Daily Beauty Reporter: Beauty Reporter Blog: allure.com »

Here’s something that will give you a little confidence boost: A study published in the professional journal Body Image found that people prefer normal leg-to-body ratios to the mile-long legs that walk down the runway every season (Sorry, Gisele.) Researchers showed over 1,000 men and women pictures of women to demonstrate eight different LTB ratios, and the mid-range combination were deemed the most attractive. Combined with the recent news that men consider women at a “normal” weight the prettiest, do you think women might start to love their bodies more?

Notes: I think it’s quite funny that even Allure doesn’t seem to believe this report as they used a photo of a woman who seems to have quite long legs to draw us in to the story… another study with findings that seem to have been overgeneralized.

The Holiday Role You Play | Psychology Today »

Perhaps no other time of year is as highly anticipated, and secretly dreaded, as that festive family time known collectively as “the holidays.” The clash of fake gaiety and togetherness around Thanksgiving time plus Christmas’s unrealistic expectations of “perfection” can lead to a train wreck of emotions.

We cope the best we can. Both poles of our Jekyll-Hyde personalities can be released. Sometimes we slip behind familiar masks. We might play comforting, non-confrontational roles, or perhaps hide out in the kitchen behind a tower of dirty dishes. For example, I noticed how in recent years around family gatherings I had become “the entertainer.” My job: make ‘em laugh.

To see if this holiday ailment afflicted more than just myself, recently I polled my friends and select family members. I had them write descriptions of their annual performances, each titled “The Holiday Role I Play.” (I’d also like to hear from you: what role do you play?).

Reported anonymously, here are some of the responses (edited for length) that I received:

• I am considered the queen of Christmas.

• When I go home for the holidays I am “The Good Sport.” No matter what game I am asked to play, song I am asked to sing, I never complain. There is time to get even later.

• I am “The Pretender” and enter into all they’re doing and willingly going along. At some level, I know they know this.

• Characterize me as “The Bartender.” Everyone’s glass is full — which permits me to fill my own glass in the doing.

• At mom’s house I am “The Organizer.” Everything must run on schedule, all the dishes at the proper temperature, the gifts opened in descending order of seniority. My husband is “The Clean-up Guy.” When all the gals are sipping their Bailey’s, he is quietly at the sink washing and drying.

• I think I am “The Son Who Needs To Be Spoiled.” Whenever I come home for the holidays, my mom wants to spoil her “lost son” as much as possible.

• I play three roles. With the immediate family, I am “The Reminder of The Love Before.” Mom sees my father in my face and usually loses her mind. The second role I play is “The Project” — everyone is eager to see me 50 and relatively finished. Finally, I am “The Outsider.” My family is a bunch of heartening, Midwestern hicks, barely anyone finishing college, lots of alcoholics, teenage drug addicts and runaways who try to commitsuicide. To have become the quiet one who got out of Fort Wayne, Ind., without babies or a husband, is always unsettling.

• I can tell you right off my role would be “The Moderator.” Such choice therapeutic phrases such as “what I hear you saying is …” and “what I think she is trying to express is …” are commonly uttered by me. I try to avoid using language like “shame spiral” and “co-dependent.” (Note: variations on this theme were the most common roles cited — “The Referee,” “The Sounding Board,” “The Therapist,” “The Link Repairer,” “The Peacemaker.”)

• I play “The Honored Guest,” graciously bestowing my presence and allowing myself to be treated as such.

• I know the pitfalls of family gatherings (a dirge-like, morose collection of individuals, shoveling down holiday food to the strains of Johnny Mathis and searching for an appropriate escape) and do my best to avoid/dilute them.

• My role: “I Am My Sister’s Keeper.” We share thousands of tiny glances throughout one holiday evening that speak volumes in the moment, and signify volumes to be spoken much later. Separately, we can hardly win any battles, but together, on Christmas, we are an unstoppable army of two.

• I am the one trying to shed a little factual light on my family’s highly distorted, historically rewritten views. I used to be the family clown. I don’t think the two are that different — just components of the same role.

• In my house I take the role of “The Conversationalist.” Frequently this involves many different conversations, held in a constant blur of moving from living room to kitchen and back again, trying to not alight on the couch and be sucked into the brain numbing drone of TV. The talk goes a little like this: Cooking, a little politics and sports with Dad; sports with younger brother; current events and education with step-mom. Don’t alienate anyone, make sure you include all the guests, remember to include significant others. Above all else avoid the deadly seven-minute dead air. Silence isn’t golden. Perhaps we will find out how far we have traveled from each other over the year.

