I’m asexual, but 2D characters are the exception

I am asexual, which means I do not feel sexual attraction. I am completely uninterested in—and even slightly disgusted by—the idea of having a sexual relationship with someone. I never look at someone and think, Mm, I’d let them do nasty things to me.

When it comes to fictional characters, all of that goes out the window.

Over the summer, I got into Genshin Impact, a story-driven role-playing video game with a buffet of attractive characters. One day, while roaming the fictional world of Teyvat, I spotted one of my favourite characters, Xiao, standing on the shore in the distance, waiting for me to talk to him for a quest. As I noticed his toned, tattooed arms and the shape of his body through his tight-fitting tank, my heart fluttered and filled with joy. That’s when I knew I was attracted to that cluster of pixels on my screen.

I wanted to know all about him. For the next three months, I spent much of my leisurely afternoons learning his lore, browsing fan art, and even reading spicy fanfiction.

All of a sudden, it felt wrong to call myself asexual. This isn’t even the first time I’ve been attracted to a 2D character. One of my earliest fictional crushes was Howl from Howl’s Moving Castle. Even earlier than that? Nori from Barbie Fairytopia: Mermaidia. How could I possibly be asexual if all my life I’ve clearly been experiencing a sexual attraction to fictional characters?

Maybe my attraction to fictional characters isn’t sexual in nature at all. It might be purely based on aesthetic attraction, which is what I describe as an appreciation for someone’s physical appearance without the desire to interact with them in sexual or romantic ways. If you’re aesthetically but not sexually attracted to someone, you might say to them, “You’re hot, so you must be sexually attractive to a lot of people. However, I am not one of those people. I still acknowledge that you’re hot, though!”

All of these 2D characters that I’m into have flawless skin, exaggeratedly cute eyes, and shiny hair that flows in the wind even when they’re indoors. No wonder I want to scroll through pictures of them all day! If what I feel for fictional characters is nothing but aesthetic attraction, then these feelings certainly don’t contradict my identity as an asexual.

Oh, if only it were that simple. The truth is, sometimes I do fantasize about characters in sexual ways. That rules out the possibility of my attraction to them as purely aesthetic. If I can be sexually attracted to a fictional character, then surely I can’t be asexual… which means I must have the capacity to feel attracted to an actual person, right?

This question troubled me so much that I went ahead and did what most people do when they have a major identity crisis—I Googled it. After some scrolling, I stumbled upon a helpful article (which was surprising, because who the heck writes articles about fictional crushes?). The article says that attraction to fictional characters is completely normal, “especially since fictional characters are often created to look really perfect” and have “easy-to-grasp personalities.” Of course I’m in love with Xiao—he’s selfless, heroic, and perfect in every way. These traits make him easier to root for as a protagonist, and that’s exactly the effect that writers want to achieve when designing their characters.

While fictional characters have relatively simple personalities, people in real life are more complex. We each come with flaws and quirks, and it takes effort to maintain a stable romantic relationship with someone. I happily accept the way that my friends and family are because I feel platonic love for them. However, I don’t feel attracted to anyone romantically or sexually, so I’m just not motivated to maintain that sort of relationship.

“Dating” a fictional character, on the other hand, takes no effort. The relationship can be whatever I imagine it to be, because it all takes place in my head. If I ever decide that I’m no longer interested in Xiao, I’ll happily let my feelings go; no tissue boxes or pity parties necessary. If I fall for other characters, I don’t have to worry about breaking poor Xiao’s heart. And likewise, Xiao will never hurt me. He will never sit me down at a dimly lit coffee shop and give me the ol’ “it’s not you, it’s me” talk. Liking fictional characters is the closest thing I can experience to sexual attraction, but it comes with none of the commitment or intimacy involved in real relationships, so it’s perfectly within the boundaries of what little sexual and romantic interest I have.

But this raises the question: what if my asexuality is nothing but a fear of abandonment? What if it’s not that I lack the ability to experience sexual attraction, but the courage to pursue that attraction because I’m afraid of vulnerability and heartbreak?

