual discourse is teasing apart sex from romance. This means that being asexual does not necessarily lead to not wanting a romantic relationship. Part of the asexual discourse is that sexual orientation (who you are sexually attracted to) is different from romantic orientation (who you are romantically attracted to). Romantic orientations follow the gender-attraction logic of orientations as in heteroromantic meaning attracted to the opposite gender, homoromantic meaning attracted to the same gender and so on. Therefore, it is possible to see how a hypothetical asexual person could completely accept a discourse of romance – having one true love to whom they are devoted above all else to the end of their days – while refuting that sex is a necessary and natural component of that relationship. However, six out of the thirteen interviewees I spoke to explicitly identified as aromantic, which in turn affects how they relate to both sexual and romantic discourses. But first, I must answer the most obvious question that aromanticism raises.

What is aromanticism? Not nearly as much scholarly thought has been put into answering the question of what aromanticism is as has gone into asexuality. For now, I shall follow the implications of the naming convention and say: aromanticism is to romantic orientation what asexuality is to sexual orientation. So, to take from my working definition of asexuality, I will say that aromanticism is both having a below-normative desire for a

romantic relationship and identifying as aromantic. Romantic orientations are used primarily by the asexual community as part of dividing the sex from romance where they are assumed to go together. The previous research on asexual romantic orientations has often been about negotiating physical intimacy with sexual partners, or about asexuality with little thought to differences in romantic orientation. I have not found any that concentrates specifically on aromanticism. Therefore, very little research has been done into the specific issues encountered by aromantics.

3.3 Discovery Stories: Deciding on Asexuality

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

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similarities and differences between each of them. Not all the interviewees are represented here, because I unfortunately lack the space, so I have chosen a representative selection of quotes that show the full range of experiences I encountered. The often late discovery of asexuality results in an opportunity to see the difference in understanding between people who know of asexuality and people who do not. It shows that self-concept can change when choosing asexuality, or even just in finding out that it is an available choice. I am aware of the discourse that sexual orientation (including asexuality) is not a choice, but I hold that the act of deciding to take on the label even if it is not openly, is a choice. I intend ‘choice’ to emphasise the individual agency, not to imply that asexuality and the feelings that lead to or stem from it are not real.

There are two broad themes in the discovery stories: firstly, people who decided their sexuality after sexual and romantic experience, and secondly, people who came to it without that experience. I will start with the cases of people testing out their sexuality. I spoke with Camilla over Skype, a 34-year-old Canadian cis woman. She is asexual and aromantic, though had only come to describe herself as such in the last three years. She told me,

It took me a while to come to identify as asexual and it took actually trying things out and having experiences, because I had always assumed that when I get around to it I’ll enjoy having sex and enjoy having a sex life. There were various things that stopped me from pursuing that for a while. I either thought that I was not attractive enough, or I had too high standards, so I couldn’t find anyone. But when those didn’t apply anymore, I still didn’t want to have sex, it just did nothing for me.

Her assumption that she would enjoy sex when she had it shows the power that discourse has in shaping the expectations people have for themselves. She also displays many reasons the discourse provides as explanations for why she may not meet the expectations: that she was not meeting standards or that others weren’t meeting her standards. The use of ‘too high’ standards then implies that her standards should be lowered in order to experience the

ultimate goal of sex. This places the sexual experience above personal feeling, which must be adjusted in order to achieve sex. Then, once sex is achieved it will be enjoyable, because it is understood to be universally enjoyable. However, once Camilla eventually experienced sex, and on multiple occasions, she found it did not meet the expectations that had been instilled in her. The failure of the discourse to provide a good enough reason to Camilla for why she still was not enjoying sex led her to re-evaluate and ultimately reject the idea that the discourse is applicable to her, or the best way to understand her experience.

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

I [used] a dating site and I had dates with three boys. But I thought no, this isn’t it. And I also wasn’t like, “Okay, now I am going to date some women.” I didn’t feel that I wanted to go further.

TJ mentions being a lesbian passingly here as a possibility once she didn’t feel ‘it’ when dating the boys. She tried to find an understanding that fit with her experience. Sara and Becca also considered being gay when they found that the idea of heterosexual dating was not provoking the ‘correct’ feelings in them. It is a process of interpellation, of looking at the existing categories and trying to fit themselves in. If not heterosexual, then homosexual. If not heterosexual or homosexual, then what? TJ explained where she encountered asexuality,

I read about [asexuality] and thought maybe this is what I am. There was also a programme on the TV with some asexual people who wanted to explain about their lives. In the same year my mother also found an article in the newspaper about asexuality and she said, “Oh, maybe this is you.” I thought yeah, I see a lot of things where I think that’s me. It was a process. I was really thinking about it because you see in your surroundings that people have boyfriends, or girlfriends, people ask you about it. I don’t care, I just want to have fun in life.

Only after TJ discovered asexuality could she take it as a third option to homo- or

heterosexuality. But it is still not an easy answer to accept when surrounded by people who are in relationships and who expect her to want to get into a relationship. She is undecided as to her romantic orientation because for her, to say she is aromantic would be too final, and would shut off the possibility of falling in love later in life. But she still is not looking to engage in romance and sexuality on other people’s terms. Being asexual gives her a frame of reference with which to understand that, and acknowledgement that there is a place for that.

Rema is a 28-year-old Italian, and she raised the idea of wanting to be sure before committing to the asexual and aromantic orientation as well.

I’ve kind of always known it. But a few years ago, I decided to start a relationship, which confirmed to me that I was asexual and aromantic, because the relationship was horrible and was quite a mess. It was just like, giving myself this last opportunity to confirm what I was.

Despite tentatively knowing that she was not interested in sex or relationships, she still felt the need to test herself in a sexual relationship before deciding. As an explanation for why she needed to test, she said, “I didn’t want to admit it, or I was hoping for some other explanation.” There is a stigma to identifying as different to other people, and potential difficulty in changing that aspect of self-concept and what it means for the future, when so much of an expected future life can be tied up in having a partner. Therefore, Rema tested the

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