I have been engaged in a continual ongoing exploration of appropriate identity labels to categorize my existence. At one moment I used to define myself as “gay,” then as a “gay asexual,” then as a “homoromantic asexual,” then as a “androromantic asexual,” followed by an “asexual attracted to men,” and finally as a “queer asexual,” where I remain now. From this exploration through identity markers, I have recognized the efficiency and power of queerness as a non-specific category. At the same time, I also acknowledge the importance of asexuality as existing under the larger umbrella of queerness and LGBTQIA+ identity, as most ace people concur.
Asexuality is in conversation with queer theory, reminding us that it is imperative to differentiate our asexual identity within the amorphous undifferentiated realm that queerness provides. while simultaneously asserting the queerness of our asexuality. As asexual people, we are often perceived as wholly unqueer. As ace people, we are often made to feel excluded from queer spaces due to the perception that asexuality, which is often perceived as an absence of sexual desire or interest, is not queer enough. Asexuality decentralizes sex from queerness, but because sex and queer imaginaries are so often entwined, asserting asexuality as a queer identity reminds us as asexual and ace people that it is necessary to claim both our queerness and our asexuality simultaneously.
I am not just queer. I am not just asexual. I am a queer asexual. Asexuality interjects a notion of hybridity into the centralized differentiation versus undifferentiation debate of queer theory. It reminds us that as ace people we may not possess the ability to simply label ourselves as “queer” alone, because of the erasure of asexuality within queer spaces and the conceptualization of queerness as defined by sexuality. When someone states they are queer, they are often assumed to possess (at the very least, partially) “same-sex” sexual attraction. Just as when someone states they are gay it is often automatically perceived as meaning that they desire to have sex with the “same-sex.”
Centralizing asexuality in queer spaces may destabilize this notion, and in that lies queer asexuality, a conception that may allow us to further expand queerness beyond its often immediate associations with sexual attraction, desire, interest, or even sexuality in general, in liberating respects. As an asexual demiguy, who is often perceived as attracted to the “same-sex,” this has become clear in my own life, as I often struggle separating the inherent sexual assumptions of my queerness or “gayness” with my asexuality. It is thus in queer asexuality that I have found the potential for empowerment.