Let’s start with something very clear: I am queer. The intent of this essay is not to recall my path to get here, but I find it helpful for context to state that I have not always given myself permission to say this; I am, however, past that point, and know more about myself and queerness than I did when the criteria set by cishet self-appointed admissions officers was at the front of my mind. Fuck that shit. I am aromantic. I am asexual. I am nonbinary (another essay, another day). I am queer.
The late great bell hooks is widely quoted among queer online circles all the time, most especially during Pride season, with her excellent breakdown of what the word “queer” really means:
“‘Queer' not as being about who you're having sex with (that can be a dimension of it); but 'queer' as being about the self that is at odds with everything around it and that has to invent and create and find a place to speak and to thrive and to live.”
This goes beyond the idea of “gay” that cishet society has conceded to package into an acceptable concept of white slightly gender-bending cis folks always happy to help the hets. It goes beyond “transgender” as in what used to be called a “sex change” (which are different things!) from one side of a binary to another after acceptable medical intervention that makes a person moderately “convincing” to the eyes and ears of people never inclined to accept them anyway. This quote, this concept, recognizes many more dimensions of what makes our inner selves something actively pushing against external forces to maintain an existence of self-acknowledgement.
Among those external forces:
These are things commonly heard by asexual and/or aromantic people. They’re even heard by me, a grown-ass aro ace person who does not bother formally coming out to people and tries to tune out what they say anyway. At more vulnerable times when I was attempting to demonstrate how undetrimental my social deformities were in the achievement of the default life, these types of comments made me loathe myself for what I wasn’t capable of. In romance it was never something I wanted to live up to – I’ve been repulsed by the idea of emotionally connecting with One True Partner since very early on in my personal development – but in sex I felt I had too many other points to prove. This delays self-realization, hinders exploration, and denies people exemption from compulsory heterosexuality – all things that are present in the struggles of queerness.
If monogamous heterosexual bonding is required to make a person whole (as is implied by the importance of marriage, and particularly weddings, where two people expensively promise to live up to the expectations of attendees, including their god) then aro ace people are especially targeted by that tactic. The economic necessity for a nuclear family, whether two working spouses for a dual income or enough children to provide elder care later on where society refuses to provide it, leaves single people, who are disproportionately represented among aro ace folks, vulnerable to poverty. Adaptations and cooperation for survival and support, no matter the depth of emotional connections (which should not even be necessary), are invalidated both socially and legally, and can only continue to exist in the margins of what counts as the family sphere.
“Virginity” is such a vague and void concept with very little to do with coming of age, and yet we use it against people who have other things with which to concern themselves in their day-to-day lives (and what those may be does not concern anyone else). It was a currency of cultural capital in periods of time when daughters were commodities, and a promise of their purity made the difference in whether they’d become a wife or a concubine. There are too many types of sex to hold this concept to any practical value; it also speaks nothing of a person’s knowledge of sexual subjects or ability to stomach smut. On the other end, one’s experience of erotic acts does not discount the inner emotions that may lead to a label beginning with “a” – the realization is not equally harsh for all who eventually get there, and some people simply need to dip their toes in before they get the confident conviction in what they want. All along the way, no matter what we try or don’t, we’re told to doubt ourselves, and belittled for what we don’t yet know or haven’t yet proven, because of a default of doubt that what we wish to prove is even real. No matter how much we believe in ourselves, the walls are still decorated with weapons within easy reach against us; when we are facing stress and anger from systemic problems, all they need to say is “You gotta get laid.”
We’re told there must be some other kind of cause, that we must be afraid, or that we’re shielding ourselves from the fact that we’re undesirable. It’s assumed we can’t get some, or assumed we’re too naïve, and that the solution is all too often in that very person’s bedroom, or they know someone to hook us up with if they can pass our number on. They read an article about it, but that didn’t sound like us, and in any case it doesn’t mean we can’t participate anyway. Look at what we’re missing out on! How can we ever say for sure that this is what we want and need and where we’ll find our happiness? The jury’s still out on whether it’s just like every other orientation, and even if it was, why can’t we just act like we’re straight anyway, or be quiet about it at the very least?
Queerness, and asserting it as a valid way of being, is about liberation. Sexual liberation, relationship liberation, and gender liberation, all tied in together to unite many different kinds of people who need to defy the externally established expectations in order to be free. All of these types of liberation include freeing us from the obligation to take part without accusations of inadequacy or social disadvantages through exclusion and prejudice.
Lacking the constraints of orientation towards particular types for particular needs has always made me feel, whether I knew the words or not, closer to queernesses. I’ve always needed more diversity around me and in what I consume to feel able to adequately breathe. Not taking part in romantic rites or sexual politics frees up my appreciation of beauty to apply to all genders and gender expression, and to offer love and support to a wider community. And that makes me feel much more queer.