I was reading an advice column for queer people, and I have to admit, I rolled my eyes a bit at all the labels the person applied to themself. Yes, I know we need heuristics in order to talk with each other (and, yes, heuristics is the word for the week. I’m seeing how many times I can cram it into my posts this week. Deal), but at least for me, there’s a limit as to how useful they are. Also, the more granular we get, the less useful the labels/groupings become.
What do I mean by that? I’ll use myself as an example as related to sexual identity. Let’s say that I identify as queer. That’s pretty broad and, sadly, has come to mean gay. I’ve fought against it for twenty years, but now, I’ve just accepted it. I don’t make the rules, but I have to follow them, begrudgingly, to a certain extent. I still call myself queer, but I have to clarify that I don’t mean gay.
Thirty years ago, I discovered that I was attracted to men and women. Yes, those two categories was what we talked about back in the day. I went through all the different available labels of the day (bisexual, pansexual, omnisexual) and decided with great reluctance that bisexual would do. I wasn’t happy about it, mind, but it was the best of the worst. Which is pretty much how I feel about most labels. The least worst rather than the best.
Then, we have to talk about sex v. love. I can sex with just about anyone I’m attracted to (or not, as it turns out. I would not suggest it, but it is possible). Sex is easy. I’m really good at that. When it comes to sex, I would say that I’m aro in that I can easily hook up without romantic feelings. In fact, I prefer that because sex is much less messy than romance. And because I have enough mental health issues that I don’t want to have a romantic relationship. Romance brings out the worst in me, and I don’t want it enough to fight that particular battle.
I explained it to my friends is this fashion. I love being alone. It’s my preferred state of being. Well, I wish Shadow was still with me, but beyond that, I don’t want a human being in my space 24/7. I have my issues; don’t we all? But I’m happy with myself overall. I like what I like, and I don’t like what I don’t like. I wear what I wear, and I eat what I eat. I mention that because there was a thread an Ask A Manager about clothing. A teacher wrote in and said that after she got home from work, she liked to change into her pajamas. Her husband, a CEO-type, came home later and while he would change into comfier clothes, he did not like that she wore her pajamas.
There were many questions one could ask about the situation, but a surprising amount of the women chastised the letter writer for doing this. Even ones who identified as fiercely feminist. And, yes, several of them said that taking into account what your partner wanted you to wear was important. Am I skewing this because of my bias? Of course I am. The point is, though, that many of the commenters thought the husband was right to varying degrees. Or rather, that he got to have any say into what the LW wore at the end of the day.
To be fair, there were several women who made that exact point–that it was bullshit that she could not wear what she wanted to wear in her own fucking home. Yes, there were other points to consider (like his assumption that she (I’m assuming she here) was not willing to take the trash out or run to the store), but the baseline of she should not wear pajamas in her own house was ridiculous.
Teachers pointed out that teaching is a job unlike a white collar office job in every way possible. Many of them said that they got into their pajamas as soon as they got home, too. And that it would take a lot to drag them out of the house once they got home. That was a point that many people made. If the husband wanted to do something after he got home, he could give the LW a heads up during the day. Also, it doesn’t take that long to change again. It was more a question of mindset.
It just got me thinking about how relationships are about compromise, and how there are some things I won’t compromise on. This is one of them. If I am in the comfort of my own house, I am going to wear whatever the fuck I want to wear. That is nonnegotiable. As I said above, I like living alone. For me to even consider having another human being living with me means they have to add to my life in a significant way. I’ve said this to my firends before. I’m cake on my own. Someone else better be some pretty damn good frosting in order for me to add them to me.
In the above instance, I like cake and would happily eat it on its own. If there wasn’t an issue of dairy or gluten, I would eat any kind of cake. Well, almost any. Frosting, on the other hand, is much more take it or leave it. It’s so unbearably sweet, almost sickly so. I like a rich, almost fudgy frosting, but it can’t be too sweet. Yes, it adds to the cake, but the lack of it is not a problem.
In addition, I am not a good partner. I am not being self-effacing; this is the truth. I am a great friend. But as a partner, all my worst tendencies come out. Could I fix it? Yeah, probably. Do I want to? Not really. A romantic relationship is not something I really care about nor want. Sex? Yes. Romance? Maybe. A long-term committed monogamous relationship? Hell, no.
So. To add to my labels, I would say aromantic and nonmonogamous would be apt as well. As with many of these labels, though, they are somewhat haphazardly applied. Also, while many people say that they didn’t choose their identities, I will say that yes, I have. To a certain extent.
At least, I’ve chosen the labels, and that might just be a matter of semantics.
Such as, I’ve chosen agender. Again, it’s the least bad of the lot. I went through a bunch of other labels and quickly rejected them. I liked genderqueer, but I knew where that was gonig to end up (nonbinary) so I gave it up reluctantly.
More later.