What I want to explore - and what I meant by making this post last week - is what would be an inescapable contradiction in the cultural consciousness. Everywhere I look, I’m seeing two polar attitudes in romantic relationships: passionate monogamists and wholehearted polyamorists.
One of the things you’ll read in the updated edition of The Ethical Slut is Easton and Hardy relishing in how commonplace the word “polyamorous” is in the queer community - to the point where its abbreviation, “poly,” actually signifies the whole word when said aloud. To give proper context to this statement, it’s worth noting that the queer lexicon is (as was once described to me) a labyrinth from which there is no escape, with words falling in and out of use and connotation on an almost daily basis. I myself am only able to keep up with the language by being connected to those within the community through this platform and others, and it’s amazing to watch things come and go. (For example: it’s been a full year since I’ve heard the word “pansexual.” Most people have allowed “bisexual” to absorb the connotations of the word, and those that identify as such often expect others to understand that they do mean all genders, and not just two at the ends of the gender binary). So the fact that a word and its abbreviation have made it out of the fringes and into the commonplace even within its own community is certainly worth celebrating. Easton and Hardy are right to mention it as significant.
And to speak further to polyamory’s legitimacy: unlike the “free love” of the sixties, which was mainly used to describe behavior after the fact, “poly” describes a set of principles, a lifestyle with definite rules and opportunities for trust among its individuals. In this way it is nearly identical to monogamy. And also like monogamy, common acceptance of the term in a cultural arena legitimizes these principles. In both polyamory and monogamy, we agree not to “cheat.” We agree to be honest. We agree to be intimate. We agree to be passionate. We agree to love so long as the expectations that go along with the labels attached to love - “lover,” “boyfriend,” “partner,” etc. - have agreed-upon meanings and rules between the two of us. In other words, if we can recognizably talk about it, we can participate in it publicly. When people ask about our behavior whenever it seems out of the ordinary, we will simply inform them that we are together, partners, dating, whatever the practice tells us will make the most sense to say.
This is all not to say that polyamory is “normal.” This is just to say that enough people know what it is to know what to expect out of polyamorous individuals without needing a separate explanation of the practice. Enough people know that it is a possible arrangement, and so it becomes an institution of sorts. It holds gravity in the form of its meaning. And to clarify, just because a pathway is available doesn’t mean it’s often taken, or even considered on equal terms - look no further than the cultural spike of interest in polygamy during the mid-2000’s as an example, and how even today it’s held in a negatively transgressive light. What this all is to say is that polyamory has become known. It is here more than it has ever been before.
And I find that fascinating.
I find it fascinating during a time when marriage equality - a monogamous institution - has been strengthened by the supreme court with nationwide power. I find it fascinating whenever I see “wholesome” cultural content (memes, etc.) about how love and support really can be true from one person to another. I find it fascinating when I remember how many dating apps are out there (Tinder, OK Cupid, Grindr, etc.) specifically with the goal of connecting one person to one other person for a romantic interaction, and that those using these apps looking for a third or a fourth are ridiculed for being outliers (though, admittedly, often this is rightfully so). I find it fascinating that, at a time when monogamy couldn’t be more permeable, powerful, and popular, polyamory has, in however small a capacity, risen into the cultural consciousness.
One would think that the idea would be shoved down in disgust, waiting its turn until monogamy could be deconstructed for its flaws on a grand public scale (again). But a good number of my friends are polyamorous, and so are a few minor celebrities I follow on social media. It’s here. Against the odds, a new identity has arrived in parallel to the strengthening of its converse. And I’ve been obsessed with that seemingly impossible thing for some time now. I can’t stop thinking about how strange that is.
For an example of what I mean: I consider a part of the gray area in between to be hookup culture. Now I’ve been to several parties in my life, and had several men and women hit on me pretty hard at these parties. But consistently it’s never been a matter of hooking up once and maybe we’ll do it again. It’s “I’m in love with you, let’s get coffee Sunday morning.” And after talking to my friends that are similarly approached, they encounter similar difficulties even when the physical aspect of the hookup does happen: emotions and expectations intervene shortly after the tryst begins, and the whole thing spectacularly derails. Hookup culture is the one being pushed around.
‘And then there are Tinder dates, which too often happen once and go nowhere. There are bars and clubs, but everyone is on their phones or with their friends. We don’t connect the way we used to. We read situations differently and we don’t talk about how until it’s too late. And if you ask me, we want structures to help ourselves understand how to interact with each other again.
And there’s monogamy, a structure with an infinitely-long history of expectations and behaviors. And there’s polyamory, an equally-thorough but barely established structure, sitting in the corner ready to answer your questions if only you’d just ask.
I know all of this is anecdotal. I know I don’t have the facts to back this up. But these are my observations, my intuitions that I cannot deny. It is what I feel is true. And I may not be alone in that.
And so I wonder what will happen, should polyamory continue to rise. With a whole new set of values and expectations opened up to our realm of possibility, who would we be? What would our problems be? Who would our lovers be? And how would we love differently, if at all? Because you could be poly and only have one partner your whole life. It’s a question of opportunity. It’s knowing you could have more if the opportunity came. What would that knowledge, resting in the back of your mind, do to how you would see your partner? What would it do to you?
If I could love the whole world, one person at a time, who would I be? In a world like that, who would you be? And who would you be to everyone else in your life? To me?
