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rainwaterspark(EDIT 2: I keep on adding to this post, so I almost feel like I have to overhaul it at some point. The rest of my additions are below.)
The "Allo Savior" idea is described here.
For me, I think the "Allo Savior" shouldn't necessarily cover situations in which an allosexual character tells an asexual-but-they-don't-realize-it-yet character what asexuality is, if the asexual character then goes "Omg, that sounds like me!" Providing information about asexuality, to me, shouldn't necessarily be the problem (though, of course, it's generally more realistic/empowering if the information comes from a fellow ace character).
What is a problem for me—the cases in which I personally invoke the "Allo Savior" trope—is when the allosexual character goes "Hey, I think you're asexual because of XYZ reasons." I am generally uncomfortable with situations in which someone labels another person's sexual orientation, especially because the idea of "do you or do you not feel sexual attraction" is so personal, and because many allosexuals are not good at distinguishing romantic and sexual attraction themselves. Also, because in reality, allosexual people (a) are unlikely to come to the conclusion that their partner might be asexual, because (b) they will often have extremely negative reactions to it themselves, instead of being a "savior"-type character.
The most extreme and negative example of the "Allo Savior" comes from Antisocial by Heidi Cullinan. Not only does the allosexual character tell the asexual character he's probably asexual, and he has a bizarre "asexual spidey sense" that gives him more insight into the other character's asexuality than the character does himself, the asexual character is filled with self-loathing and literally unable to accept that he could be asexual until the allosexual character professes his love and assures him that his feelings for him are not impacted by his asexuality.
That is not an asexual-positive narrative.
Dealing with internalized -ism/-phobia/-misia is always a very delicate task, because yes, it's realistic, but without a deft hand and/or an #ownvoices perspective, it can come off as gratuitously drowning the character and, by extension, the reader, in pervasive (in this case) acephobia, and authors have to realize that that is often toxic for readers from the marginalized group that they're actually writing about.
Secondly, from a healthy relationship and self-esteem standpoint, it's dangerous for any one person to base their self-worth and self-acceptance on external factors, such as acceptance by another person. Dangerous, because it can make that person vulnerable to manipulation or abuse. But even in benign scenarios, a relationship is not healthy if one person will not just grieve or experience depression, but experience total personal collapse if the other person leaves. Drawing strength from another person does not equal being codependent with them.
Any kind of narrative in which a marginalized person has to be "rescued" from their own self-loathing and tragic life by another person is not a healthy or empowering narrative. It's basically telling people (aces/questioning aces, in this case) that "Your life will be tragic unless you can find the one magic allosexual person who can save you from your self-hatred by accepting you for who you are." It's patronizing.
*EDIT: Apparently I'm not done talking about this book.
I'm very curious as to a gray-ace's take on its accuracy; since I'm not gray-ace, I can't speak to it myself. However, I'm very uncomfortable with how the narrative frames Xander (the allosexual) as the catalyst for Skylar's (the gray-ace's) sexual awakening. It reminds me of books like Fifty Shades of Grey (I know that's an extreme example, sorry) in which a virgin who has no knowledge of sex is educated byDouchebag Hot Guy her One True Love. The narrative becomes even more loaded when you introduce an asexual-spectrum character into the mix.
The fact that the book has a sustained conversation in which Skylar refuses a label also makes me uncomfortable. Yes, in real life, there are people who don't like to label their sexuality, and that's fine. However, given the continuing stigma around asexuality and how rarely, still, it's portrayed in fiction, there's a negative connotation around asexual characters refusing the asexual label; it feels like it contributes to the negative stigma around proclaiming that you're asexual.
*EDIT 2:
Normally, I'm all for books with an asexual-spectrum protagonist and allosexual love interest where the ace-spec character doesn't have to have sex to have a fulfilling relationship. In fact, normally, I'm dying for such books. However, while Antisocial does this, it also weirdly counterbalances it by portraying touches like hand-holding to be intensely sexual instead, and that's...really, really strange.
Especially because neither Skylar nor Xander are explicitly stated to be touch-sensitive. So, from my cynical standpoint, it almost feels like the author was still thinking in an allosexual framework and just substituted touching for sex. Which...isn't really the point of being asexual. I mean, some aces find intimate touches very pleasing, but the point is, it's not equivalent to sex in terms of being a sexual experience.
