The Antithesis of Malehood: Being Asexual as a Hypersexualized Being
Most if not all of us have heard the same tropes attributed to Black male sexuality, from our oh-so exceptional affinity to love-making to the pre-supposed size of our… you know the rest. Venture down the rabbit hole of history and you’ll all-too-quickly happen upon the folklore of the brutish Negro whose sole aim is to violate the innocence of white women and girls---for these are the same falsehoods that motivated white men to beat 14-year-old Emmett Till to death. Lo and behold, the conception of the Black man as an inborn sexual gorgon. Overall, living as a Black man or male-presenting individual, cishetero and non-cishetero alike, we’re subject not only to disproportionate demonstrations of systemic racism; but also, to the equally dehumanizing stereotypes that ultimately render us useless save for our ability to entertain the sexual desires of white people. [1] And for the record, Black women and femmes find themselves downwind of this tornado to an even more complex degree (i.e., the contrasts between the desexualized Mammy and hypersexualized Jezebel characters associated with Black womanhood). Now, I don’t think I have to tell you the role that media plays in perpetuating this dogma---after all, who do you think wove these stereotypical threads deep into the fabric of perception? But our attempts to challenge the fetishization of the Black body through media depictions without recognizing and working to unearth white supremacy’s ever-extending reach into the nuances of our personal lives down to the entertainment we consume would be an exercise in futility. Especially when met with the prospect of asexuality.
I did not realize I was asexual until recent years, but the so-called “signs” were always there. Unlike most other teenage boys at my high school, I didn’t consider “losing virginity” to be some crown achievement nor did I dedicate any real effort to pursue allosexual romantic relationships with people I thought I had those types of feelings for. Not to mention God knows I hate being touched anyway, so a situation that requires physical contact to “get the job done” would have been an absolute nightmare for me. But due to the expectations of Black men to be the Olympic gold medalists of sex life, my colleagues would constantly solicit advice meant to assist me in the enterprise of romance but ended up leading to sexist microaggressions, social awkwardness, and disappointment for not fulfilling the criteria of Black masculinity as defined by my cishetero peers. There I was trying to play the straight man’s game for a prize I never cared about because I wouldn’t come to terms with my asexuality for fear of the queerphobic floodgates to swing open or the infamous accusations of “you’re just saying that because you can’t get laid”. Let’s address the latter half of that dichotomy for a moment.
Previously, I mentioned that I do not view “losing virginity” as something to be celebrated as a milestone. Make no mistake, I’m not trying to claim any moral high ground with my asexuality. I don’t think sexual activity is by nature immoral or dishonorable---it’s your prerogative. Nonetheless, there is this oft-repeated refrain that men who enter adulthood having not yet had sex are misogynistic, nerdy incels with poor hygiene who live in their parents’ basement. Set apart from the innate erasure of men on the ace spectrum, this depiction fuels that flame by conflating the archetype of the adult virgin with the dangerous myth that asexuality is an excuse cisgender heterosexuals invented under the guise of experiencing the same oppression faced by the gay, lesbian, bi, pan, trans, and intersex communities, thus denying their sexual incompetence. [2] How bold of these people to assume asexual men are begging to be oppressed when throughout history our lack of desire to have sex with women classified us as mentally ill by proxy and subjected us to violent social practices such as corrective rape, verbal harassment and unwarranted recommendations to seek medical treatment to “get fixed”. [3] Does that sound like something anyone would beg for?
Worse still, attributing sexual activity as a necessary step toward adulthood infantilizes ace adults and reduces us to mere juveniles who lack the maturity to understand the apparent significance of sex, elsewise we’d be engaging in it as much as those not on the ace spectrum. And as you may have guessed, media is remarkably guilty of prolificating this doctrine. Take, for example, Todd Chavez of BoJack Horseman, Jughead Jones of the Archie comics, and even SpongeBob and Patrick from SpongeBob SquarePants. All fictional characters I’ve mentioned have the following in common: set apart from being portrayed as boyish, sophomoric knuckleheads whose youthful eccentricity is paraded by audiences as angelic innocence, they are either head-cannoned or explicitly written as ace men. While I do not repulse (but somewhat admire) adults who embrace a similar sense of childlike bliss exuded by these characters, I would be remiss if I did not allude to my frustration with this credo that the biological absence of sexual desire invalidates my growth into manhood, notably having been exposed to adult responsibilities and situations from a young age as have many Black and racialized people, ace and allosexual uniformly.
Enter Blackness, centerstage, between queerness and adult masculinity (The theatre fanatic in me hopes this cast wins a Tony).