• As a child I was “The Anointed Christmas Infant,” responsible for displays of wonder. As a young adult my role shifted to being the one responsible for the continuation of our handed-down traditions of perfection — “Mid-Winter Monarch” and “Kitchen Queen” — she who secures the boundaries, mediates the squabbles and is provider of plenty. Now, in exile and older, I have become “The Contented Ghost of Christmas Past.”

• My son is unable to type so I will attempt to respond for him. His role is to experience and share pure unadulterated joy during the holidays. He jumps with excitement when putting out a plate of cookies, eight carrots and a glass of milk for Santa. He brings meaning to the holidays. Ask him this question in another five years and I am sure you’ll get an answer more like what you were expecting.

• I have no idea what my role is. I think maybe I’m the guy who makes screaming faces in the bathroom mirror and then comes out all smiley.

And you probably could add to these your own cast of characters you find yourself playing. Feel free to comment below and let us know what roles you slip into around the holidays.

The Chameleon Effect | PsyBlog »

Does mimicking other people’s body language really make them like us?

Self-help books, persuasion manuals and glossy magazine articles often advise that mimicking body language can increase how much others like us. But is it really true that mimicry causes others to like us, or is mimicry just a by-product of successful social interactions?

Although it had long been suspected that copying other people’s body language increases liking, the effect wasn’t tested rigorously until Chartrand and Bargh (1999) carried out a series of experiments. They asked three related question:

1. Do people automatically mimic others, even strangers?
2. Does mimicry increase liking?
3. Do high-perspective-takers exhibit the chameleon effect more?

(And, fourthly, what does all this have to do with hypnotism? On which, more later.)

Do people automatically mimic others, even strangers?

The set-up: Testing what they call ‘the chameleon effect’, in their first study 78 participants were sat down to have a chat with an experimental insider or ‘confederate’ who had been told to vary their mannerisms in systematic ways. Some did more smiling, others more face touching and still others more foot waggling.

Result: Yes, participants did naturally copy the confederate (who they’d only just met) as measured by face touching, foot waggling and smiling. Face touching only went up 20%, but rate of foot waggling went up by an impressive 50% when participants were inspired by another foot waggler.

Does mimicry increase liking?

In the second experiment Chartrand and Bargh wanted to see if all this foot waggling and face touching has any actual use, or whether it is just a by-product of social interactions.

The set-up: 78 participants were sent into a room to chat with a stranger (another experimental confederate) about a photograph. With some participants the confederate mimicked their body language, with others not. Afterwards participants were asked how much they liked the confederate and rated the smoothness of the interaction, both on a scale of 1 to 9.

Result: Mimicry did indeed work to increase liking. When their body language was copied, participants gave the confederate an average mark of 6.62 for liking (and 6.76 for smoothness). When they weren’t being mimicked participants gave the confederate an average of 5.91 for liking (and 6.02 for smoothness). Not a huge difference you might say, but still a measurable effect for a change in behaviour so subtle most people didn’t even notice it.

Do high-perspective-takers exhibit the chameleon effect more?

Since we’re all different, some people will naturally engage in mimicry more than others. But what kinds of psychological dispositions might affect this? Chartrand and Bargh looked at perspective-taking: the degree to which people naturally take others’ perspectives.

The set-up: Fifty-five students filled out a perspective-taking questionnaire, along with a measure of empathy, then they were sat opposite an experimental confederate, doing the same old face rubbing and food waggling routine from before.

Results: Participants who were high in perspective-taking increased their face-rubbing by about 30% and foot waggling by about 50% compared with the low-perspective-takers. Differences between people in empathic concern, however, had no effect on mimicry suggesting it was the cognitive component of perspective-taking that was important in encouraging mimicry rather than the emotional.

Hypnosis and the chameleon effect

So the ‘chameleon effect’, far from being the preserve of cold-blooded reptiles, is actually a warm response facilitating social interactions. This experiment suggests most of us do it automatically to varying degrees and, just as the glossy magazine advice goes, it does encourage other people to like us.

But what’s this connection between social mimicry and hypnotism that I mentioned at the top? Well, one influential theory of hypnosis says that in the hypnotic state the conscious will is weakened so that suggestions from the hypnotist are carried out automatically (Hilgard, 1965).

This is actually an extreme version of what happens when we mimic other people’s body language. In some senses, when two people are really getting along, their feet-waggling and face-touching in perfect harmony, it’s like they’ve hypnotised each other.