Call me a cynic, but I'm also unsure why the author chose to portray Skylar as gray-ace instead of just ace, because Skylar doesn't seem to experience any kind of sexual attraction in the book at all. He could've been "just" asexual and it wouldn't have changed the story.
The "Allo Savior" idea is described here.
For me, I think the "Allo Savior" shouldn't necessarily cover situations in which an allosexual character tells an asexual-but-they-don't-realize-it-yet character what asexuality is, if the asexual character then goes "Omg, that sounds like me!" Providing information about asexuality, to me, shouldn't necessarily be the problem (though, of course, it's generally more realistic/empowering if the information comes from a fellow ace character).
What is a problem for me—the cases in which I personally invoke the "Allo Savior" trope—is when the allosexual character goes "Hey, I think you're asexual because of XYZ reasons." I am generally uncomfortable with situations in which someone labels another person's sexual orientation, especially because the idea of "do you or do you not feel sexual attraction" is so personal, and because many allosexuals are not good at distinguishing romantic and sexual attraction themselves. Also, because in reality, allosexual people (a) are unlikely to come to the conclusion that their partner might be asexual, because (b) they will often have extremely negative reactions to it themselves, instead of being a "savior"-type character.
The most extreme and negative example of the "Allo Savior" comes from Antisocial by Heidi Cullinan. Not only does the allosexual character tell the asexual character he's probably asexual, and he has a bizarre "asexual spidey sense" that gives him more insight into the other character's asexuality than the character does himself, the asexual character is filled with self-loathing and literally unable to accept that he could be asexual until the allosexual character professes his love and assures him that his feelings for him are not impacted by his asexuality.
That is not an asexual-positive narrative.
Dealing with internalized -ism/-phobia/-misia is always a very delicate task, because yes, it's realistic, but without a deft hand and/or an #ownvoices perspective, it can come off as gratuitously drowning the character and, by extension, the reader, in pervasive (in this case) acephobia, and authors have to realize that that is often toxic for readers from the marginalized group that they're actually writing about.
Secondly, from a healthy relationship and self-esteem standpoint, it's dangerous for any one person to base their self-worth and self-acceptance on external factors, such as acceptance by another person. Dangerous, because it can make that person vulnerable to manipulation or abuse. But even in benign scenarios, a relationship is not healthy if one person will not just grieve or experience depression, but experience total personal collapse if the other person leaves. Drawing strength from another person does not equal being codependent with them.
Any kind of narrative in which a marginalized person has to be "rescued" from their own self-loathing and tragic life by another person is not a healthy or empowering narrative. It's basically telling people (aces/questioning aces, in this case) that "Your life will be tragic unless you can find the one magic allosexual person who can save you from your self-hatred by accepting you for who you are." It's patronizing.
*EDIT: Apparently I'm not done talking about this book.
I'm very curious as to a gray-ace's take on its accuracy; since I'm not gray-ace, I can't speak to it myself. However, I'm very uncomfortable with how the narrative frames Xander (the allosexual) as the catalyst for Skylar's (the gray-ace's) sexual awakening. It reminds me of books like Fifty Shades of Grey (I know that's an extreme example, sorry) in which a virgin who has no knowledge of sex is educated by
The fact that the book has a sustained conversation in which Skylar refuses a label also makes me uncomfortable. Yes, in real life, there are people who don't like to label their sexuality, and that's fine. However, given the continuing stigma around asexuality and how rarely, still, it's portrayed in fiction, there's a negative connotation around asexual characters refusing the asexual label; it feels like it contributes to the negative stigma around proclaiming that you're asexual.
*EDIT 2:
Normally, I'm all for books with an asexual-spectrum protagonist and allosexual love interest where the ace-spec character doesn't have to have sex to have a fulfilling relationship. In fact, normally, I'm dying for such books. However, while Antisocial does this, it also weirdly counterbalances it by portraying touches like hand-holding to be intensely sexual instead, and that's...really, really strange.
Especially because neither Skylar nor Xander are explicitly stated to be touch-sensitive. So, from my cynical standpoint, it almost feels like the author was still thinking in an allosexual framework and just substituted touching for sex. Which...isn't really the point of being asexual. I mean, some aces find intimate touches very pleasing, but the point is, it's not equivalent to sex in terms of being a sexual experience.
Call me a cynic, but I'm also unsure why the author chose to portray Skylar as gray-ace instead of just ace, because Skylar doesn't seem to experience any kind of sexual attraction in the book at all. He could've been "just" asexual and it wouldn't have changed the story.
