Asexuality & Me: Why Representation Is Important, Actually

Whenever there are discussions regarding good representation in mass media productions, there’s always one clever sod who jams their hand right up in the air and posits, usually in a smug tone, that representation doesn’t matter because people should be able to see themselves in all sorts of characters. These people are usually the first to pitch a fit if a protagonist is anything other than The Usual Archetype of White/Straight/Cis/Male (because of course they are), but in their rush to defend the viciousness of their knee-jerk reaction to the latest person of colour cast in Star Wars they deliberately miss the point that mass media is everywhere, all around us, injected into us at an increasingly intimate angle as algorithms take over the way it’s introduced to us, and ultimately informs our world view – even as it shouldn’t.

Hi, I’m Becka. I’m a millennial, and I’m asexual/aromantic. Let’s talk about the meshing of those things for a hot minute, shall we?

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video games

Lockdown & Animal Crossing: Thank You, Thomas Nook, the Island Tour Was Needed

My alarm goes off at 7am, jarring me out of a weird fever dream in which I’ve gone back to school after a long illness but everyone I speak to refuses to tell me which classroom I’m supposed to go to for maths, and also our comprehensive is full of Americans who keep calling it a ‘high school’ for some reason. I spend the first twenty seconds of consciousness in a panic that I’m going to be late for class before remembering that I graduated from university a decade ago, roll over, smack the snooze button, and descend back into the insanity. It’s warm and soft there.

After trying and failing to get me out of bed at 7.05, 7.10, 7.15, 7.20, and 7.25, my alarm informs me that it Won’t Get Snoozed Again (try saying that in your head to the tune of the CSI: Miami theme for maximum effect of what it’s like to be trapped in my head) and that I can either get up and face the day or spend the next couple of hours trying unsuccessfully to navigate an M. C. Escher painting generated by a subconsciousness that hates me. Groggily I open my eyes straight into a shaft of sunlight and, cursing Yesterday Becka for not remembering and/or bothering/caring to close the bedroom blinds I stagger to my feet. This time I don’t step on an upturned plug, but only because the small occasional table I use to play my Switch in bed is in front of it. Knee banged and fucks thoroughly sworn, I stumble to the kitchen to obtain some Frosted Shreddies and then lurch unsteadily back to to bed with the bowl clasped in my hands and the spoon secured firmly in my teeth. I burrow back under the covers, impressively failing to splash milk all over the duvet, and try to remember what day it is.

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Leaving The Transformers Fandom

TW: This post discusses harassment, both emotional and sexual.

Before we proceed, two caveats:

1. I’m a cis white asexual/aromantic woman. This post is written from that POV.

2. Of course it’s #NotAllMen. It’s never been #AllMen. But it is #Enough Men That It Constitutes A Problem And Can Be Directly Linked To Communal Misogyny And If Your Response To A Woman Trying To Have A Discussion About Said Misogyny Is Just #NotAllMen Then You’re A Part Of The Problem. If you don’t think this post applies to you, or you think you’re going to get angry by reading it, then close the browser window now and leave me alone. I really could care less about what you have to say to me. I’ve heard it all before, for the 16 years I’ve been a part of various fandom spaces. You have nothing new to add. Skedaddle.

This post is going to get a bit angry. It’s a vent. It’s a healing exercise. It’s trying to verbalise something that’s been burning in my head for several months now. It’s a realisation that the sheer exhaustion I feel when trying to engage with a piece of media is the result of being conditioned to think that I have to explain myself to faceless men across the internet. It’s always being on the defensive, just in case a man takes offence and decides to form a mob to harass me. It’s having to choose every word I tweet carefully.

It’s thinking I had friends but discovering just how quickly people will abandon you to save their own skin – or, even worse, blame you for the harassment you receive.

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video games

A Lifetime With Pokémon, Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying (And Love Pokémon Shield)

It is difficult to articulate just how hard it would be to travel back in time to 1999 and explain to my 10 year-old self just how busy Adult Life can be. Not because time travel is hard – you can do it with a hot tub these days – but because children in stable households cannot possibly comprehend just how much stuff there is to do.

“So you live alone?”


“No pets?”


“No partner?”

“God no.”

“Oh. Wait, we’re allowed to do that?”

“Yeah. You’ll learn all about it when you’re older. Oh, and ignore Mr. Smith’s banana in sex ed class; the guy has issues.”

“Uh…okay. So…if it’s just you…I mean, me…on my own…in a small, one bedroom flat…how could you possibly be busy all the time?”

“Well, for example, did you know that you’re meant to do washing up every single day?”

“Every day? How much cutlery could one person possibly generate??”

“<laughs in teaspoons.>”

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