The Truth About Attraction (& Desire)

a guide to untangling the different types of attraction for the confused, curious, + queer

For a long time, I assumed my experience with attraction was typical. I felt desire. I had crushes. I hooked up, flirted, fantasized. It all looked close enough to what I saw around me that I didn’t question it too deeply.

 But something always felt a little… off.

Not in a *dramatic*, something-is-broken way—just a quiet sense of being out of sync. I chalked it up to being plus-size in a fatphobic world¹ (which definitely shaped how others responded to me). But over time, I started to notice that the disconnect wasn’t just external. There was something internal, too—something about how I experienced connection and attraction that didn’t quite match the script.

I didn’t have the language yet to describe what I was experiencing. I just knew that things didn’t quite spark the way they were “supposed” to. That connection felt elusive, that attraction rarely lined up with timing, that something wasn’t syncing the way it seemed to for other people.

Turns out, I didn’t start understanding my own ~queerness~ until I began unraveling how attraction and desire actually work.

Not how we’re taught they’re supposed to work. Not the Hollywood version, or the health class diagram, or the swipe-right algorithm. But how they show up in real life, in real bodies, in real minds—especially for those of us who are neurodivergent, queer, or just paying attention.

As you begin to discover the nuances of attraction and desire, understanding your own experiences can feel like trying to untangle a ball of necklace chains you pulled out of the $1 bin at the thrift store. It’s messy, weirdly knotted, and occasionally makes you question your entire sense of reality. But once you get it sorted? Everything suddenly makes a lot more sense.

Along the way, I’ll share bits of my own journey, offer some cheeky definitions, and gently pry open space for anyone who’s been quietly wondering: “Am I queer?” or “Is it normal to feel like this?”

Spoiler: You’re not broken, and yes, it’s normal.

Attraction isn’t a monolith.
It’s a spectrum of sensation.

Before I could understand what was happening inside me, I had to learn that attraction isn’t just a single flashing neon sign. It’s more like a constellation—multiple points of light that might align or drift apart or never show up at all.

Attraction ≠ Desire: A Crucial Distinction

Perhaps most importantly: attraction is an involuntary experience. It just happens. You might feel drawn to someone’s energy, their face, their mind, their ~vibe~. You don’t choose to be attracted to someone any more than you choose your favorite color. It arises involuntarily—an internal signal we can’t manufacture or erase at will.

Desire, on the other hand, is intentional. It’s about wanting something, or someone, and being willing (or not) to act on that want. This is key because desire is often influenced by context, values, culture, and conscious choice, while attraction bubbles up from somewhere deeper, often without warning or explanation.²

Desire, of any type, doesn’t necessarily require attraction to be present first. You can experience desire—for sex, for closeness, for connection—without feeling an identifiable attraction to a specific person. And sometimes, when that desire is acted upon or directed at someone, it can be misread (by ourselves or others) as attraction. Sometimes it does go hand-in-hand with attraction. But not always.

This difference matters because desire is rooted in agency. It’s about the will to move toward something or someone. It’s an active choice: to fantasize, to pursue, to initiate, to lean in. It’s not always rational. But unlike attraction, it’s something we can cultivate, redirect, suppress, or reframe.

Desire can bloom where attraction hasn’t yet landed. It can also wane in places where attraction once thrived.

And that distinction? It changed how I saw my entire sexual history.

My (long, winding) Path to the Words That Fit

I’ve always had a strong desire for sex. A high libido. A very sex positive POV. A fascination with the psychology and dynamics of sex, even before I ever had it (which, apparently, is often connected to neurospiciness, though the research is still slim³).

For a long time, that desire, combined with being raised in a heteronormative culture and a lifetime of unconscious masking, led me to believe I was straight. I must be, because that’s how desire was supposed to look. And I had it, right?

But underneath, something always felt… amiss. I was drawn to queer people. I surrounded myself with them. I was an outspoken ally before I even really understood what queerness meant.

I felt queer in ways I couldn’t explain (and in ways I could, but that weren’t connected to queerness at the time)—yet I didn’t think I had a “valid enough” claim to the label. And despite my full, genuine allyship, I wasn’t exactly clamoring to join a community that, on a larger scale, faced social ostracization and legal oppression.

Looking back, though, there were signs. I remember telling friends in high school that I wished I were bisexual because it “sounded better.” (Foreshadowing, much? 😂 )

Learning about demisexuality was the first click. A friend described it as someone who doesn’t experience sexual attraction until after an emotional connection is formed. I said, “I might be that… but don’t a lot of people feel that way?” She replied, “Well, I can feel sexual attraction to someone just by looking at them—like, imagine having sex with them even if I don’t know them yet.”

And I thought, Oh. Huh. That’s not how it works for me.
Not without a connection—emotional, intellectual, or something grounding us—first.

That realization cracked something open. Still, I second-guessed it.

I’d had one-night stands.
I’d had fun.
I’d initiated.
I’d experimented.

I didn’t look demisexual the way others described it. But that didn’t mean the label didn’t fit.

Because identity isn’t about checking boxes.
It’s about 〉resonance〈 .

And when I let go of needing someone else to validate that label for me, I finally started to feel like I made sense.

