Now that he's raised awareness of his lifestyle, David Jay, founder of AVEN, is working to change mainstream beliefs about sex drives.
David Jay was in middle school when everyone around him grew suddenly obsessed with the same all-consuming impulse. It wasn't sex per se, but it was its nascent beginnings. While his classmates talked non-stop about which movie stars they thought were hot, eyed each other in the hallway, and made their first, awkward attempts at dating, Jay was left feeling distinctly out of the loop.
"I just didn't get it," he recalls. "I didn't have a reference point to understand what they were going through. And that's really terrifying, because everyone assumes that's what should be happening for you. Sexuality is a really big deal for almost everyone, from middle school on. It's a really central part of a lot of people's lives."
But sex was not a central part of David Jay's life: not in middle school, not in high school, and not now. That's because, like approximately one percent of the population, Jay identifies as asexual. Not only that, he is America's best known asexual person, serving as the emergent sexual orientation's attractive, articulate spokesperson on everything from The View, to MTV, to France 24.
Jay launched the Asexual Visibility and Education Network (AVEN), an online community dedicated to raising awareness of asexuality and providing support to people who identify as asexual, in 2001, when he was 18 and a college freshman. "I had spent the past four years struggling to realize that I was okay, and I didn't want other asexual people to have the realize the same thing," he says. The website soon became a rallying cry: first for hundreds, then thousands, and later tens of thousands of people who felt alienated from the sexual stories and imagery that dominate our culture.
If we stop defining our significant relationships only as those that are romantic or sexual, being single will take on new meaning.
At its most basic, asexuality is defined by an absence of sexual attraction. Some asexual people are in romantic relationships, others aren't. Some are outgoing, others are shy. Some are sexually active for the sake of their partners or social pressure, some have never so much as kissed another person. Some think sex is disgusting, some are indifferent, and some think it's great for other people but have no wish to "go there" themselves.
But what all asexual people have in common -- and what defines asexuality as an orientation -- is that, while they may have a desire to connect with other people, asexuals have no desire to connect with them sexually. Asexual people are not the same as celibate people: it's not that they are purposefully or unintentionally abstaining from sex they would otherwise like to have, but rather that they have no interest in it.
There have always been people who didn't want or seek out sex, and there have long been people who have described themselves (even if only in the recesses of their own minds) as asexual. It's just that before Google came along, they couldn't find each other. David Jay didn't invent asexuality. But his website did arrive right at the critical moment at which a person typing that word into a search engine could stumble upon a relevant community -- rather than, say, an article about the reproductive systems of sea stars.
But although the Internet provided the technology for people to start talking about asexuality, it was not the only -- or even the most important -- condition necessary for that conversation, says Mark Carrigan, a researcher at the University of Warwick in the United Kingdom. "There had to be something about [asexual people's] experience that led them to want to have those conversations in the first place," he says.
That something is the sense of not just difference, but of defect, that Jay alludes to in his memories of middle and high school. "For a couple of years I just assumed that I was broken," he says.
And that feeling of being broken is more than just a matter of individual neurosis. It is illustrative of how deeply what Carrigan calls "the sexual assumption" is embedded in our society -- "the idea that everyone has sexual attraction, that it's this powerful force inside of you, and that it is experienced the same way by every person," Carrigan explains.
History shows that this was not always the case. Sex has long been considered a matter of great importance in Western culture, from the Ancient Greeks' fixation on moderation, to the asceticism of the early Christians.
But the particular ways in which sex was considered important changed significantly throughout the 20th century, as we stumbled awkwardly from a culture that prized sexual restraint to one that celebrated free expression -- or at least the outward appearance of it. At the same time, the rise of sexology, sexperts, and lifestyle journalism meant that we started talking about sex more than ever before: as a health issue, a relationship issue, and an identity issue. Increasingly, sex was expected to hold our relationships together, boost our self-esteem, and dissolve our discontent.
Says Carrigan: "These assumptions about sex are so ingrained, that if you're sexual you don't notice them. But asexual people do notice them, because their experiences don't fit." And over the past couple of decades especially, people who didn't fit those particular expectations stood out.