I started making asexuality-themed comics in 2016 because I thought it would be funny to contrast my sex-less experiences against the backdrop of the Sexual Dysfunction Capital of the World (aka Los Angeles). I keep making them because every once in awhile, I get a comment or an email from someone who reads my cartoons and feels seen.
It’s no small thing to see yourself positively reflected in something someone else has made. It’s proof that you’re not alone, that you’re not broken, or wrong, or any of the other things we tell ourselves when we grow up and don’t see a friendly face in society’s mirror. Asexual representation in media is still thin on the ground, but that’s beginning to shift with out ace characters on shows like Bojack Horseman and Heartstopper. There’s even a growing hope that I can ask a random person if they’ve heard of asexuality, and hear them respond with, “Oh, like Todd Chavez?” and not, “That’s just something the internet made up to make incels feel special.”
The most common ‘representation’ comes in the form of the Other, particularly if the asexuality is paired with aromanticism, in which case you’re probably looking at an alien, or a robot, or a robot alien. While some of those depictions can resonate with an ace audience, by declaring the asexual character ‘not human’ the media in question reaffirms that sex and romance are what makes humanity – and that can be a real blow to those of us who were at least 90% certain we were born on Earth.
The lack of media saturation means sometimes the media that tries does more harm than good. Recently I discovered that one of my favorite authors had written a queer sci-fi trilogy. To my surprise, it even had ace representation – in fact, the first book in the trilogy seemed quite asexual given that one of the few rules of the society that the protagonist joins is ‘no fraternization.’ Affection within ‘pantheons’ (musical groups, Cirque du Soleil acts, religious icons, and codependent family units rolled into one) is encouraged, so long as there is no hanky-panky, an edict from the seemingly ace culture which formulates the pantheons and their galaxy-wide stardom.
The culture is alien, which isn’t the best for representation when you consider that many of the other characters in the series are from explicitly Sapien societies (read: human) considered sexual by default, but the aliens are at least humanoid, and are described as very attractive, very personable, and very uninterested in swapping fluids. It isn’t until the third book that the trilogy about intergalactic X-Factor strikes a sour note. It’s at this point that the protagonist decides for the first time that he wants something for himself, and that something is a member of another pantheon. But because of the aforementioned rules, their love is forbidden.
…except that only the physical expression of their love is forbidden, and much of their intimacy is overlooked by the Powers That Be as necessary to their continued performance. It’s not until things get sexual that there’s an intervention. And, fair, for most young males, sex is a natural inclination, so it’s not particularly surprising that protagonist sees the physical want and the emotional connection as intertwined. Where the author lost me is the climactic moment in which the protagonist declares to a roomful of judging aces that the two are inextricably linked, and sapiens cannot have one without the other, that to even think otherwise is internalizing shame about desire.
I would have overlooked that erroneous Eureka moment, given that later the protagonist realizes his emotional intimacy with other members of his group is an equally important expression of love. What spoiled the otherwise pleasant experience of reading these novels is the reveal of the reason sexual relationships amongst pantheons is verboten: the society that imposes the rule is not, in fact, entirely asexual – they are children. Despite seeming, thinking, and communicating at the same level as the other species (not to mention controlling an entire industry of DIY gods), the asexual characters we spend the most time with are considered to be the equivalent of articulate six-year-olds, and they don’t allow sex because they themselves are too immature to understand it. The elders of their society, though relegated to caves on the homeworld, have no such issues with sexual attraction. More frustratingly, when this revelation comes, the response to the fact that these people have been forcing celibacy on others due to their own ignorance is patronization. Aw, the silly children didn’t understand what they were doing.
If there’s a stereotype as harmful to asexual people than being thought of as less than human, it’s infantilization. We’ve all been told, ‘You just haven’t met the right person yet,’ or ‘you’re just a late bloomer.’ Sex at some point became the gateway to adulthood, so you can’t be a fully realized person without it. A sex-repulsed asexual must be considered childlike and pure, which deprives them of agency, and leads others to think that the opinions of aces are inferior and ‘unenlightened.’ To quote Britney Spears, “I’m not that innocent.” But I’m also not simply a person who abstains. I contain multitudes, and need more stories to reflect that.
There’s still a long way to go for asexual representation, but to get to a point where it’s properly understood by the mainstream, our society first needs to do the work to untangle the different types of attraction and respect the myriad of ways we can love and desire others that don’t necessarily end in orgasms.
