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SNEAK PREVIEW For more information on adopting this title for your course, please contact us at: adopt@cognella.com or 800-200-3908
PANSEXUALITY
PANSEXUALITY
A Panoply of Co-Constructed Narratives
Karen Morgaine
California State University—Northridge
Bassim Hamadeh, CEO and Publisher Amy Smith, Project Editor Alia Bales, Production Editor Jess Estrella, Senior Graphic Designer Sara Schennum, Licensing Associate Natalie Piccotti, Senior Marketing Manager Kassie Graves, Vice President of Editorial Jamie Giganti, Director of Academic Publishing Copyright © 2020 by Karen Morgaine. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reprinted, re- produced, transmitted, or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying, microfilming, and recording, or in any information retrieval system without the written permission of Cognella, Inc. For inquiries regarding permissions, translations, foreign rights, audio rights, and any other forms of reproduction, please contact the Cognella Licensing Department at rights@cognella.com. Trademark Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. Cover: Copyright © 2012 iStockphoto LP/Andrew_Howe. Cover: Copyright © 2012 iStockphoto LP/Inhauscreative. Cover: Copyright © 2013 iStockphoto LP/Shells1. Cover: Copyright © 2013 iStockphoto LP/M-gucci. Cover: Copyright © 2015 iStockphoto LP/PeterHermesFurian. Cover: Copyright © 2014 iStockphoto LP/CHBD. Cover: Copyright © 2017 iStockphoto LP/Utopia_88. Cover: Copyright © 2018 iStockphoto LP/Thepalmer. Cover: Copyright © 2018 iStockphoto LP/Instants. Cover: Copyright © 2017 iStockphoto LP/LuckyTD. Cover: Copyright © 2018 iStockphoto LP/Jinjo0222988. Cover: Copyright © 2014 iStockphoto LP/Aleksandarvelasevic. Cover: Copyright © 2012 iStockphoto LP/CSA Images. Printed in the United States of America. ISBN: 978-1-5165-4810-1 (pbk) / 978-1-5165-4811-8 (br)
To anyone who reads this book and finds a piece of themselves within it.
Contents
Acknowledgmentsix
Snippets (A Love Letter) 1
Chapter 1 Plurisexuality in Theory 9
Chapter 2 Methodological Musings 27
Chapter 3 Survey Results: A Jumping Off Point 37
Chapter 4 A Brief Foray into the Tumultuous World of
Tumblr (with Jen Marony) 47
Interlude (The Stories) 55
Chapter 5 August: Queer Enough, Trans Enough? 57
Chapter 6 Orion: Death by a Thousand Cuts 73
Chapter 7 Janet: Becoming Visible and Breaking Boundaries 89
Chapter 8 Maggie: Authentically Fierce, Ideologically on Fire 99
Chapter 9 Karen: Quietly Fighting Invisibility 123
Chapter 10 Margot: Rainbows Forever 131
Chapter 11 Keith: Anxiously Re-emerging 137
Chapter 12 N: Slowly Chipping Away 149
Chapter 13 Sonder: Trying on Pansexuality and Growing
My Hair 157
Chapter 14 Stef: Metamorphosis 177
Chapter 15 Rowan: Fluid Sex-Toy Creator Extraordinaire 187
Postscript205
Appendix 1 Exploring Pansexual and Polysexual Identities 207
Appendix 2 Additional Study Information for Potential
Participants 209
Appendix 3 Exploring Pansexual and Polysexual Identities:
Interview Schedule Prompts 211
Appendix 4 The Experiences of Pansexual- and Polysexual-
Identified Individuals 213
Notes219
Index225
viiAcknowledgments
W ithout a doubt, I feel compelled to document my gratitude for the
people who helped me along the way with this book, though I daresay
I wonder if anyone reads acknowledgements—and if they do, why exactly do
they read them? I believe they are more for the author to be able to publicly
proclaim their love and appreciation than they are for the readers, so I will
make this short and be left wondering.
Thanks and gratitude to:
All the research participants—perhaps it goes without saying that all
the people who gave their time to me are invaluable (and of course the
book would be basically empty without them)—yet an extra big shout
out and debt of gratitude goes to the 11 interview participants who gave
hours of their time to me. You are the heart of this book.
Kassie Graves and all the amazing folks at Cognella—for taking on my
project since I was adamant about finding an outlet that would support a
nontraditional format; Kassie was willing when others were not.
Moshi and Martin—for being a sounding board a few years ago when
I was feeling overwhelmed.
My students—for consis-
tently serving as inspiration
that compels me to write
and create so that I can give
back to them.
Niku Kashef—your help
with the photos of my col-
lages so they could look
their very best has been so
valuable; I truly appreciate
your skills.
Jen Marony—for your
time, thoughtful feedback,
important contributions,
and wonderful spirit.
PANEGYRIC IN GRATITUDE
IXX | Pansexuality
Briana Morgaine—who served as a crucial personal editor and gave me
no-holds-barred critiques so that I could make this book better.
Matthew Morgaine—for your rendition of the fabulous retro space
people so that I could put them in their rightful place on the cover collage.
Christina Brown—while you may never read this (!), you are always
my partner in crime, giving me a break from the mundane so that I can
muster up the energy to do the work that feeds my soul.
Tash Angelo-Surendranath—it goes without saying that your presence
in my life is unparalleled and that my love for you keeps me feeling whole.SNIPPETS
(A Love Letter)
SNIPPETS
I dialogue with others about their sexual and gender identi-
ties and mine their stories for dynamic and unique moments,
although the mundane hovers around the bend and threatens
at every turn. Sometimes I can’t seem to unearth the richness
12 | Pansexuality
that is there, somewhere. Yet there are times I wonder if a story is sometimes
just that—mundane and commonplace—and does that make it any less a story?
This prompts me to think of my own story, and I undoubtedly want it to rise
to the occasion but fear mediocrity.
10:15 p.m.
