How a Music Award Show Taught Me the World Was Not Built For Me… And Why That's Okay

 

Image description: BTS (from left to right: Jungkook, Jimin, Jin, RM, V, J-Hope, and Suga) on the stage they prepared for their 2021 Grammy performance. As a BTS fan, the Grammys were painful; as a sex-repulsed AroAce, it was even worse. But in this post, I examine why Grammy night actually taught me an unexpected and valuable lesson I hadn't even realized I was in the process of embracing all along

A few weeks ago, I found myself in a situation I’d never found myself in before – I was actually looking forward to a music award show. Throughout most of my life, my music taste was never something that would be considered “mainstream”; far from it, in fact. In school, classmates used to ask to borrow my music… and then ask what else I had when they found that my devices were full of film and TV soundtracks, Celtic-inspired songs, British pop, and showtunes. Needless to say, none of the music I liked was getting nominated for mainstream awards back in the day.

That changed when my tastes shifted to the band BTS, and especially when they finally received their first Grammy nomination and invitation to perform a solo stage for the 2021 ceremony. This excitement quickly backfired, however, for multiple reasons, most of which I won’t bore you with here. But there is one important and relevant way this excitement backfired: I sat through a 3+ hour long ceremony that was clearly not built for me.

While the earlier parts of the ceremony were not overtly graphic in terms of performances, things worsened for me as the night went on. As a sex-repulsed asexual, there were parts of it that not only made me uncomfortable, but made me feel worthless. I felt as though I was seeing a clear depiction of what the world really wanted, which could not have been further from what I myself am. Just like when classmates used to ask me back in the day what else I had to offer and were disappointed by my lack of ability to answer, I came to the end of the Grammys feeling like I had been asked the same question again and had no better answer.

This event, which happened a little over a month ago, is one I’ve been reflecting on and processing ever since, wondering how I can relate this moment to aspec issues I’ve been hoping to discuss. What angle could I take? What parts of it deserve to be explored? To answer that, I think I need to go broader – not just to one specific moment, but to a repeated pattern I’ve seen and experienced first hand throughout most of my life, and how the uniqueness of my journey is not where my story ends. Because the events of the Grammys – and BTS’s presence there – taught me a lesson I was not expecting: to embrace the ways the world is unfriendly to me, and learn how to live in it regardless.

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How it Started: My Journey from Media Hipster to Asexual Geek

To understand where this unexpected lesson brought me, it’s important to look at how I got my start. How did that schoolkid with the eclectic music taste grow into the young woman writing this post today? Even long before I knew I was asexual and thus in a small minority group, I nevertheless found myself in the minority in many situations growing up. As a small, geeky, bookish, and all together completely unathletic girl, I was definitely not sitting at the metaphorical cool kids’ table. It’s hard to say exactly which came first – was it because of these things that I tended to be less mainstream in my interests and thus more fringe than those “cool kids”? Or were those interests the reasons I wasn’t one of the cool kids in the first place? In a way, I think it was both. Being a kid who loved Star Trek but hated sports, or who knew 80’s hits rather than anything that was playing on the radio made it so that I didn’t really fit in to start with. But as time went on, I definitely started to feel like anything that was considered “mainstream” was unthinkable for me to even consider liking. Of course, it’s not that I’ve never liked popular things – I’m a Harry Potter fan, for instance, and was one when the series was at the peak of its popularity. But on the whole, when it came to my attitudes about most pop culture throughout most of my life, I tended to like things you’ve probably never heard of. In some ways, I guess you could say that I was a hipster before it was uncool.

However, this was put into new context for me when I became a fan of BTS. Given their status as one of the biggest (if not the biggest) groups on the planet, being part of the BTS fandom, ARMY, is arguably one of the most mainstream things I’ve ever been a part of. I endured a lot of good-natured affectionate teasing about this, usually centered around the fact that I abandoned my previously “hipster” nature to support a group so widely known. That surprised me. After being in the minority in so many ways for so long, it was strange to realize I was now in a majority of something.