I skimmed through countless Reddit threads and YouTube videos to figure this out, and what I’ve learned is that a fear of abandonment—or of commitment, vulnerability, or relationships in general—is not mutually exclusive to asexuality. I feel no sexual attraction when it comes to real people, which by definition makes me asexual. My fear of abandonment might be the reason I am asexual: because I am afraid of relationships involving sex, my sexual desire is inhibited. However, the reason why I am the way I am doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, the simple fact that I do not feel sexually attracted to people is enough to validate my asexual identity.

And yet, I can’t stop doubting myself. It’s like I’m in a perpetual state of denial, hoping that my sexual attraction for 2D characters will one day extend to real people and I’ll live happily ever after. The truth is that I don’t know how to fully accept my asexuality because of the way that I, like many other queer women, have been taught to desire sexual relationships with men.

When I was in the process of questioning my sexuality, I naturally turned to the Comphet Masterdoc to see if I was truly attracted to men. Compulsory heterosexuality, also known as “comphet,” is the idea that our heteronormative and misogynistic society teaches us that being straight is the default and that women existsolely for men’s sexual pleasure. Comphet thereby forces many queer women to deny their true sexual identities—so the Masterdoc serves as a guide to self-discovery for lesbian women who may have lost touch with who they are.

If you think that you might be lesbian but the fact that you like male fictional characters is giving you doubt, your identity as a lesbian is totally valid, according to the Masterdoc. Lesbian women are not interested in intimacy with men, and crushing on a fictional character involves no intimacy due to the completely unobtainable nature of the crush. In fact, having the hots for 2D hunks might even be a direct result of comphet. Since there’s so much pressure for women to like men, the most that lesbian women can do to fit in with those norms is to like fictional men, which gives them an excuse to claim some form of a heterosexual identity while simultaneously distancing themselves from real men.

And if the Masterdoc says that crushes on fictional characters do not invalidate a lesbian woman’s identity, then the same principle should apply to asexual women, too. Both asexual and lesbian women are not sexually interested in men, yet are affected by the same heteronormative pressure that tells us that we are incomplete without them. Perhaps my crushes on fictional characters are a subconscious way for me to deny my own asexuality, a result of what I call “compallo”—compulsory allosexuality.

Allosexual people are those who experience sexual attraction. Unfortunately, most of the media I was exposed to growing up, and that I continue to be exposed to, perpetuate allosexuality as the norm. Every Disney princess I knew in my childhood ends up with a prince. Every chick flick that’s supposed to represent your teen years involves a romantic plot. Tons of movies have sex scenes for no reason at all, and pop music is full of explicit lyrics that objectify women as if we only exist for the sexual pleasure of men. Romance is painted as the most beautiful, magical thing you could ever experience, and sex is portrayed as an essential part of life that validates one’s adulthood or coming-of-age.

So when a woman like me has no interest in finding the love of her life or spending steamy nights with hot strangers, it’s hard not to feel excluded, or even broken, for not feeling or wanting the same things as other people. We’re made to feel like children, stunted in growth because of our lack of participation in “adult” things. Sometimes I feel so desperate to live a “normal adult life” that I find myself wishing I could get into a relationship, or at least experiment with sex, even if doing so would make me feel uncomfortable and violated.

The reality is that there is no such thing as a “normal adult life.” Not everyone is going to get married or have kids or have active sex lives. Not everyone wants that.

It seems a lot easier to convince myself that I’m allosexual because of my fictional crushes than to come to terms with my asexual identity. But as any queer person would know, you can’t choose who you’re attracted to or how you experience attraction. I simply cannot feel for real people what I feel for fictional characters—that’s all there is to it.

Asexuality is a vast spectrum and looks different for everyone. There are different types of attraction, and each person experiences each type to varying degrees. Some asexuals never experience sexual attraction, whereas others only experience it under particular circumstances. Some experience romantic attraction and will pursue romantic relationships, while some may not. Some have crushes on fictional characters; others do not. To any asexuals out there who feel like an imposter within the asexual community, I hope you remember that everyone on the spectrum is valid, no matter what asexuality means for you.