The Split Attraction Model: Helpful or Harmful?

“SAM, when applied to people, attempts to rewrite something that was phrased correctly to begin with.”

A Weird Kind of Gay

I’ve always had an interesting position in the conversations about misia from monosexual queer people. I’ve never felt comfortable identifying as polysexual (I’m using this to mean bi or pansexual) because it didn’t seem to be an accurate representation of my internal processes.

I identify as a cis gay man, though I recently adopted homoflexible after some thought. I’ve also have a long-term entangled, and very much sexual relationship with my Love (cis female) and also long-term intimacy with other female/femme identifying partners. This means I have some real empathy with the challenges of having heterosexual relationships alongside your queer ones.

I’m hypocritical, though. I don’t often date polysexual men, partly because I am now experienced with the red flags from all angles. It takes more than just the label for me to back away, but the label is definitely the catalyst.

I’m trying to be a better man.

I’m also trying to have a bigger dating pool.

So, I’ve been trying to explore what I really feel I need to look out for, and why.

One of those things have turned out to be the Split Attraction Model (SAM), or at least, when it’s applied to people outside of the asexual community. Though as you’ll see, I’m still “split” on that.

The Homoromantic Heterosexual

Although it is difficult to trace the exact origin of the term, it is pretty much agreed that the root of SAM lies in Ulrich’s work on non-heterosexual attraction in the 1800s. Namely, in his distinction between conjuntive and disjunctive bisexuality.

Disjunctive bisexuality referred to a man who felt passionately (or sexual?) towards women but “tender” (or romantic?) towards women. Conjunctive bisexuality was said to be where you feel both things towards men *and* women.

If we skip forward and use SAM, you might call this a disjunctive bisexual man a “homoromantic heterosexual”, which, broadly speaking, means “someone who is romantically attracted to other men, but is sexually attracted to women”.

This distinction between different types of attraction is said to be the foundation of SAM, but let’s explore this further.

The First Gay Ever(!)

Ulrich is widely cited as the first openly gay man. He lobbied Government to overturn the legal prohibition of same-sex relationships way back before there was even a word for people who were not straight.

The basis for forbidding homosexuality was (and still is) rooted in religious scripture where the grounds for a righteous marriage and moral sexual interactions are quite clearly stated. He wasn’t only fighting the state, he was fighting God. Obviously a pioneer for queer people.

Ulrich’s classifications of gay men gave us the basis of how gay men define ourselves today. Even if it is just to say that we do not fit into those neat little boxes as plenty of us do not, and that leads me to the first issue with leaning on Ulrich to figure this out.

Heteronormativity

Ulrich’s categories were largely based around the idea of attraction between masculine men (who all had feminine souls because they’re gay!) and feminine men (who were effeminate inside and out). He was surprisingly nuanced for a guy in the 1800s because he both acknowledged that this was a spectrum and that some people were somewhat fluid or versatile.

Where his model fell short by today’s standards is that it was very much oriented around the idea that people are either masculine or feminine and mostly attracted to people who are the opposite. So his theories were somewhat cis- and heteronormative.

Another issue with his work when applied to today is that it fails to think about the barriers to being openly queer and their impact on how the individual acknowledges and acts on their attraction.

This is also reflective of SAM.

Internalized Homophobia

As a person who has non-heterosexual relationships with other queer people, internalized homophobia is something I’d argue we are all plagued with. Like any other societal prejudice, you can commit to being anti-inequality/pro-equality, but it is an ongoing effort, a series of consistent actions, that say you’re tackling it.

Things pop out at you.

You can be years into being “out” and queer and then you realize some of your conduct within relationships or queer spaces, or some of your views are founded on internalized homophobia. Then you go away and you work on that so you’re a healthier person and partner.

One of the classic ways that internalized homophobia rears its ugly head is by compelling you to hide, minimize or demerit your queer relationships/attraction and promote your heterosexuality. An easy example being the closeted gay guys cruising on and offline for secret liaisons.

Less extreme, and frankly more common ways this manifests is a fetishization or marginalization of queer attraction or desires.

So why SAM Sucks.

There are 3 broad, overlapping reasons:

1. Nothing was broken

Polysexuality has never been assumed to be a 50/50 split of attraction, especially when labels like “pansexual” began to speak about the nuance of gender identification.

I’m not going to pretend that polysexual people get an easy ride from the monosexual queer community. They haven’t.

Nonetheless, I think both the inclusive and bimisic sectors of the queer community were consistent in their belief that a bisexual person is not equally attracted to men and women. In fact, that’s what bimisic people struggle with.

SAM, when applied to people, attempts to rewrite something that was phrased correctly to being with.

2. Homosexuality is a “sex thing”

As individuals, we all vary in terms of what attracts us to a person, how we are attracted to them (broadly speaking, romantic and/or sexual), why those things attract us and more generally, our sex drives differ.
This also varies from person to person. Some people we are more enamored with. Others it’s pure lust. Some it’s a slow burn. Others aren’t our “type” but we become attracted to anyway.
SAM, when applied to sexual/allo people, assumes that monosexuality is just about sexual attraction and we don’t experience all these different elements. It’s (“just”) a “sexual” thing. This is harmful to people who experience homosexual attraction because they are already viewed as sexually deviant.

Additionally, the way aspec people can talk about attraction and desire is far removed from how “romantic” and/or “sexual” people actually experience it. It can seem like they ignore the variance in an attempt to define what they are not.

As someone who would define themselves as romantic and highly sexual, I’ve found their definitions somewhere between ignorant and insulting. Especially by those who feel compelled to justify their lack of promiscuity.

3. Cognitive Dissonance

Although it reinforces harmful stereotypes about bisexual people, many monosexual people have had bisexual intimate experiences. This might have meant adopting different identifies along the way.

Due to internalized homophobia, queer monosexuals in particular may have toyed with labels or explanations that minimize their non-het desires. They may have treated partners badly due to shame and fear.

People are quite familiar with the type of queer person struggling with self-hatred who only engages in sex without attachment (or respect). Fewer people acknowledge or have experienced the queer person repulsed by “gay sex” but will allow themselves emotional intimacy with people of the same gender.

Arriving at a place we can “own” our sexuality comes with hard work and often, barely healed scars. Some more scars than others. I’ve been relatively privileged compared to many of my partners in this respect.

SAM discourages that vital internal work by offering an “out” (pun intended) that validates what can be internalized homophobia. Believing you can’t experience the same level of intimacy in a queer relationship as you can in a heterosexual relationship is one of the most common signs.

Wider Impact

Overall, I think it increases biphobia from monosexual queer people and we know they’re struggling. When I talk to other queer people about it, it’s pretty clear we’re seeing SAM as a red flag on some level. That will sustain this chasm we have in the LGBTQ community.

You see, acknowledging your queer identity is challenging enough. Even with support, it’s pretty much inevitable that misia will somehow affect your relationships, safety or lifestyle.

Abuse within queer relationships is about as prevalent as it is between heterosexual couples. Furthermore, internalized homophobia is identified as a factor in abusive queer relationships. Therefore, many of us queer people with experience, even if it’s second or third hand, are sensitive to anything that looks like it.

For allo people, I think the benefits of SAM might outweigh the risks when you’re at the point of reflecting back (over years) on several intimate relationships and categorizing your relationship patterns. Ideally with a queer friendly therapist and a queer support network who can ask you tough questions from lived experience of queer intimacy.

The wider impact of SAM is a new flavor to the exclusion, fear, alienation and tribalism we already experience in the queer community. It’s why we haven’t really ever had cohesive one. Is it really worth it?

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Previously Published on medium

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