6 minute read. Content warning: Mild references to bodily functions (discussion of toilet habits), cursing, mentions of sexual orientation and identity labels.
- What labels, groups, identities, and adjectives do you hold onto? (4)
chatGPT Summary: Kay reflects on their resistance to labels and binary categorizations, using a pop psychology meme as a starting point, and explores the tension between resisting social labels and engaging with them on their own terms.
This could have been an invitation for fun self-reflection, yet I have resisted it repeatedly. So, rather than fighting this, I am going to use it to respond! Why am I so resistant? I find myself remembering a seemingly trivial conversation related to a personality meme…
Back in March, while chatting with KM and a work colleague, the topic turned to a pop psychology meme I was unfamiliar with. The meme revolved around the binary personality question: “Are you a scruncher or a folder?” I didn’t get it initially. With a grin, KM explained that it was a lighthearted way to categorize people based on their toilet paper habits. A folder pulled the toilet paper off the roll and layered it neatly before using it. A scruncher grabbed at the roll and used it however it was gathered in their hand. I deflected any initial thoughts, unable to remember what I did and to avoid responding to KM‘s quick assessment that I was probably a scruncher, and shifted the conversation towards the subject of talking about toilet habits and how sharing the quality of one’s bodily functions was important and showed care. I celebrated that we were all so comfortable with each other that we could discuss our pooping habits. To them, I surmise that it was a fun, quirky conversation. To me, it felt like yet another attempt to box people into neat, easy-to-understand categories, and my mind was sent spiraling. I ruminated on this all evening and stubbornly attempted not to use the washroom, fearing being confronted with my toilet paper habits and a new label.
💩 Note: in writing today’s blog, I learned that the scrunch vs. fold conversation online is often linked toliet paper use (quantity), which I guess is cool if I believed a single fact, reference, or statistic shared. Also, I use a bidet, but it uses potable water so… 💩
I often find myself ranting about society’s obsession with binaries and labels—astrology being a prime example. In both the queer and contemporary art communities, astrology is often quoted and referenced as if it can explain or predict behaviour. It’s a system that many of my friends and colleagues deeply engage with, but it’s also something I’ve never resonated with. There’s something about being reduced to a set of traits based on my birth date or a single habit that makes me deeply uncomfortable. No, that’s not enough—it makes me angry. These categorizations feel reductive, stripping away the nuance and complexity of who I am. And it’s never enough to tell people that I am fine with their interest, obsession, or desire to engage with it, but it is not who I am. I find it deeply disrespectful to constantly have my actions explained away by labels.
This discomfort resurfaced when I confronted the fourth question in KM‘s prompt: “What labels, groups, identities, adjectives do you hold onto?” The truth is, I don’t like holding onto labels or identities because they often divide and exclude more than they connect. Labels can feel rigid, determining who is in and who is out. Intersectionality often gets lost, and those who don’t fit neatly into a category are left wondering where they belong. There’s also a certain amount of danger associated with taking on a label, especially as one changes because labels tend to be more for other people to help them sort, rank and file you and place you comfortably within their systems of understanding. What happens when you change? What happens when you learn something about yourself? What if you were told by one person that a label or community was where you belong and then later voluntarily, temporarily or due to external factors beyond your control, you leave or are excluded? There are consequences to leaving a label behind, which doesn’t allow for people to be wrong or grow or change. Labels are harmful as much as they are unavoidable.
I didn’t identify as bisexual until I was told my behavior was bisexual, that pansexual was probably more correct (except when it wasn’t), that polyamory was amoral, and I didn’t learn the terms genderfluid and non-binary until I was in my 30s. Still, even clutching my labels, I’ve often felt like an outsider within the queer community. I don’t fit the expectations or stereotypes that come with certain labels. When I’m dating a woman, assumptions are made about who I am, how I should behave, and where I fit within the community. Married to a cis-man, I know who I am, but I still feel the need to state my bisexuality to others (and yes, there are valid reasons to name it still, even when I am practicing hetero-monogamy). But I’m not someone who enjoys (or functions in) loud spaces or who engages in public displays of affection, even though these behaviours are often expected and celebrated within queer culture.
It was the same when I learned ASL and attempted to immerse myself in Deaf culture. I was not “deaf enough” to use “deaf”, although I was told to abandon the label “hearing impaired” that I had used my entire life and had been given by others, and I would be called deaf when other hearing folks explained my access needs and so tried it on for a bit. Within culturally Deaf spaces, I was unwilling to give up my life and time to immerse myself in a community that was very straight (a whole other conversation), and I always felt like people were fighting and judging each other. I understood the value of directness (or harshness painted as directness) and often appreciated it, but I didn’t feel like I belonged there any more than I had in hearing spaces. Many of my Deaf friends felt the need to introduce me and explain my being there. I am always either being told that “my voice is so normal…” or “you sign so well…” with the ellipses trailing to a “for a _______ person”. Thank goodness for Queer ASL, but I still don’t call myself a deaf queer because I don’t want a 30-minute conversation to answer/explain myself each time I meet someone new. Even using Hard of Hearing is complicated depending on the context or community and so I use it in lower case and prepare for a constant fight. If given the space, I’ll just go for the long form “probably can’t hear or understand you, please be patient” which is what the label is supposed to be for, right? A short form explaination of how one moves through the world?
The labels don’t help me, and often I feel like they are either something I must defend or are a place to attack. The result is a lingering sense of not truly belonging—of being on the periphery of a community because I don’t conform to the typical identity markers. Luckily – I love the periphery*.
I also want the space to be flexible and changeable. I like defying labels and resisting categorization because I value control and consent over how I am presented to others. I can’t control how others perceive me, but I resent being told that I am something by others without the chance to contest it, grow out of it, try a different way of being or doing it, and then still reject the label altogether. It especially frustrates me when people think they can guess who I am or predict my behaviour based on a set of assumptions, stereotypes, or divinatory practices. Yet, ironically, even in my resistance (or perhaps because of it), I solidly identify with certain adjectives: flexible, solitary, creative, changeable, curious, adventurous, resistant, and passionate. I suppose if I had to “hold on” to anything, these would be it.
I already can feel myself arguing about how I could reject any of these adjectives…
But as much as I resist being put into a box, I’m also trying to accept that engaging with others on their terms isn’t always a betrayal of my values. It’s possible to find a middle ground—where I can maintain my own sense of ever-changing identity while still participating in the shared language and culture that others find meaningful. Yes, I resist labels, but I also recognize the value in conversation, connection, and the moments of laughter and understanding that can come from engaging with these social quirks.
*I don’t particularly like belonging to groups, but I like fostering their existence and working to provide tools and resources so that groups may gather with care and joy. I’m too engaged to be an outsider. I’m too fearless and impulsive to be an introvert. I’m too many people to be one set of personality letters every day. I like respect and conversation too much to be an anarchist. I certainly do not wish to be unique or special. I don’t mind people grouping up—I just bristle at the idea of belonging—especially forever. This probably just translates to the fact that I am white as fuck.
So, perhaps there’s something to be learned from the scruncher or folder meme after all. Not that it defines who I am, but it offers a moment of reflection—on why I react the way I do, what I value, and how I can navigate a world constantly trying to categorize and simplify something as complex as a human being. In the end, maybe it’s okay to resist being boxed in, but it’s also okay to peer into the box occasionally, on my own terms, and see what conversations it might spark.
Technology note:
I continue to test the use of AI within my writing and artistic practice. I used chatGPT to create a summary and reading estimate, and recommend some content warnings for this blog, and Grammarly to assist me in spelling and grammar.