Remember when we discussed the expectations for Black men and masculine-presenting individuals to navigate sexual life with more finesse and libido despite those expectations being rooted in the maxim of the Black man as a licentious beast? Juxtapose that with living as a Black ace man maneuvering through life in the face of the stigmas against all identities encompassed as one. And yes, I know people will see I’m a Black man before they see I’m queer. But that is the very focal point of the catch-22 people like myself are presented with: that our lack of appetite for sexual intercourse does not compute with the white supremacist precept of Black manhood being equated with everlasting sexual prowess. And dare I mention the frequency of sexual activity as a means of gauging power in cisheteronormative social spaces? [4] Juxtapose once again with the delegitimizing of Black personhood across the entire world and, subsequently, Black men’s engagement in sexual relationships is become an inadvertent practice in upholding the colonizer’s standard of manliness and power dynamics primarily at the expense of women and femmes. Circle back to the infantilization of adults on the ace spectrum and we’re dealing with the concept of the Black asexual man living as a direct contradiction not to himself but to the pervading status quo espoused specifically to Black masculinity. Proceed in the rhetoric echoed by anti-Black, acephobic-controlled perceptions of Black men and asexuality and the phenomenon of Black males on the ace spectrum acts as the very antithesis of Black malehood. But once again, that’s if we’re judging according to toxic masculinity.
So does that mean asexuality transcends traditional masculinity?
Well, that would depend on what we mean by “transcend”.
Personally, I do not believe that all expressions of queerness are total rejections of traditional masculinity proper. Much like our hetero brothers, there are some queer male and masc-presenting spaces that breed racism, misogyny and shallow mindsets. Notice how there is very limited visibility of non-white ace men in the mainstream? And no, SpongeBob and Patrick are not exceptions to the rule. However, the championing of otherness included in accepting our queerness is what most distinguishes us from the cisgender hetero male order. And though I cannot speak from any other asexual man or masc’s perspective, I find the otherness freeing. I’m not suffering with the very manipulative trial-and-error nature of getting a woman to have sex with me. My fashion choices are not inspired by whether someone will find me attractive by heteronormative or allosexual standards. Additionally, for allo-romantic and aromantic aces, we do not have to conform to any unfounded, arbitrary romantic relationship discourse on social media, television and film, or daily life being shoved in our faces since a great deal of it is motivated by the gender-based dynamics of intercourse, something we constitutionally have little to no yearning for. Mind you, this is not to dismiss all romantic relationships as banal and insipid; but to indict the atmosphere around the conversation as allosexually centered, henceforth silencing ace and aro voices.
So how does this navigation of asexuality challenge mainstream visions of masculinity if at all? Simply put, I offer that it’s a divorce from concerning ourselves with being taken seriously as “real men” and a journey through validating our own humanity regardless of those who will try to pigeonhole us as underdeveloped or desperate to qualify as contenders for the Oppression Olympics. As for living as a Black asexual or other queer man/masc individual, it means to learn possess and wield an artillery of weapons in the battle against the unrelenting white supremacist ideology whose stranglehold is gripped so firmly on the methods by which we shape our identities that we even have to strategize the dismantling of its toxic brand of masculinity whatsoever. Logically, it follows that our energy must be directed toward liberation from the influence of colonized customs, norms, and ideas concerning race, gender, and sexuality. For it was the Black, queer, woman poet Audre Lorde who put forth:
It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences.
Let our revolution be intersectional so as not to crumble as a house divided against itself.
My name is M’Jean Mason, and I am a Black asexual panromantic man. I’m here and I’m queer.
References
Young, Seth. “The Myth of Promiscuity: Examining Black Male Sexual Narratives and Sexual Identity.” Duquesne University, Aug. 2018, dsc.duq.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=2469&context=etd.
Sherronda J. Brown. “ “Ace and Aro People Are Just Straight” Is a Heteronormative Lie”. Wear Your Voice. 20 May 2020. Ret. 12 Aug 2021. www.wearyourvoicemag.com/ace-and-aro-people-are-just-straight-is-a-heteronormative-lie/
Dominique Mosbergen. “Battling Asexual Discrimination, Sexual Violence, and ‘Corrective’ Rape”. Huffington Post. 20 Jun 2013. Ret. 12 Aug 2021. www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/entry/asexual-discrimination_n_3380551
Ann K. Blanc. “The Effect of Power in Sexual Relationships on Sexual and Reproductive Health: An Examination of the Evidence”. Studies in Family Planning: Vol. 32, No. 3. Pp. 189-213. Population Council, Sep 2001.
Lorde, Audrey. Sister Outsider: Essays and Poems. Crossing Press, 1984.