I wish you were here.
I wish I was curled up next to you. Skin to skin with my head on your chest. Trying
not to squish your breast as you cradle me next to you. I have gotten a bit better
at that over time, though it does take a bit of maneuvering.
My sexual identity has been stable for quite some time but had its own
slightly crooked path. Nothing too dramatic, I suppose, and likely not queer
enough for some. Right now, as I think on it, I turn to thoughts of you—because
my identity is all tangled up in you. My sexuality now is a part of my love story.
It hasn’t always been that way, of course. It was a mundane story. A story of
fissures without question or drama. A story of politics and theory and decla-
rations—and back again to the path of least resistance—which is somehow odd,
given my penchant for resistance.
During the period of least resistance, I buried myself in my work and my
parenting, and didn’t feel dissonance or drama. I think I am not the dramatic
sort. I hover somewhere in that middle ground, which can be wonderfully
balanced or terribly mundane depending on your angle.
The pathway is a bit predictable and even a little textbook at that—except
for how damn long it took, I guess:
1. Presumably straight
2. OK-so-I-am-bi
3. I AM A LESBIAN
4. OK -so-maybe-I-am-bi
5. Lesbian
6. QUEER!
I guess I find it so commonplace that recounting it seems tedious. The image
I have of myself and the early years of what feels like cultural complacency
are dissonant with my sense of who I am, so I resist. I enjoyed sex, and a
relatively significant amount of it, yet it was all predictable and straight and
I didn’t question this path. My reflections of these early relationships bounce
between neutrality or mediocrity to, occasionally, a sense of comradeship or
deep friendship, but they don’t speak to me as identity.Snippets | 3 If I skip ahead just a bit, I find myself engrossed in pregnancy and parenting— something I would have never imagined and, even now, something that I can touch, feel, and smell yet always maintain a certain level of disbelief about. My sexuality began to get a bit more tangled up at that point—I recall my fantasy life being grounded in same-gender attraction—I tried to make room for my partner because that just seemed “right” and more appropriate somehow (in my attempts to remain true to a sense of decency, I guess I didn’t want to be cheat- ing too much in my imagination). I imagine a few years of this went by before I took on the “OK-so-I-am-bi” identity; no fanfare, no struggle—essentially just an awareness and a nodding to myself. This makes me chuckle at my detractors—the combative bisexuals who made assumptions, rigid accusations, and overarching generalizations. Yes, I did identify as bisexual—once, twice. This brings me to Rochester, New York. I was working part time at the local food co-op for a year or so when my daughter, Briana, was about 18 months old. Yes, a food co-op—not a slick one, not a Whole Foods; I’m talking about the earthy-tofu-in-buckets-food-co-op sort of place. Imagine stocking produce. The lettuce was always really dirty and really wet. When we had just gotten a delivery and the walk-in cooler was full to the brim, it was an absolute pain in the ass to get to what I needed. Also, it was cold—really fucking cold. I had to move heavy boxes in and out and up and down on the shelves. It was wet, dirty, cold, heavy, and laborious. I loved it. OK, so maybe not the fucking freezing cold part. But I loved being at the co-op. It was my social life beyond my daughter and my partner. I hate to admit it, but I will put it down in writing, perhaps for the first time (but you, my love, know it and you sometimes tease me about it because you like to tease me): she had a mullet. Yes. I said it. A mullet. In my defense, this was a long time ago. Maybe there is no defending it though—a mullet is a mullet is a mullet. Mullet aside, there was definitely an attraction. It was purely physical (OK, don’t say it—how could it be if she had a mullet? But then we get into other bad hair relationships, and I don’t want to go down that path right now, as it will digress too much … ) Purely physical or not, it has a certain place in my story, and not because it provides fodder for you to tease me but because she was a first. There’s no depth of emotion attached to that. Or at least not emotion about her. The emo- tion is that feeling you get when you know. You feel a certainty. Those moments can be rare—I can count few. She was a conduit. I suppose that sounds rather clinical and disrespectful, but the passage of time has wiped away what little meaning she may have had to me and leaves only the symbolic.
4 | Pansexuality
I fell into a short slumber after that. I moved across the country again—that was the
fifth and final cross-country move—and took on my work. No more wet, dirty lettuce for
me. Now it was all domestic violence and child abuse and DSM diagnoses. In the town
where time stands still, or at least in pockets, patchouli-infused pockets.
Eugene, Oregon, in the 1990s, where I spent time parenting my young daugh-
ter. Imagine, if you will, a small city stuck in the throes of the 1960s and the
new age 1980s: all dreadlocks (on white men) and patchouli, tarot cards and
rainsticks, and goddesses in many forms: sculptures, candles, drawings, and
paintings. Overlay on that an immersion into my domestic violence work that
day-in-day-out examined patriarchy and gender roles and the violence that
these systems perpetuate:
New Age hippie town + increased feminist consciousness + Ani DiFranco (for good
measure) = I AM A LESBIAN
My attraction and love and connection are bounded by who I am and who you
are; perhaps that long-ago declaration of lesbianism could still be true—per-
haps. Even if I step away from my singular focus on you as the subject of all my
desire and imagine someone else—which is close to impossible on a visceral
level, yet for sake of this exercise, I can do it in a more detached, intellectual
fashion—even if, then I am attracted to women and gendered presentations
that span from androgynous and/or genderqueer to female.
This brings me to the coffeehouse, a very woman/womyn-centered gathering
place—I think it was called Baba Yaga’s Coffeehouse. I can see the murals, the
purple, the goddesses—images, sculptures, paintings—the counter along the
right, the tables and couches in the center. I recall they had music performances
there sometimes. I spent many hours there; it was a safe space, an oasis of
sorts. Not that I felt unsafe but it provided an emotional counterbalance to
my increased politicization through my domestic violence work (more about
that below), which was what I needed at that time to ground myself as my
sexuality took a new turn.
