Carnival of Aros - Sept. 2019: Aromantic in spirit, never in name
As both a life-long writer and avid consumer of stories, there are a whole host of things I could talk about regarding aromanticism and fiction. I could talk about the (admittedly limited) characters and stories that have meant a lot to me, or what I would like to see in fiction, or my own creative process as an aromantic creator. But what I would like to focus on is the way aromanticism is portrayed in fiction and media, both explicitly and implicitly, as well as the need for aromantic narratives as told by aromantic people, rather than by outsiders seeking to commodify our experiences for diversity points (and often doing so disrespectfully).
It is first necessary, of course, to point out that when I refer to the way aromanticism is portrayed, I’m largely referring to the fact that is isn’t. I know of zero--yes, zero--aromantic characters in mainstream media that have been explicitly referred to as aromantic within the source material (not by word-of-god or by common fan interpretation; so no, comics Jughead doesn’t count until his aromanticism is explicitly named on paper--more on this later). But that doesn’t stop creators from invoking aromanticism, either intentionally or unintentionally, positively or negatively. I’ve written previously about the way aromanticism (or more specifically, nonamory) is invoked in soulmate narratives, so I won’t get into that here, but it is worth mentioning that the idea of not falling in love is far too often demonized, pitied, or turned into tragedy, with aromantic-coded characters being dehumanized as a result.
Aromantic or aromantic-coded characters are typically treated one of three ways: (1) They eventually “find the one” and “learn to love”, (2) they act as “shipper on deck” for the narrative’s main romantic pairing(s), or (3) they are used as angst fuel for alloromantic characters whose love is woefully unrequited. The first treats our orientation as something to be fixed, cured, or outgrown; the second trivializes and tokenizes our experiences for diversity points rather than present a narrative that we can actually relate to; and the third demonizes us and blames us for not returning romantic feelings--which we can’t help.
The closest we aromantics get to mainstream representation is characters that are either strongly aro-coded but not confirmed, or characters that have been confirmed as aromantic by the creator but have never been explicitly described as such within the source material. I mentioned Jughead earlier, and he is a prime example of this. (Yes, I’m talking about Jughead again. Find me some more aromantic representation to talk about and I’ll stop. Regardless, we won’t be talking about Riverdale today.) I own and have read all three volumes of the most recent run of Jughead comics (which have been discontinued indefinitely, so rest in peace to the only scrap of representation we have ever received), and the careful but unambiguous references to Jughead’s aromanticism speak to my soul every time I read them. But despite Zdarsky’s confirmation of Jughead’s romantic orientation on Twitter, I take issue with his portrayal and those that followed--namely, the fact that despite admitting to viewing Jughead as aromantic, he seemed to refuse to invoke it by name. One could argue that perhaps he would have included it in future chapters, or that Ryan North would have (I think it’s safe to assume Mark Waid wouldn’t have), having Jughead become more comfortable with that part of himself, which would have been a compelling narrative if done right--but that never happened, and the fact of the matter is Zdarsky never brought up Jughead’s romantic orientation at all until prompted. Forgive me if I’m quick to distrust alloromantics in their ability to acknowledge us without us begging first.
This points to a larger issue when it comes to the portrayal (or lack thereof) of aromanticism in media: Nobody wants to call us by our name. The bisexual community has been speaking about similar issues for ages; creators will unambiguously put characters in their stories for praise but refuse to openly name queer identities to avoid backlash. When it comes to aromanticism specifically, our orientation is often danced around, as if calling it by its name would unleash some sort of evil. And the truth of the matter is, it’s because to alloromantic creators our existence is so insignificant, a minority within a minority, with our stories falling flat and unsellable with nothing to fetishize and nothing to gain. The only benefit to writing aromanticism respectfully is providing representation to an underrepresented group and gaining our support as audience members--but our stories, our struggles, our experiences don’t matter to these people. This was evident when Cole Sprouse, initially vouching for Jughead to be represented correctly in Riverdale (I lied when I said I wasn’t going to talk about Riverdale), was quick to throw aromantics under the bus when it became convenient for his career.
This why aromantic creators need support, not just from our fellow aromantics but from our allies. We are the ones who can speak to our own experiences, and while there is no one way to be aromantic, we all have greater insider knowledge as to what it means to live as an aromantic than alloromantics do. We deserve to have our stories told, and our aromanticism explicitly named. We are not an insignificant minority, nor are we something to be censored, euphemized, or hidden away.
