How a TV Show Helped Me Realize My Sexual Orientation

I’m usually the most informed person in a lot of rooms when it comes to queer knowledge. That’s why I felt more than a little foolish when it took me three decades of life—and an adult animated cartoon series—for the lightbulb to switch on over my head. 

In Asia, especially when I was growing up, the LGBTQ+ movement was not visible, nor did we have an established community in our country. However, we did have a progressive local library, and when I was 16 the book club decided to read Bend It Like Beckham. Teenage me puzzled over the lines “Tony was gay?” and “Get your lesbian feet off my slippers!” and decided to Google what these meant. I credit that book for opening doors to a world I had no idea existed until then.  

At the time, I didn’t think I was queer; I was just curious. A few years passed, and while I can’t pinpoint a precise moment when things changed, suddenly I had finished school and there was a small queer community raising rainbow flags for Pride. I still didn’t think I was queer, despite never having dated, never having an interest in anyone, and always being very uncomfortable when the rumors spread about me being gay. However, I was definitely an ally, and I was happy to see the flags. 

My lack of dating confused not only my friends, but my teachers, my parents, and a whole lot of other adults who really should not have been concerned with my love life (or lack thereof). 

When my best friend confessed their feelings for me, my eloquent response was “....oh.” I tried dating, because I was truly fond of them, but it didn’t feel different from when we were friends. They were a typical hormonal teenager; I agreed to try a few things but I was largely indifferent. The moment they wanted the pants to come off, I put a stop to it. Nope. No way. I wasn’t sure why I put such a hard stop to it, either. I thought I was not ready. I blamed it on the conservative environment I grew up in. I genuinely cannot call this a relationship because I still don’t know what it was, but it lasted a grand total of three months. I lost my best friend. Teenage me decided dating was silly. Why would you want to date when you can be friends instead?

As I read more and more stories about an aroace character and his friendships, the more I realized “This is all I want."

Things changed more tangibly in the next few years, when I moved out of my town, went to college, and still didn’t see the appeal of dating someone, and worse, couldn’t answer my friends when they asked who the cute guys at the parties were because I truly couldn’t tell. When my friend group was open enough to talk about their sex lives and that made my stomach turn without fail, I knew without doubt that I was asexual. I was, in fact, rather glad. At least the “no” was very clear, and I didn’t have to figure out whether I’d be into sex or not. At the same time, my demisexual friends were trying to figure out physical attraction, so I was quite happy to not be dealing with that confusion. 

I started being open about being asexual simply as a deterrent to awkward social situations. 

“So who do you like?”
“I’m ace.”
“Do you have any crushes?”
“I’m ace.”
“What are you doing Friday?”
“I’m ace.”
“You’ll find a partner eventually.”
“I’m ace.” 

Of course I knew that being asexual didn’t mean I couldn’t have a relationship, but I took advantage of the fact that for almost every person, this was a dealbreaker. In fact, in a decade or so, not a single person ever responded with “That’s okay, I can work with that,” or anything close. For everyone else, physical intimacy was a compulsory aspect of a romantic relationship. For me, I couldn’t fathom how all my friends stayed with their partners while having sex. 

I still held out hope that someday I would find someone. But in the meantime, I was blissfully happy with my college friends, and my new best friend in particular, a person I absolutely adored. It became a running joke for us to say “Why would we date when nothing would change?”

Two years ago they found a partner, and our friendship went through a spectacular fall, much to my confusion. I didn’t see why us being friends was a problem. Then I heard through mutual friends that they were saying I expected them to be a partner to me, not a friend. I felt betrayed. But I chalked it up to people being weird and untrusting, and I moved on. 

Things stayed like that for a while. I was lonely, but I knew being asexual was a dealbreaker for most; in our country, relationships were very traditional. Even my demi friends were having sex once they got into loving relationships. I resigned myself to being alone, the odd wheel in every friend group. 

Then earlier this year, Hazbin Hotel came out. I love animated shows, and I love queer characters even more. One of the characters was rumored to be aroace, which means “aromantic asexual”: largely does not feel romantic or sexual attraction. There was aroace representation in the mainstream media. I was thrilled. I binged the season in one day. And I fell in love (platonically!) with Alastor. 

The feeling of seeing a flamboyant ace person with a loud personality on screen was cathartic. And what this show did, for the first time in my life, was hint at how Alastor formed very close friendships, in particular with a character called Rosie. I loved this dynamic, so off I went to read fanfiction about the two. As I read more and more stories about an aroace character and his friendships, the more I realized “This is all I want. I don’t want anything more than this.” I started to question why I had thought I wanted a romantic relationship all this time. 

One day I came across a new fic where a character tells a very confused Alastor that “a romantic relationship doesn’t equal friendship + lust, you know.” “It doesn’t?” asked Alastor. “It DOESN’T?” I yelled. 

After a week or so of frantic Wiki reading, I realized I related to the aroace pages that I had never bothered checking before. I prided myself on keeping up to date, but I had never, not once, thought of checking whether I was feeling romantic attraction or not. I assumed I was sex-repulsed, and since I wasn’t repulsed by the idea of dating, that I was fine. Oops. 

It was a validation I hadn’t realized I needed. I ran to one of my friends excited. “Hey, so I think I’m aroace,” I told her. “Oh,” she replied. “Was this not known? I had assumed this was the case and moved on a while back.” I could only laugh at myself. Are we even queer if our friends don’t figure us out before we do?

I am grateful beyond words and indebted to Bend It Like Beckham and Hazbin Hotel for their stories being out in the world. A lot of people complain when queer people cry about representation in the media. All I can say is that I, with the world at my fingertips, wouldn’t have known what to look for if the stories hadn’t told me what was real. I wouldn’t have known what to relate to if the stories hadn’t shown people like me.