In addition to the coffee, conversation, and nurturing environment, there was
the owning and acceptance of sexualities, made tangible behind the curtains …
They were purple, of course. Semi-sheer—two curtains with an “entrance”
in the middle—perhaps they fell to the ground for increased anonymity, but
I seem to recall more of a three-quarter-length affair. The anteroom was big
enough for perhaps two or three people—more only if you were all really good
friends or perhaps if you liked looking at sex toys with strangers. Three or four
rows of shelves lined the three walls and displayed a variety of “girly” sex toys—
purple, pink, perhaps a rainbow here and there. Searching my memory, it is the
colors I can see most vividly—and, for me, thankfully, an absence of “realistic”
looking dildos, which I still have a visceral, less-than-positive reaction to. At
the time, the sex toy room was merely an occasional diversion that I wouldSnippets | 5
indulge in sporadically. You see, at this time I was only beginning to sense a
shift from #2 (bisexual) to #3 (lesbian), and the movement to I AM A LESBIAN
was deeply intertwined with my political self, yet the celebration of women’s
sexuality wound its way into my consciousness via the purple sex toy room.
Back to the equation:
New Age hippie town + increased feminist consciousness + Ani DiFranco (for good
measure) = I AM A LESBIAN
My work in Eugene at a community mental health organization was varied, yet
the most important work for me was the domestic violence (DV) work I did
throughout that 10-year period. DV work has been the most pivotal experience
for me on so many levels—particularly in terms of my political self, my “work” self,
and my sexual self, and the subsequent intertwining, at times, of these selves. A
few years earlier I had dipped my toes into these waters when I participated in a
several-months training on domestic violence within LGBT communities (though,
I daresay, it was more or less focused on lesbian and gay communities). At the
time, I pretty much identified as straight—this was in my early twenties and I
was a late bloomer in the queer world. To this day, I find it intriguing that even
though I had no deeply personal connection to LGBT communities (other than
the frequenting of gay bars and drag shows in the years before I was officially
allowed into bars), nor had I done any DV work yet, I was drawn to this training
and it planted a seed that became my passion for many years. In Eugene, when I,
along with two of my colleagues, began to train in a DV model that had its foun-
dation in an analysis of patriarchal gender roles, my feminist consciousness really
burst onto the scene. While I had always been generally independent and strong
willed and had been supported by my family to make my own path, I had also not
ever immersed myself in an examination of the culture and system of patriarchy.
Abbie, Jenna,* and I seemed to eat, sleep, and breathe our work for that first
year or two. We would talk before groups, run DV groups with men adjudicated
with battering and women who had experienced DV, and process after groups.
We would examine our own gendered learning and how it played out in our
daily lives. Many of our conversations took place at Baba Yaga’s. Abbie had
been doing DV work for a couple years already and Jenna had been working
with sex offenders, so they brought their own, more experienced selves to the
table. Diving headfirst into this work shifted my consciousness—particularly
given my privileged background, being white and middle class from a virtually
violence-free past had numbed me through my teens and early 20s. All of a
sudden it seemed patriarchy was everywhere (and sadly still is). Once we began
to facilitate groups “solo,” I began to weave in discussions about the intersec-
tions of sexism with racism and other forms of violence, which expanded my
* My colleagues’ names have been changed6 | Pansexuality
analysis and passion for social justice. The DV work I did for close to 10 years
became the foundation upon which my burgeoning politics were built.
As this was happening, I identified more strongly as a dyed-in-the-wool
feminist, and it propelled me to declare I AM A LESBIAN. I told my daughter’s
father, we told our daughter, and I believe I even proclaimed it to my parents
(I do not recall any response at all—my parents are fairly liberal but not at all
demonstrative).
And so there it was.
The problem was I didn’t know what to do about it. It seemed more political
than physical, emotional, or relational. While it felt completely “right,” I fig-
ured I had better actually “be” a lesbian—otherwise I feared I would be outed
as an imposter. I found someone to temporarily “be a lesbian” with, though it
was short lived. Sadly, fireworks, unbridled passions, or a deeply emotional
connection did not accompany my initiation into lesbianism. I fear sounding
judgmental, but in the spirit of honesty, I must say it was just rather boring. We
simply did not click on any level and I retreated back to my political lesbianism,
my DV work, and parenting. I let the sleeping beast take a long nap.
A really, really long nap.
Suffice it to say, my sexual identity and intimate relationships took a backseat
while I co-parented and transitioned from DV work to a doctoral program. As
crucial as my years working in the domestic violence field were to me, I was
feeling burned out and jumped headfirst into my new identity as a doctoral
student. Juggling a doctoral program, part-time grant writing, and full-time
(mostly) single parenting of a rambunctious, early-adolescent daughter was
enough for me without plunging into a sexual identity crisis. I just hung out at
#4 (OK-so-maybe-I-am-bi) for quite some time. Frankly, I was too busy and
preoccupied until I finished my PhD and started my new career chapter as
an assistant professor. New job. New city. Almost-graduated daughter living
with her father.
Enter a new relationship.
Becca kicked me out of the slumber, and I am grateful for that.
In retrospect, this relationship was not destined for longevity, but it was
another jumping off point for me. Funny (or disturbing?) that I have now cat-
egorized three women in my life as conduits for my own identity—the food
co-op fleeting attraction, my “test” relationship as a baby lesbian, and Becca.
Perhaps this is a function of time painting its own veneer on the person and
the experience. Perhaps it is because right now I am weaving a story about
where I have been from the vantage point of personal clarity intermingling
with history. And from within a relationship that supersedes all the others
(yes, I mean you, my love).
