Paul, a Sex Gets Real podcast listener, wrote into the show in response to thoughts I shared on a prior episode about how we can change who we find desirable. Paul’s email said:

“Hi Dawn, I am a white, middle aged, liberal man. Sexually liberal to all aspects of modern day sexual liberation and equality. I love that people today live in a more open society compared to when I grew up in the 80’s. (Note: I removed some derogatory slang here that didn’t need to be repeated.). Thank goodness people have become more aware of the origin of terms like these — but we have more progress to make for sure! My question lies with preferences and society. Preferences are personal. I love people for who they are. I really do. But sometimes, sexual preferences can be like food. Not everybody likes all foods. Take liver for example! Do you think it’s bad if someone says or even thinks to themselves they do not like “red heads” or “very skinny” men, “short men”, or “fat chicks” or the idea that a hairy scrotum turns them off? I mean this in a serious way. Isn’t it OK to feel this way, like if you do not like rare meat or even meat at all? Isn’t there a way to express this without being a societal disgrace? Serious question. Thank you Paul”

This is a question that I know many people ask themselves.

To answer this question, we need to begin by positioning ourselves not as individuals, but as parts of a larger whole.

Why? Human beings are wired for belonging. The oldest parts of our brain know that our survival depends on being with other human beings. Nearly everything we do, deep down, is driven by our need to belong.

We are also, at this particular moment in time, living inside a variety of dominant systems that above all else, want to hoard and maintain power. Systems that most of us were not taught about in school, but that impact every aspect of our lives. White supremacy, capitalism, patriarchy, ableism, fatphobia, colonization... The list goes on.

None of us who are alive today created or consented to these systems, but nonetheless we all either benefit from or suffer under them (sometimes both at the same time).

Many of us in Western culture have no idea how to understand, identify, or speak to the ways power exists in our lives and flows between all of us.

And the shit of it is — we are all impacted by these systems. There are no exceptions. They are the water we swim in. The air we breathe. Some of us are more aware of them than others. Some of us are working to overturn and dismantle these systems and institutions because they have not always existed and that means (thankfully) there is a future that’s possible where they don’t exist once again.

So why is that important when we’re talking about liking rare meat or certain kinds of bodies?

Because as human beings, in our deep drive to belong and as people existing inside of a variety of systems and cultures, we are all biased. Those biases are rarely inherent, but the tricky thing is that many of our biases FEEL inherent because they impact our experience of belonging and so we label them preferences — they feel personal to us.

When it comes to preferences for certain food, our experience has much to do with what we like and don’t like. For example, I was raised in San Diego, California, in the United States to a white, middle class family. I cannot tell you how much I dislike lutefisk — which is a gelatinous lye-pickled white fish that’s traditional in Norway. Nope. No way. Lefse, yes. Lutefisk? Heck no.

However, if I’d been exposed to lutefisk early and often as part of fun, important family holidays like many Norwegian children are, I’d probably enjoy it, or at a minimum, tolerate it and have an emotional connection to it. Perhaps because my grandparents enjoyed it or because it was a staple on holiday tables throughout my life.

We can argue all day long about food preferences and where they come from, but so much of what we like or don’t like is impacted by the people around us, the culture around us, the meaning we make from the events we’re a part of, what’s abundant, what’s scarce, and what others think about those things.

But this question is not about food. It’s about human beings, which is a much more delicate and nuanced arena that moves far beyond preferences.

The things most of us believe to be universally attractive or desirable are largely impacted by the fact that we’ve been TOLD we’re supposed to find them attractive and desirable. That message is beaten into us from every possible angle throughout our lives.

Why? Because dominant systems and those with the most power make the most profit when we are collectively chasing and valuing certain things. It helps them to continue to hoard power and money.

There have been many studies demonstrating that different kinds of bodies and shapes and sizes have been prized and valued in many different cultures (for a more exhaustive exploration with copious citations, read Christy Harrison’s new book, Anti-Diet).

Typically, the bodies that are most prized are those that the richest and most affluent have. When food and resources are scarce and people are facing famine, it’s not uncommon for the most powerful people to still have an abundance of food, less stress, more support, and better overall nourishment; thus, the fetish/preference du jour is around curvier, heavier, or less thin bodies.

Inside capitalism and white supremacy as we know it now in the U.S. and Canada, whiter thinner bodies are prized. Under patriarchy, younger bodies are prized, especially in women — it gives the illusion that these bodies are easier to control (something patriarchy desires).