Being in the minority of anything is a strange sensation. Throughout childhood and adolescence, I wore it as a badge of honor – a willing social martyrdom for the sake of my favorite pieces of media. I’m glad I did it and would do it again, because without it, I don’t think I’d be the asexual geek I am today. But as I got a bit older and realized I was in the minority of something with far more implications than just tastes and interests, I realized it can also be devastatingly hard. It means getting used to not having anyone who knows what you’re going through. Yet being in the majority can be just as odd, as was made clear to me when I became a BTS fan. If I was in the majority, that meant people who weren’t in the majority with me now looked at me through a slightly different lens. In the case of my friends, it was affectionate; in the case of other people I’ve encountered, it was a lens of judgement, a sense that they are superior to me.

Now, as I say many times, I am lucky – I am protected by a lot and I have a lot of privilege. In thousands upon thousands of ways, I am living in a world that favors me. But there are ways in which I realize the world isn’t built for me. Being in a minority no one can understand or a majority no one wants are tough things I’ve had to get used to, and I’ve had to embrace them as part of my unique experience and how I uniquely view the world. But there’s more to it than that. As I’ve had to embrace this strange sense of displacement with the world around me, I’ve also had to learn another lesson: that I’m unique, but that’s not all I am.

How It’s Going: Learning Not to Sacrifice Myself on the Altar of Uniqueness

Anyone on the asexual or aromantic spectrums knows we are in a minority – one just has to look at popular media to see that. But for a long time I had convinced myself that meant I had to view my world in either one of two ways: either that I was inferior to everyone around me and had no value, or that being outside of the mainstream was the only thing that made me special and so I should cling to it with all my might, or else risk being seen as basic and “normal.” But neither of these things presented me with a full picture. Embracing myself, my identity, and my individuality are all important things to me and to my confidence, but when I discuss my “unique” circumstances, what exactly does that mean? When I tell myself I live in a world not built for me, what am I searching for instead?

As I’ve said before on this blog, I think it’s natural that all people crave understanding; on the other hand, I think we all desire to be seen and appreciated for our individual talents. But just like the black and white view of either being inferior or superior, I think this is a false dichotomy that I have created for myself, and one I am still going on a journey to try and unlearn. I don’t have to be understood by everyone I meet. Half the time, I can barely understand my own thoughts, motives, or feelings! So, while the impulse we all have for perfect understanding is probably an inevitable one, it’s also one we don’t have to live our lives by.

In addition to that, being unique doesn’t have to be the hill we die on either. I love embracing what makes me an individual, and I often lean on the word “unique” to describe that. I do think there is tremendous value to this word. But if we devalue it so it becomes nothing more than a poster to hang on a locker, I think we miss the point a bit. Especially for me and how I relate on an individual level to my combination of identities – a sex-repulsed AroAce – something I’ve really had to teach myself is that I can be unique without martyring myself. Are there days where I wish I could make people perfectly understand what I go through while navigating a world not built for my identity? Of course. But just because they don’t doesn’t mean I’m truly alone.

This is another valuable lesson BTS taught me, through their “love yourself” message and the comforting philosophies found in many of their songs, such as, for a particularly on-point example, “You Never Walk Alone.” But it’s a lesson I think can best be summarized by words the band’s leader RM has said in various speeches, such as in his part of the “Dear Class of 2020” virtual commencement speech delivered by the band, during which he said, “In the time that we break out of ourselves, we are alone, but also together.” He said something similar during his solo number in the band’s 2017 Wings concert, during which he says to the audience, “I believe that everybody’s alone – we’re alone, but we’re still breathing together. I hope you feel me.”

BTS’s music – and RM’s lyrics especially – explore this idea very clearly, and in so doing they have encouraged me to do the same. I too have come to embrace the idea that we’re all alone, but that that doesn’t have to be a bad thing, an upsetting thing, or a cause for concern. We’re each alone in ourselves, but as RM said, we’re breathing together, and just because the people around me don’t necessarily “get” me doesn’t mean I am automatically misunderstood. And by extension, just because the world doesn’t feel like it wants me, needs me, or was made for me to exist comfortably within doesn’t mean I should feel bad about myself. In fact, it means quite the opposite.

Where I Hope It Goes: Embracing My Oscillation Between Optimism and Cynicism

This all brings me back to the story about the Grammys that I shared in the introduction to this post, the subject that this entire post rests on, because it was the place where all of these lessons tied together in a completely unexpected way. After having to deal with the palpable discomfort of sitting through the ceremony, I was finally given the thing I had been waiting for all evening: BTS, the final performance of the evening. Their performance of “Dynamite” – while an excellent example of their talent and showmanship as always – was actually almost a little jarring. After the graphic performances from other artists, having BTS perform their upbeat, happy, completely AroAce friendly song was a welcome respite, but I couldn’t help but fear they had been set up to fail. Having lost their only nominated category in an earlier non-televised ceremony (don’t even get me started, it’s been a month, I’m still not over it) while the artists who performed more sexually graphic songs won in several categories, I couldn’t help but feel like this was an indictment of them, their aspec-friendly vibes, and, by extension, of me.