While there were some inevitable barriers to a long-term relationship with
Becca, the year (plus a handful of months) we were together was very differentSnippets | 7 from the two previous experiences that seemed tainted with clumsiness, naiveté, and a lack of connection. This relationship was tumultuous to be sure, but it also revealed my sexual identity with an unparalleled clarity. Shortly into this relation- ship, I knew I had no desire or interest in another relationship with a cisgender man or an exclusively male-identified person again. You know when ex-smokers have a visceral response to smoking? It was like that. The switch flipped, and I was firmly grounded in my identity as a lesbian. This time it had softer edges. While my politics ran deep, the identity was no longer a feminist victory cry—it was more personal, more relational than it had been during the purple era. At some point, my identity morphed into queerness. Not quite full circle, since early on in my trajectory my sexuality was the garden variety, in-my- fantasies-nonpolitically-motivated bisexuality. But full circle in the merging of intimate/relational/physical sexual identity and political sexual identity. I had sadly missed the queer boat the first time around when it was bursting on the scene with ACT-UP, the Lesbian Avengers, and Queer Nation. My timing was off and I mourn that a little. It would have fit me well but our histories are what they are, and as much as I romanticize being a Lesbian Avenger and a Queer Nation activist, it was not on my radar. I combined my reaffirmed lesbianism with my academic and political self and voila! I was QUEER. A culmination of years of on-again, off-again experiences, relationships, and hibernation. It finally seemed the perfect fit. I was attracted to women, and my politics about sexuality, disruption of normative gender roles/relationships/normativity in general, and my appreciation of reclaiming queerness all coalesced. My relationship after Becca worked within the context of queerness with no problem. From the outside, it likely appeared to be a run-of-the-mill lesbian relationship, but my concern was not how I was read by others—I was confident and settled in my own identity, although perhaps queerness itself might balk at the idea of settling. And then I met you. Finding you is more a love story than an identity story, yet there are still occa- sional identity snags. Nothing particularly disruptive but the personal snags are relevant to what brings me to study pansexuality. I had taught a 400-level class in LGBTQ+ communities twice before I decided to embark on my research. At that point, you had been in my life for a few years and my partner for about one and a half years. In teaching the course (2012–2014), I found that, at the time, there was a dearth of writing about pansexuality, which prompted me to begin to investigate it. I wondered if maybe pansexuality was the “new queer,” and so as someone who identified as queer and who wanted to contribute to the conversation about sexualities, it seemed a good plan. My interest sprang from intellectual curiosity, a desire to provide a platform for understanding the dynamic nature of sexuality, and
8 | Pansexuality
a general level of comfort as a relative “insider.” I have always struggled with
studying people and phenomena as an outsider, and this has constrained me
at times. While I didn’t (and don’t) identify as pansexual, there were at least
some areas of overlap that helped quell some of my inner researcher demons.
I was primarily interested in how pansexuality fit into the context of LGBTQ+/
DSG (diverse sexuality and gender) communities from an activist/political/
social movement perspective, yet at the same time, I wanted to talk to indi-
viduals who identified as pansexual. This proved to be a little at odds with my
initial goal since I was asking for detailed personal experiences, which didn’t
always give me a window into a movement per se. Often the conversations were
very personal identity stories with occasional “political” glimmers.
Throughout this research process my own identity has generally stayed
course, yet it is instructive to note that your gender identity has shifted more
solidly in the direction of genderqueer. While I believe you would say you have
identified as such for perhaps six years or more, time seems to have crystalized
this for you. And my ability to be adept at maneuvering around your breasts as
I lay in your arms could be a relic—a skill I may not need indefinitely.
A couple years later …
I fit differently against you now since you have navigated your own path in
relation to your body. Once again, I turn back to how my sexual identity is deeply
rooted in our relationship. I would identify as queer independent of any specific
relationship, yet it is difficult to think outside of our relationship. I am reminded
of all the questions I had over the years about my identity and how often there are
external and internal pressures to enact identity in a specific way. I resist these
pressures to the best of my ability yet cannot help but wonder, How we are per-
ceived? Is it queer to be a cisgender woman with a gender nonconforming person? Is
it queer to be in a relationship with two decades of separation? Is it queer because
I say it is? Is it queer to love regardless?C H A P T E R 1
Plurisexuality in Theory
P ansexual, polysexual, queer … the expansion of possibilities for naming
sexual identities that move beyond binary categorization—often fluid
and actively defying normative binary gender categories—speaks to our
expanding understanding and acceptance of sexual and gender diversity.
So, what do these identities mean for those who take them on as their own?
How do individuals navigate this contemporary terrain as they explore their
sexual identities and lay claim to who they authentically are with themselves,
in relationships, and in the larger context of lesbian, gay, transgender, queer/
diverse sexuality and gender (LGBTQ+/DSG) communities? What are the
personal struggles and victories, and how do they fit into social and cultural
tensions—tensions tied to naming, communicating, belonging, and living
in spaces that persistently oppress LGBTQ+/DSG individuals and commu-
nities—both from outside in and inside out?
The stories that begin with Chapter 5 speak to these questions—ques-
tions posed to a small group of participants who were willing to share some
moments and memories with me during 2014–2016. In some ways those sto-
ries are frozen in time; they are their stories at the time we spoke—certainly
partial, always in flux, and part of history. Feel free to jump right into the
stories, which include my summaries and the “transcript poems” I created
solely from participants’ words, yet it is also helpful to get some grounding
for the stories. To provide this grounding, Chapter 1 provides a brief theo-
retical and historical context about nonbinary sexualities, Chapter 2 outlines
my research methodologies, and Chapters 3 and 4 outlines two additional,
related projects (a survey and brief social media analysis) that I did to gain
more insight into pansexuality and other plurisexualities. My objective is
to provide a springboard for the personal stories. Given the vast amount of
research into sexualities and trans and gender nonconforming identities,
Chapter 1 may pique your interest to delve more deeply, so at the end I have
included a brief list of additional resources to get you started.