There have also been studies showing that when people are exposed to images featuring a wide range of body sizes for a mere 20 minutes, their preferences for body size shift to be more inclusive of a more diverse range of bodies whereas people shown images of very thin bodies for that same time display higher levels of disgust for non-thin bodies. Just 20 minutes — imagine what happens over our entire lives!

Another great example of the ways we are impacted by media we consume is by taking a look at movies. Most of us in Western cultures like the U.S. and Canada were raised on movies that made a significant impact on us (for instance, think about the nostalgia of movies like Neverending Story, Breakfast Club, & Jurassic Park).

One reason movies and TV shows are important here is because when we watch a movie or a TV show, we are essentially being asked to step into someone else’s world. It’s an experience of empathy. We feel into the experience of the characters that are centered. So who is being centered (and who gets to decide)?

Imran Siddiquee is a pop culture critic who does terrific work around diversity in film. Imran gave a TEDx talk a few years ago that I reference often. Here are some of the things Imran shared:

In 2013, only 15% of protagonists in Hollywood films were women.

That same year, of all the speaking lines in films put out by Hollywood, just over a quarter were by women.

Of the top 25 romantic dramas (as of 2014), only 4% featured a woman of color as the main love interest. One film. That’s right — ONE. And the woman of color in that one film was NOT the main character.

Imran expands it out even farther — if we look at the top 200 films of all time, in all genres, most of which feature love in some form as part of the story — none of them feature a main protagonist who is a woman of color.

Imran says, “…meaning in the top 200 film experiences in the history of Hollywood, we have never been asked to put ourselves in the shoes of women of color. So what does that do our conception of love?”

This data is a few years old, but when we think about how many fat bodies we’ve seen as the protagonist or trans bodies, queer bodies, disabled bodies, neurodivergent bodies, poor bodies, immigrant bodies — we start to realize that the people we’ve been empathizing with again and again and again are straight, white, able-bodied, usually thin men.

Another report found, “Only 4.5% of all 47,268 speaking or named characters across the past 12 years were Latino, as were a mere 3% of lead or co-lead actors.”

And that impacts us.

It impacts us that in the movies we grew up on, that formed so many of our foundational ideas around love and belonging centered on a very, very specific kind of person, and continue to do so now.

Who is wanted, who is not? Who wins the girl, and what kind of girl is being ‘won’? Who is the sidekick or the best friend? Who is in the background of the scenes?

And who is completely invisibilized all together from most of the media we consume?

It’s the same with TV shows and books. If you’re on Twitter and follow any writers, you know the tragic levels of racism being revealed about the publishing industry right now (the RWA nonsense and what happened with Tangerine Jones).

So most of us have been surrounded by images, characters, and stories that drill into us at the deepest levels that only certain bodies get to be heroic, desired, and loved.

Now, let’s add another, more personal layer to this mix.

Let’s pretend you start chatting with someone online and you hit it off. Like, really hit it off. Everything they say is funny and charming, you feel seen and understood. You’ve seen a few pictures and they have an amazing smile and seem full of life and joy.

You decide to meet in person at a coffee shop.

Let’s also say the day you’re meeting this person, it just so happens that a group of your friends are also there studying or going over a big project for work.

In comes your date — and… they’re walking with a cane or a walker.

In that instant, what do you do?

Many of us, especially those of us who don’t have rad disabled folks in our lives and who haven’t done a lot of work around unlearning ableism, probably immediately look over to see if our friends noticed.

Why?

Because belonging drives so much of our behavior.

What would happen if a celebrity like Brad Pitt showed up at the Oscars and his date was a superfat woman that was not only much wider than him but also taller? We all know exactly what would happen.

Why do we know what would happen? Ask yourself that.

So many of us, especially those of us who feel insecure or lonely or who haven’t really started investigating toxic masculinity, gender roles, ableism, and all the other bullshit we’re swimming in, see the people we date as an important part of the belonging puzzle.

The people we partner with and fuck can increase or decrease our masculinity/femininity, our validity, and our social status.

To say that another way: What happens when a friend of yours starts dating someone who is seen as traditionally very attractive? You hear a lot of “good job, man!” and “how’d you land her, she’s way out of your league?” and “dammmnnnnnnn”.

We know we’re being judged based on who we surround ourselves with, who we date, and who we fuck.

It’s why so many fat, disabled, and trans people will tell you they’ve fucked people that are considered traditionally very attractive and yet those same people would never date them publicly. Taken to its extreme, this behavior leads to violence like we see with the epidemic of murdered trans women of color.