Now, of course that’s absurd. The Grammys do not know me and neither does BTS. Their loss was in no way, shape, or form a reflection on me. But it certainly felt like it in the moment, and as someone who has lived a life of being pushed aside in media and in the real world, it was hard not to take it personally on some level. Grammy night is just one example of this phenomenon, this experience of sinking to a low point where being AroAce is not a point of pride, but rather a point of pain; of feeling unwanted and rejected in what the rest of the world dubs great.

One thing I want to emphasize is that the world does not have to cater to me, nor should it. Art is art, and it should be allowed to be that. As a writer, and thus an artist in my own right, I believe very strongly that freedom of expression is vitally important. And as BTS has taught me, there are places I can go to seek refuge and art that I actively want to consume. I have options. But when those options are looked down upon, ignored, or even actively ridiculed and pushed aside, it can be difficult to tell where freedom of expression ends and erasure begins. I’m not sure if that’s the lesson a music award ceremony intended me to reflect upon, but it’s definitely what I ended up taking away, feeling hollow and empty for many reasons.

However, what happened to BTS at the Grammys begs a few interesting questions. Despite their loss, despite the lateness of their performance, despite the fact that they were a far cry from anything else in the ceremony, the general consensus I saw in many news reports seemed to be that they were the highlight. Beyond just fan buzz, music industry reporters and journalists of all kinds wrote articles praising them, while criticizing the Grammys for using them for a ratings boost. I felt like the evening was a net loss, for them and for me, and my confidence took a massive hit because of it. But the praise they received made me wonder if I was seeing things all wrong. Maybe this wasn’t a loss, but a win. Rather than seeing this as a critique of who I am and what I stand for, maybe it was a surprising and subtle reminder that, despite those moments of discomfort and pain, I deserve to be here.

If you’ve read my other BTS-centric posts, you know that one of the reasons why the group is so important to me is because so much about them and their artistry is safe for me. The fact that they are the biggest band in the world and their artistry is lauded by fans and critics alike should prove to me that my own viewpoints do have room to not only survive but thrive within the media landscape. Rather than feel that their adorable high-energy performance is something that was done to make them look silly in comparison to the other acts, I should flip my thinking, and feel secure in the knowledge that the opposite was true – they weren’t viewed as silly at all; rather, they were viewed as in control, and viewed by some people as holding the ceremony in the palm of their hand. Did the rest of the ceremony make me uncomfortable? Without a doubt. But should the way it ended give me a spark of hope? I think it should. And while there are days when it won’t and I will still feel lost amid the sea of things like the Grammy ceremony, it helps to know there are days where I will be able to confidently seek an optimistic shore too.

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I know this post has been a bit of a departure from my usual fare, but I hope you enjoyed it and found it thought-provoking nevertheless. I think it’s good for all people, not just those on the asexual or aromantic spectrums, to examine themselves from time to time, and to reflect on the world we live in. For those of us who are aspec, I thoroughly believe honoring this process is even more important.

Personally, I used to think that pride in my identity and embracing myself meant always feeling good and confident in my place in the world. As I ran this blog throughout 2020, that idea seemed to be supported, because the more I did, the better I felt – things that used to upset me didn’t bother me nearly as much, and moments that used to make me doubt myself were now used to further my analysis. These are amazing things that I am very proud of, and there is no denying how much I have grown and matured in my identity this past year. But these first few months of 2021 have been challenging to me in many ways and there were times in which I have felt unconfident, uncomfortable in my own skin, and utterly alone.

But I am learning to embrace those extreme lows, those sad moments, just as I embrace the good ones and the moments when I feel confident and at ease. I am learning to embrace that the world is not built with any one person or group of people in mind, and that that is okay. That is not an easy process. I spent a long time after Grammy night feeling lost. But embracing this imperfect world and the imperfect but valuable ways I relate to it is an important step in my aspec journey – and yes, my journey to love myself.