910 | Pansexuality
THE POLITICS OF LANGUAGE
Right out the gate, the highly politicized and personal nature of identities
and labels is apparent, in terms of the number of sexual orientation cate-
gories, variations in some of the definitions, tensions related to inclusion/
exclusion, and the very act of naming or labeling. Deciding on an inclusive
term that is not problematic is a challenge. While LGBT+ or LGBTQ+ has
had some longevity and, for some, seems a viable initialism, it is not without
critique.1 Including lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer identities
in addition to the “+” to suggest the list can go on allows for a relatively
short-hand way to attempt inclusivity, although critiques include: concerns
about the order of the letters, which can be suggestive of a hierarchy; the
inclusion of identities that are not exclusively sexual orientations or gender
identities, which can be both useful and confusing; the inclusion of identi-
ties yet subsequent erasure in the larger social and political arena; and the
exclusion of numerous identities by merely suggesting they exist through
the “+,” among others. Drawing out the abbreviation to be more inclusive
of other identities into the often maligned “alphabet soup” risks being the
brunt of too many jokes and falling prey to chronic confusion as letters are
added and potentially moved around. As letters get added in an attempt to
be inclusive, contestations arise about which identities belong and which
don’t, and who “polices” this anyway?
Some additional recent options include: GSM—gender and sexual minori-
ties; DSG—diverse sexualities and genders; and QUILTBAG—queer (and/
or questioning), undecided, intersex, lesbian, trans, bisexual, asexual (and/or
allied), and gay (and/or genderqueer). GSM has been surfacing quite a bit in
public health and education fields, among others, yet has been sometimes
critiqued because of the stigma that the term minorities can evoke. DSG
(sometimes written as GSD) has been critiqued because it can be read as
too inclusive—suggesting that any gender or sexual identity could then fit
within this initialism. QUILTBAG appeals to some because it seems inclu-
sive and fun, while to others it seems quite the opposite—exclusive, silly
and/or dismissive. An additional concern with any of the possible choices
are that some people reject categorization of their sexuality (or gender) and,
therefore, will always be erased from the conversation.
Given the diverse, contentious, and fluid terrain that has evolved and the
need for consistency and clarity in the book, I have chosen to use LGBTQ+/
DSG as a “stand-in” to denote individuals who do not identify as hetero-
sexual and/or cisgender. I deliberately do not use “nonheterosexual and/or
noncisgender” as an attempt to decenter heterosexuality and cisgender as
the normative (read: “accepted”) categories by which others are measured.
While not without its own problems, my use of LGBTQ+/DSG is an attempt toChapter 1 — Plurisexuality in Theory | 11 communicate with some semblance of inclusivity and clarity. It may be easier to identify who is not included in the term—individuals who identify as exclu- sively heterosexual and cisgender. While some people contrast normative heterosexualities with queer, alternative, and nonnormative heterosexuali- ties2 and may suggest that this could leave nonnormative heterosexualities out, if someone identifies as “queer” in relation to their heterosexuality, I would presume that they might find themselves fitting into the LGBTQ+/ DSG constellation of identities. I also use the terms trans and gender nonconforming (GNC) identities throughout the book (if participants’ use other language, I respect that and use their terms). There is debate about inclusivity regarding the term trans- gender and while one accepted term, trans*, has been used to connote more than individuals who identify as transgender, such as gender nonconforming and those who see their trans experience as less an identity and more as part of their medical experience,3 for some the use of the asterisk is problematic. This critique is similar to the plus sign in LGBTQ+ in that it presumes inclu- sivity yet can be dismissive when used as some form of catchall “other” group.4 On the other hand, some activists and scholars suggest that the asterisk can point to inclusivity, given its use in internet searches to connote any addi- tional terms using the prefix and/or can prompt inquiry into the intersection between transgender and “other categorical crossings.”5 DEBATES IN SEXUAL ORIENTATION AND IDENTITY DEVELOPMENT Disciplinary Schisms Conceptual variations in our understanding of terminology such as sexual orientation and sexual identity and in our understanding of the processes of sexual identity development are often connected to different disciplinary approaches to the study of sexuality. Earlier research in the field was dom- inated by medical and psychological disciplines as it was viewed as an individual behavior and thus relegated to these disciplines rather than sociol- ogy.6 Different disciplines have approached the study of sexuality from varied epistemological, methodological, and theoretical perspectives and have highlighted different aspects of sexuality, although contemporarily there has been some movement toward interdisciplinary study of sexuality. While illuminating complexities if read as a body of work, the varied approaches can also contribute to confusion about concepts and “intellectual fragmentation.”7 That being said, the fields of psychology and human development continue to dominate the field of sexual identity development theory and research. Sexual orientation typically centers on behaviors, attractions, and fantasies towards a specific sex/gender. The term sexual identity often encompasses
12 | Pansexuality
a potentially larger spectrum of beliefs, values, and characteristics than
does the term sexual orientation. For example, someone’s sexual identity
may include identifying as dominant in the bondage, discipline, dominance,
submission, sadism, and masochism (BDSM) community or identifying as
polyamorous. These concepts are not mutually exclusive and can some-
times overlap. Additionally, researchers, activists, lay people, educators, and
others may use the terms interchangeably or attach a variety of meanings to
them. There is generally agreement that a person’s sexual identity contains
an understanding or conceptualization about their sexual orientation, yet
the concept of sexual orientation is dynamic, often dependent on histori-
cal understandings of sex and gender and the definitions used by different
disciplines. The American Psychological Association, for example, defines
sexual orientation as “an enduring pattern of emotional, romantic and/or
sexual attractions to men, women, or both sexes.”8 This definition is fraught
with challenges given that it suggests that sexual orientation is “fixed” (i.e.,
“enduring”), reinforces a binary understanding of sex, ignores gender identity,
and focuses solely on biological sex.