How can any of us claim to have preferences around certain kinds of bodies when we are under such intense scrutiny, systemic violence, and social control?

Ask yourself this.

Do you really not like fat bodies or have you never bothered to have fat people in your life, so you don’t actually know how awesome and smart and resilient and delightful and sexy fat folks can be?

Do you really not like fat bodies or is it that you secretly dread the looks and the comments that comes with the reality of walking down the street with a fat person or being seen at a restaurant with a fat person eating?

Do you really not find trans women attractive or are you afraid that people will make decisions about your sexuality and paint you as a flattened one-note version of yourself if you’re seen with a trans woman?

Do you fetishize Asian women because they’re seen as exotic and foreign? Or because you secretly believe they’ll be easier to control or smarter because of their race and gender?

Do you actually prefer men that are taller than you or are you so afraid of being seen as fat or large (things associated with masculinity and thus being less desirable) that tall men serve to reassure your sense of smallness and thus your value?

None of us exist inside of a vacuum.

Now, in a post-liberatory world when we have smashed the patriarchy, dismantled white supremacy and ableism and transphobia and capitalism, when we’ve atoned for our colonization and done reparations, and we exist in a world where we are much less impacted by these massive systems of oppression, would our preferences be more true?

Perhaps, but we will still always be impacted by our need to belong and by what we’ve been exposed to, so even then is it really a preference or more of a lack of exposure or a fear of losing belonging?

We are all impacted by fatphobia. We are all impacted by ableism. We are all impacted by dominant systems of oppression.

Each and every one of us has a responsibility to ensure we are exposed to a vast array of body types, cultures, genders, and abilities not as a means of consumption or ticking a box, but because it brings more richness, compassion, and connection into our lives.

I want more of that for all of us. And it’s more possible than ever with social media.

When I think about preferences and human beings, I do not think there’s much about our outward appearance that we can’t find beautiful and intoxicating when we adore and appreciate the extraordinary power of what is inside of us.

Perhaps we enjoy being around people who make us laugh. Or maybe we like being around folks who think in ways that constantly surprise and delight us. Perhaps we feel more drawn towards people who make us feel safe and held.

But the outside? I just don’t know that it matters that much, especially when we have lots of people in our lives that we admire with bodies, genders, abilities, and cultures from a wide, diverse range of human experiences.

Fundamentally, when we say we have a preference for certain external features — particularly if we are white, able-bodied, cis, and/or thin — what we’re bumping up against is our desire for belonging, our fear of being cast out, our hope that others see us as more worthy if we partner with certain kinds of people.

It is a complicated question, to be sure, with many more layers than we could possibly explore here (for instance, the ways we culturally perceive Black girls and boys as much older than they are and the violence that results from that). It isn’t as simple as comparing whole, complex human beings to our preference for certain foods or flowers.

I also find it fascinating that in the six years I’ve been hosting my podcast, and the many thousands of emails I have received, it is always and only men who write in with a question like this and it is always in the wake of my answering a question about preferences and bodies.

That’s important.

Because it is the most privileged among us who are most resistant to these kinds of questions. After all, to ask these questions is to shake the very foundation that has offered those with more privilege the kind of access and power they’ve had to this point — and that is confronting and scary.

So, back to Paul.

We are not bad people for feeling drawn towards certain kinds of bodies. It’s what we’re taught to do, it’s what we’re expected to do, and there are very real consequences for those of us who do not conform to the dominant narrative.

Consequences like realizing that to be partnered with someone who is fat means to witness the constant microaggressions. It’s to be whispered about and commented on.

…To be partnered with someone who is disabled is to begin to understand the depth of the despair and frustration of just how rude and horrible people can be, how inaccessible so many spaces are.

…To share ourselves with someone who feels unsafe in the world all the fucking damn time like so many Black and Indigenous folks is to begin to feel into the ways we’ve been complicit in that harm.

It’s messy and it’s complicated and there is not an easy answer.

But my hope is that each of us will commit to doing better. That when we feel ourselves looking at a muscular, thin, white body and appreciating it, that we’ll pause in that moment and choose to also look at the other people in that space for the beauty, the aliveness, the richness of those other bodies, too.

So if you’ve gotten this far and you’re wondering what can you do, a small step is to begin filling your social media with lots and lots of fat and disabled and trans and non-binary and queer and Indigenous and Black and Muslim and poor and neurodivergent folks. Because there is beauty in us all and the only reason we cannot see it is because we’ve never taken the time to actually try or because we’re scared of giving up our privilege.