A few years later, I had another moment of realization about my queer identity. Oddly, it happened at a Weezer concert—not your typical “queer awakening” setting, but for better or worse, it’s on my bingo card (it’s for better, Weezer kicks ass live!). I was a little tipsy and a little high—practically the “free space” on the bingo card—and, as often happens when I’m in that state, I was feeling ~ frisky ~. The sexual fantasies were happening, and then, out of nowhere, there was a woman in the fantasy—not a particular woman, but a distinctly feminine body with female sex characteristics—and we were engaging with one another, and I was still enjoying it.

As any self-respecting academically trained person would do after such an experience, I immediately started researching bisexuality and reading others’ stories. Upon reflection, I began to recognize bisexual patterns in my feelings and experiences. I entertained the possibility of feeling attracted to certain women in my circles, imagined hooking up with them, and found myself excited and intrigued at the prospect. The term “bi” felt right.⁴

Of course, impostor syndrome set in again (more on that in a future post).

But I found a community of bisexuals with similar experiences who were still claiming the label. Plus, sexual orientation is primarily about who you have the capacity to be attracted to—not necessarily who you’ve had sex with. So, I said “fuck the haters” and have been gradually sinking deeper into what this part of my identity means for me, ecstatic to have that additional self-knowledge.

Why Does This Matter?

When we understand the nuances of attraction and desire, we gain a deeper understanding of ourselves. We’re able to clearly communicate our boundaries, needs, and wants to others. And eventually, we can let go of the pressure to fit into predetermined boxes so that we can explore what feels true to us.

If a term resonates with you, use it. If it stops feeling right, shift. You don’t need anyone’s permission to understand yourself better.

And if all of this sounds like a tangled mess right now, don’t worry. You’re not alone. We’re all just trying to untangle the chains.

For myself, I currently identify as bisexual, demisexual, and am exploring whether aegosexual also fits—a term describing people who enjoy sexual content or fantasy without necessarily wanting to participate in it themselves. That one’s still percolating, but it’s been eye-opening.

(Oh, and let’s just say: being into kink added another deliciously complicated layer.⁵)

Each of these identities added texture to my self-understanding. But more than that, they offered relief. Naming things allowed me to stop fighting with myself. To stop wondering if I was just broken, confused, or doing queerness “wrong.”

And that’s really what I want this series to do for others:

To open up the definitions.

To demystify the categories.

To let people find themselves without needing permission.

Because you don’t need anyone’s approval to identify with a word that helps you understand yourself. You don’t need to explain why a term fits you to make it yours.
You don’t need to prove your queerness to be queer.

So this post is a beginning. A map of the ground I’ve covered, and the trail I’m still tracing. In future entries, I’ll dig deeper into the identities I’ve touched on here—demisexuality, bisexuality, aegosexuality—and what they’ve meant for me.

But for now, I just want to leave you with this:

Coming Soon:

• A cheeky glossary of queer and neurospicy terms
• Tooltip pop-ups + search-friendly glossary navigation
• Deep dives into demisexuality, bisexuality, aegosexuality, and more
• Maybe a comic about what it’s like to explain attraction types to confused friends (or your therapist 😅)

✨ Until then, stay curious, stay gentle, and stay gloriously weird.✨

1. In case it wasn’t obvious, this is a body-neutral blog. I have a lot to say about growing up fat and living life as a fat adult, and I even hesitate to use the term “fat” because it still feels dirty and wrong, even though it’s categorically not. So more on this coming soon. ↩︎
2. The influence of culture and context on desire can help to explain why alcohol and marijuana (and other substances that help to make us less inhibited) expose us to attractions we might typically brush off or misinterpret. For example, you might experience sexual attraction to someone that your culture tells you shouldn’t (like someone older, or heavier, or of the same gender), which will play a role in your (un)willingness to act on that attraction. But then you have a few drinks, a few tokes, maybe a gummy, and the opinions of society start to matter less (or you just forget them entirely); suddenly, the only thing that matters is that you’re feeling a pull and you want to act on it. (Obviously, other things still matter—like consent and all participating parties being in the right frame of mind to give it willingly—but in terms of desire, social norms no longer bear as strong an influence). ↩︎
3. High sex drive & ADHD research citations coming soon. ↩︎
4. I’m not sure I even want to dip my toe into the muddy waters that is the discourse of bi vs. pan. I’ve read so many definitions of each term, I have no idea who subscribes to which, and I’m not really even sure what the meaningful difference is anymore. The most compelling distinction I’ve encountered is that both describe the ability to be attracted to more than one gender, but sex characteristics play a role in the attraction for bisexuals, while for pansexuals they are largely irrelevant. Under that definition, I probably fall more into the pan camp, but for whatever reason “bi” resonates better, so that’s what I’m sticking with for now. Would love to hear others’ thoughts on this though! 🤓 😊 ↩︎
5. There’s a fascinating overlap between kink, queerness, and neurodivergence. For more, check out research by Pearson & Hodgetts (2023) and Muzacz (2021)—and keep an eye out for a future post where I spill (some of) the tawdry details and plunge deeper into the pleasures of kink 😏⛓️‍💥🌶️. ↩︎