Sociologists have historically conceptualized sexuality as relatively fixed
within the categories of heterosexual or homosexual9 and has focused
attention on how our sexuality is socially constructed within institutional,
historical, and sociocultural arenas. From the late 1960s through 1970s,
sociologists countered the prevailing theories of Freudian psychology and
the biological determinism of sexologists. They disentangled sexuality from
being viewed as biologically innate and/or based on psychological drives to
sexuality as being based on cultural and historical forces. The social construc-
tion of sexuality and sexual identity influences the various social categories
that are used to classify sexuality or sexual orientation and the various mean-
ings, norms, and expectations that are associated with various sexualities.
These concepts are all mediated by cultures, histories, and systems of power
and privilege.10
Hammack has proposed that the theoretical tensions that stem from
various approaches to sexual identity development can be bridged using
a life-course approach. He outlines the two oppositional approaches of
essentialism, which posits that sexual orientation is an enduring personality
trait that is ahistorical and universal (most often connected to biologists and
biopsychologists), and constructivism, which posits that sexual orientation is
culturally and historically specific with socially constructed systems of mean-
ing, labels, expectations, and norms (most often connected to sociologists
and gender studies scholars). He suggests conceptualizing sexual identity
development through an integrative life-course paradigm can account for
potential biological influences in the context of social, cultural, and historical
factors.11Chapter 1 — Plurisexuality in Theory | 13 In a similar vein, Horowitz and Newcomb propose a “multidimensional approach to homosexual identity” by developing a schema through which sexual identity can be understood through a social constructivist lens. They point out that while many developmental stage models have no empirical validation, these models may provide a limited understanding of a general sequential progression. These models are problematic when viewing sex- uality as a fluid and complex experience rather than what is suggested by a static, essentialist model. Additionally, stage models often discount bisexual experiences altogether and perpetuate stereotypes that bisexuality is “con- fused” or “transitional” rather than an identity in its own right. Horowitz and Newcomb suggest that incorporating a social constructivist perspective can account for how individual identities develop in the context of group identities whereby through interactions with their environment, individuals continually construct their own identity. This schema, they believe, is flex- ible enough to understand the multiplicity of ways that individuals develop their sexuality.12 Static, linear models of sexual identity and sexual orientation develop- ment have generally been contested in recent years with a growing body of scholarship pointing to the multidimensional nature of sexual identity development. One recurrent theme in the research is that sexual identity development among young adults is complex, variable, and flexible. While there are groups of young adults who present a highly-integrated LGBTQ+/ DSG identity, there are others who are just beginning to explore and may continue to explore their sexual identities as they move through early adult- hood. Additionally, recent research has consistently shown that young adults have become more nonexclusive in their sexual identities, which is in direct opposition to the static stage models of sexuality.13 More contemporarily, queer theory has challenged binaries and categories altogether. In particular, queer theory challenges the homosexual/heterosex- ual binary as fixed on the sex object of choice, which had historically been viewed as the fixed binary of female or male. Queer theory allows for a more expansive understanding of sexual desires and practices that contribute to an individual’s sexual identity. A “queer sociological perspective” allows sociologists to consider how the sexual and gender practices individuals engage in influence their subjective understanding and construction of their sexuality/sexual identity and gender identity within the constraints and power relations that dominate society. While not without challenges due to opposing theoretical perspectives of deconstructivism (queer theory) and constructivism (sociology), there has been a call to acknowledge the ways in which both queer theories and sociological theories can both be applied to the study of sexuality in beneficial ways.14 Additionally, it is important to integrate an intersectional lens that accounts for the multiple ways that
14 | Pansexuality
the variety of identity categories (such as race, class, ethnicity, and so on)
impact the meanings and experiences of sexuality and sexual identity. To
further complicate the arena, researchers are also beginning to account for
differences between sexual and romantic desires15 and acknowledge that
for many people, sexual behavior patterns and sexual orientation may differ
based on availability of potential partners and risk or legality in certain
areas in the world.16
Fixed or Fluid?
How our sexuality develops has been the subject of much theorizing stem-
ming from the work of Kinsey and his associates who, using the Kinsey Scale,
conceptualized a continuum of psychological and behavioral orientations
from “exclusively heterosexual” to “exclusively homosexual.”17 While Kinsey’s
work is suggestive of a variety of points on a scale, much research has tended
to reference only two or three points—heterosexual, homosexual, and, at
times, bisexual.18 Historical biological/psychological models of development
tend to suggest that our sexuality develops in childhood and remains stable
throughout our lives,19 yet more recently, research has pointed to a much more
fluid model of sexuality.20 Research has been equivocal regarding differences
between cisgender males and cisgender females in terms of the propensity
towards sexual fluidity such that it appears that sexual fluidity exists in both
males and females.21 It is important to point out that much of this research
continues to be dominated by use of only the binary categories of male and
female, though there has been more recent attention being paid to trans and
GNC experiences (see the Gender/Sex* and Plurisexuality section below).
For example, Katz-Wise and Hyde studied sexual fluidity in a sample of
188 cisgender young adults ages 18–26 years who identified as having sexual
orientations other than heterosexual, preferred not to label their sexual ori-
entation, and/or had experienced past attractions that were not heterosexual.
