All the purple flags I justified before realising asexuality was a thing

Turns out the signs were there all along.

Does anyone else think that the concept of a blow job is conceptually foul? Like, putting something that someone uses to piss in your mouth and sucking? Surely no one enjoys this?

I distinctly remember being at school in year 10, lamenting on the disgusting nature of blow jobs and trying to rally my friends into admitting they agree with me. These girls all sheepishly admitted that they liked blowjobs, and I was floored. This right here, this should have been the tip off that I was asexual.

But no, I did not use the critical thinking skills that my mother gave me. I didn’t question why the idea of physical intimacy felt utterly repulsive to me, nor did I use the internet to see if anyone else felt like this. I instead decided to gaslight myself into believing that sex was fun, I mean after all, this was at the peak of the sex positivity movement of the 2010s.

But this was one of the many instances that the call was coming from inside the house, but I did not answer for another five years.

Let’s count the purple flags

So how many purple flags did I ignore before I realised my calling (being an annoying oversharer and asexual yapper on the internet). Today I thought it would be fun to take a promenade down memory lane and discuss all of the times I should have known.

One of the first flags that came to my mind was my dress for my high school valedictory. At my school on the last day students were encouraged to customise their school uniform, and in classic 2017 fashion, I decided to customise mine to look like a Discount Universe dress (you had to be there). One of the many bedazzled symbols on my dress was the word “pride” sequinned in rainbow, because 18-year-old Allie was just such a good ally!

While we are on the topic of high school, let's yap about my first (and only) kiss! It had all the makings of a movie moment, a party, a years long flirtation enemies-to-lovers arc, Dua Lipa’s New Rules serving as the soundtrack, a horrible guy as the romantic lead, and the setting of the backseat of an Uber! Classy stuff, and not at all derivative of Chuck and Blair in Gossip Girl.

So, how was it? That was what my best friend at the time asked me when we called later on that night, and I did not know how to answer her. I knew I had been crushing on this guy for over a year at this point, so it should have been magic right? Intellectually it was a lovely moment that I wanted to play on repeat and giggle with the girlies over. But physically? I did not feel a thing. Not a flutter to be found anywhere.

Did I question this? Nope! I mean I had romantic feelings for him, so that must correlate to physical attraction, right? I was probably just having an off day. And when I would fantasise about him, it was never about physical stuff, it was always about the banter and the flirty conversations we would have. But like, doesn’t everybody think about those things and avoid thoughts of sex? Right?

I really wish at this moment that I had stopped to question those thoughts for even a second, because if I thought about those topics a little deeper, I am certain that I would have found the answer I was not looking for. I could have made sense of the situation. I could have made sense. But alas, I kept on letting myself be brainwashed by the comphet agenda, and adopted the mantra of “I’m not a prude, I’m just highly selective” without realising that I was not a prude, nor highly selective, but a secret third thing.

The idea of being perceived

For the next three years I baulked every single time it was suggested that I should have a cheeky pash with someone. When people asked if I masturbated I would lie through my teeth (quick asexual education moment: yes some asexual people do masturbate, seeing as there is a difference between attraction and libido, but I am not one of those people). When I downloaded a dating app I nearly had a panic attack at the idea of being perceived. If someone would flirt with me, I would be repulsed and angry.

Which brings us to the fateful night in 2020 lockdown, the night that I felt seen for the first time ever. I was scrolling through YouTube and a video from Chantal Houston of Buzzfeed’s LadyLike fame (yes in case it wasn’t obvious by my current career as a social producer and writer, I was a Buzzfeed teen) and I wanted to see what she was up to so I scrolled through her channel. And there it was. A (since deleted) video discussing that she was demisexual, and answering questions about it. I don’t know exactly what pulled me to that video. Maybe I was feeling nosey, maybe it was another case of me trying to be a good ally, or maybe it was something deeper in me that recognised something in her that made me feel seen.

No matter what it was that brought me to this video, I am eternally grateful that I did not ignore the purple flag in front of my face once again. Instead, I examined it closely and found parts of myself that I never knew possible.

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Allie Daisy King is a Melbourne based social producer/writer/content creator/yapper with too many slashes. Chronically online by trade and by choice. 

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