They found that changes in attractions were reported by 63% of the females
and 50% of the males, and that in the group that reported changes in attrac-
tion, 48% of the females and 34% of the males indicated that this change in
attraction shifted their sexual orientation identity label. Additionally, 21% of
the females and 19% of the males reported multiple changes in attractions.22
Other studies have found that sexual identity development is strongly con-
nected to relationships with peers and does not fit a stage model.23
Integrating social identity development and collective identity devel-
opment theories, Miller, Taylor, and Rupp examine how queer identity
development is constructed by individuals through their participation in
queer social movement communities on college campuses. Through inter-
views with a racially and ethnically diverse sample of 125 women at the
University of California, Santa Barbara, from 2006 to 2012 who identifiedChapter 1 — Plurisexuality in Theory | 15 as bisexual (26%), lesbian (25%), queer (23%), fluid (8%), pansexual (6%), gay (7%), and none/not straight/uncertain (4%), the research found that while the participants personally identified in varied, nuanced ways, the identity of “queer” was mediated by their participation in activist groups in which queer was often seen as a political identity. The students who embraced a queer identity tended to seek validation for their sexual identities and politics by choosing relevant coursework and by joining queer activist groups. Many of these students also acknowledged that developing a queer identity occurred in the context of their college experience in which they were introduced to both queerness and the concept of sexual fluidity. Interestingly, many of these participants used other sexual identity labels outside of queer activist spaces such as gay, lesbian, and bisexual, which is suggestive of fluidity but also suggestive of the power of verifying their identity through group mem- bership and of the complexity of sexual identity formation.24 PLURISEXUAL IDENTITIES Historically, research on sexual orientation has conceptualized sexuality as a continuum with the monosexual identities (attractions, behaviors, and fantasies for one sex or gender) of heterosexual and gay/lesbian occupying each pole and bisexual identities falling in the center.25 The continuum model continues to be used in much of the contemporary research that seeks to understand sexuality and to expand our understandings of plurisexual iden- tities (attractions, behaviors, and fantasies for more than one sex or gender),26 but most of this research tends to err in three ways. It places plurisexual identities at the center of this continuum as a more-or-less combination of heterosexual and gay/lesbian orientations, obfuscates diversity, and priori- tizes a view of sexuality as binary.27 To counter this tendency and to expand understandings of sexualities, contemporary research has begun to question this linear model and has delved into plurisexuality. While there is a notable history of research about bisexuality, researchers are creating space for a more complex and nuanced understanding of plurisexuality that encompasses more identities, such as queer, pansexual, and polysexual, and, for some, moves more explicitly beyond a binary view of sexuality and gender. So, what have we begun to discover regarding plurisexuality? Defining and Understanding Plurisexual Identities A small body of work has emerged in recent years that examines the char- acteristics of individuals who identify as plurisexual, particularly those who identify as bisexual, pansexual, queer, and/or fluid. A recent study by Belous and Bauman examined how pansexuality is defined and discussed
16 | Pansexuality
online and found some inconsistencies in terms of definitions, with the most
common being “all gender attraction,” and yet others defining pansexual-
ity as “denouncing gender or sex as a defining feature of sexuality.” Citing
recent declarations of pansexuality from figures such as Miley Cyrus, Angel
Haze, and Jazz Jennings, they see a cultural shift towards acceptance and
diversity as an important factor in pan visibility online. The authors note
that for some people, pansexuality is attractive because it is a flexible label
while for others it is too broad and not useful. They also found that many
web postings compared pansexuality and bisexuality and that there was a
tendency to identify pansexuality as a subset of bisexuality. Additionally,
they determined that bisexuality and pansexuality are represented as distinct
identities and questioned whether bisexuality should actually be placed
under a pansexual umbrella rather than the reverse.28 While I have observed
in my research that this is a particularly contested and political assertion,
the authors do not mention any of these tensions.
In an early study of pansexuality in 2013, Gonel questioned whether pan-
sexuality was perhaps an emerging “anti-identity,” using an online survey
with both open- and closed-ended questions related to use of the term
pansexuality. This survey of 57 participants revealed that for 57.8% of the
respondents, pansexuality was one component of a multiple identity, as they
chose more than one sexual identity category. Participants also indicated that
they strategically chose when to use the label of pansexuality. Two different
definitions of pansexuality emerged from this study—attraction to people
that moved beyond gender (and thus was person-based) or attraction to all
genders. Some of the participants noted that they preferred pansexuality as
an identity over bisexuality due to their beliefs that bisexuality promoted
sexual and gender binaries. One major limitation of this study and of many
others (including my own) is that the survey respondents were overwhelm-
ingly white (89% in this case).29 Also, Callis reported that in her ethnographic
study of bisexual, queer, and pansexual individuals, of the 37 participants
(out of 80) who identified as plurisexual, the label of pansexuality was often
seen as a nonlabel that did not prioritize gender. She also found that there
was a tendency to use multiple sexual identity labels.30
In an online qualitative survey that examined how bisexual, pansexual,
and queer individuals describe their sexual identity, out of 172 respondents,
76 identified their primary sexuality as bisexual, 51 as pansexual, and 45
as queer. Four major themes emerged, which included their “(1) relation-
ship to identity labels, (2) distinctions in their attractions, (3) use of binary/
nonbinary language, and (4) transcendence of traditional notions of sexual-
ity.” While these themes were present overall, there were some distinctions
among the three sexual identity categories. Regarding transcendence, there
was a greater tendency for pansexuals (54.9%) to describe their sexuality asChapter 1 — Plurisexuality in Theory | 17 transcending gender and sex (being gender-blind and/or person-oriented) than bisexuals (23.7%) or queer-identified participants (15.6%). Across all three groups there was a larger number who chose to use nonbinary terms overall, although bisexuals (16.9%) did use binary terms to describe their sexuality to a much greater degree than pansexuals (0%) or queer-identified participants (4.6%). All participants were more likely to use inclusion crite- ria rather than exclusion criteria regarding their sexual attractions, though among this group pansexuals (17.6%) and queer participants (8.9%) were more likely than bisexuals (3.9%) to use inclusion criteria. Additionally, bisexuals (36.8%) and queer participants (33.3%) were significantly more likely than individuals identifying as pansexual (11.8%) to identify a preference for a specific group over another.31 Regarding demographic differences, pansexuals were significantly younger (M = 23) than bisexual (M = 26.8) or queer (M = 27.8) participants, and queer (65.5%) and pansexuals (41.2%) were significantly more likely to identify as trans or GNC than bisexuals (10.4%). This has been supported by additional research that suggests that trans-identified individuals are more likely to identify as pansexual or queer.32 While the participants in this study were diverse across age (18–77), location (all 50 states and Washington, DC), and gender identities, there was very limited racial and ethnic diversity, with 76.7% of the participants identifying as white. One important takeaway point that the authors note is that plurisexual individuals are heterogeneous, so while some did endorse binary conceptual- izations of attraction, gender, and/or sex, others did not. Based on some of the distinctions that they identified, they also suggest that queer identities may be unique because some individuals that identify as queer may also identify as monosexual, not plurisexual; it is important to note that they may not be as easily incorporated into a monosexual/plurisexual distinction.33 In another recent study, Green briefly interviewed 10 self-identified pan- sexual individuals to discern (a) how they defined pansexuality, (b) what is important about pansexuality, (c) if they had previously identified with different sexual identity labels, (d) why those labels didn’t fit, (e) thoughts about bisexuality and queer labels, (f) what led them to a pansexual identity, (g) what role their gender identity plays in choosing pansexuality, (h) the role of prior relationships, and (i) how they discovered the term. Participants were from the San Diego, California, area and ranged from 18 to 54 years old. The respondents included three cisgender women, three cisgender men, two transmen, one genderqueer and agender individual, and one gender- queer and nonbinary individual. Sixty percent identified as white and 40% identified as mixed race.34 In terms of how participants discovered pansexuality, some noted that online and social media interactions introduced them to the term while
18 | Pansexuality
others indicated that they were introduced to the term through the kink
community, friends, or a counselor. The four trans and GNC participants
all stated that their own gender identity played a role in choosing to identify
as pansexual, and five of the six cisgender participants noted that a relation-
ship with someone who identified as trans or GNC influenced their identity
formation, which suggests that adopting a pansexual identity is reflective
of the desire to be inclusive of all possible gender identities. In addition to
inclusivity, participants indicated that pansexuality seemed to fit best and
speak to their sexuality more authentically than previous labels such as
bisexuality (six of the 10 had previously identified as bisexual). Although most
of the participants validated and supported bisexuality even if they didn’t
choose the term for themselves, some indicated that they see bisexuality as
shifting to be more inclusive. In contrast, some participants also suggested
the need to move away from the term bisexual because of the “bi” component,
believing that shifting mainstream understandings of bisexuality will be an
uphill battle for bisexuals and that they should simply change their language
to avoid these tensions and miscommunications.35
Measuring Plurisexuality
How plurisexuality is measured is crucial to our understanding of identities
that can include bisexual, queer, pansexual, polysexual, and others. Much of
the research to date has relied on the Kinsey Scale or the Klein Sexual Orien-
tation Grid, which use one simple continuum (same-sex and other-sex) and
use binary language in describing both sexual orientation (heterosexual and
homosexual) and sex (same-sex and other-sex). Using these traditional scales
is extremely limiting and renders trans and GNC and plurisexual individu-
als invisible. While some of the recent research is qualitative in nature and
allows for participants to self-identify, other research into plurisexuality has
continued to rely on scales that do not adequately speak to a more expansive
understanding of sexuality. It is crucial that research regarding plurisexuality
to date be assessed within the context of methodological limitations related
to measurement scales.
To counter these critiques, Galupo, Lomash, and Mitchell have developed
two scales, the Gender-Inclusive Scale and the Sexual-Romantic Scale. The
Gender-Inclusive Scale uses a variety of measures to both capture more
traditional categories of same and other-sex attractions and to also measure
attractions to masculine, feminine, androgynous, and/or gender noncon-
forming individuals. The Sexual-Romantic Scale disaggregates sexual and
romantic attractions and measures same-sex and other-sex attractions on
different scales. Using an online convenience sample (N = 179), the authors
examined qualitative responses about how well these two scales did or did
not capture the participants’ sexuality. The responses were generally positive,Chapter 1 — Plurisexuality in Theory | 19 particularly related to how the Gender-Inclusive Scale included nonbinary gender identities and how the Sexual-Romantic Scale included not only sexual but romantic attractions. There was critique about the language of “sex” rather than “gender” as being exclusive and problematic and the drawback that, for some, their sexuality is related to the person, not to a sex or gender. While there were problems noted, the development of more inclusive scales is a significant step that may expand our understanding of diverse sexualities and genders.36 Gender/Sex* and Plurisexuality Teasing out the complexities of how gender/sex intersect with sexuality has been historically ignored as researchers have often failed on many fronts. From the failure to examine gender identity and sexual orientation independently, to engaging in research on sexuality grounded in cisgen- der assumptions, to researching trans experiences based on heterosexual assumptions, there have been missing pieces in how sexual identities and gender identities are understood.37 Gender/sex has relevance in the context of plurisexuality for a variety of reasons. As noted above, research has found that cisgender females and cisgender males both exhibit fluidity regarding sexual identity orientation, and trans and GNC individuals are more likely to identify as pansexual or queer; yet given some of the research assumptions and omissions, there is still a need for a more complex and nuanced approach in understanding sexual identities. Important concerns have also been raised about the approaches to studying trans and GNC sexuality from a medical framework. When trans identities are pathologized in psychology and medi- cine, there is a tendency to narrowly define trans and GNC sexualities within a binary perspective and often to conflate the experiences and identities of trans and GNC individuals into one transsexual narrative.38 There has been some positive movement to address some of these cri- tiques and which has revealed the diverse and dynamic nature of trans and GNC sexualities. One recent study sought to understand the gender identities, sexual orientations, and surgery and hormonal experiences of those who identify with a gender identity other than their assigned birth sex. In a sample of 292 trans and GNC individuals who were surveyed from a nonclinical sample, 72.3% identified with more than one current gender identity and 41.1% with more than two. Of the chosen gender identities, genderqueer was the most common identity. Pansexual and queer were the most common sexual orientations chosen with participants selecting an average of 2.05 past sexual orientations. These results point to a diverse * While historically sex, gender, and gender identity have been defined as discrete categories, this is not alto- gether straightforward, so I have chosen to often speak about them as a unit. There are many useful writings on this; see, for example, Stryker (2017) in the additional resources for a great overview of terms and concepts.
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