I find research on this particular phenomenon insanely fascinating because, unlike the (seeming) majority of psychological research, I’ve been able to do little experiments and test this out a bit in my own life and see effects. In a lot (if not the strong majority) of psychological experiments, the effect sizes are tiny and essentially, these effects are true across a large random sample of people - so you wouldn’t necessarily be able to demonstrate them in your own life all that easily. But, along with some of the memory and learning/conditioning research that I feel I’ve been able to apply and try with a surprising amount of success, I can see the chameleon effect. I can see it in people that seem to adapt to others’ personality in subtle ways - picking up the occasional mannerisms, etc.

Obviously there are a number of confounding effects, but it’s interesting to see that this can go too far - if it’s too obvious, it appears fake and the other person likes the chameleon less. But try smiling when the other person smiles and see what happens… I swear the other person feels we’re more connected, more “in sync” with each other. When I’ve tried to do this on purpose, one person even told me how I was an awesome listener! It’s similar to ideas behind active listening and summarizing another person’s argument or thoughts rather than offering your own opinion.

Maybe it’s just the focus on ourselves that we like, but even knowing this and occasionally wondering if the other person is doing this doesn’t necessarily decrease how connected you might feel to the other person or reduce this effect…

Why Getting Revenge Isn't Worth It | Psychology Today »

Recently, an editor at PT asked me to dig up some good juicy stories about revenge. Most of the ones I found dealt with how the scorned practiced retribution against their (ex) lovers’ bodily appendages à la Lorena Bobbit.

Reading about these unique crimes of passion got me thinking about my own style of revenge, which surprisingly, is NADA. But why? Is it because I’m a Leo—so self absorbed that I’m not willing to invest the energy and finesse required into seeking meticulously planned retribution? Perhaps, it is simply because I’ve never been hurt so badly… no wait, not true either.

I had a cheating boyfriend too. Like these newsworthy women, I was also enraged, but my rage never turned into a breaking news segment on the 6’oclock news. Instead, I locked myself in the bathroom for hours, trying to talk to my best friend, hoping she would tell me why this happened? I was so busy trying to understand the dynamics of the situation, I didn’t know what to do. Was revenge a healthy response?

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According to social psychologist Kevin Carlsmith of Colgate, the reason for revenge is to achieve catharsis. However, his recent study suggests that revenge is, in fact, counterproductive to achieving that goal. The study explains that those who seek to punish continue to think about the perpetrator, keeping the pain and the anger very much alive in their minds, while those who “move on” or “get over it” think less about the perpetrator. Carlsmith’s team tested this theory by staging an interactive game where players could earn money if they all cooperated with one another. However, if a player did not cooperate, he could earn more at the expense of the others. Researchers planted certain “free riders” who would encourage everyone else to cooperate, but would later not cooperate himself. Two groups were tested—one that could punish the “free rider” (and they all did), and one that could not punish.

Interestingly, the results showed that revenge was not as sweet as it sounds. The punishers reported feeling worse than the non-punishers, but also predicted that they would have felt far worse if they hadn’t been able to punish. On the other hand, the non-punishers, the happier group, believed that they would have been happier if they had the opportunity to seek revenge against the “free rider.”

What does this all mean?

Carlsmith says, “Rather than providing closure, it does the opposite: It keeps the wound open and fresh.”

He suggests that when we don’t get revenge, we can trivialize the event. We are able to tell ourselves that because we didn’t go crazy (hacking away our boyfriend’s body parts), it wasn’t the end of the world, after all. That way, it’s easier to move on.

The verdict?

Studies say no to revenge. It only hurts yourself. Still, love, hate or hurt can drive any woman crazy, so men out there, please be on your best behavior.

Main Reference:

Carlsmith, Kevin M., Wilson, Timothy and Gilbert, Daniel, The Paradoxical Consequences of Revenge (September 29, 2008). Journal of Personalityand Social Psychology, Forthcoming. Available at SSRN:http://ssrn.com/abstract=1277905

Jen Kim is a PT intern

Bering in Mind: Are there asexuals among us? On the possibility of a "fourth" sexual orientation »

Gay people are often asked by the curious: When did you first realize you weregay?” In my case, I remember undressing my Superman doll—and being terribly disappointed at the result—as well as being motivated to befriend the more attractive boys in third grade. But hormonally speaking, it wasn’t until I was about fourteen that I first looked in the mirror and thought to myself, ah, that’s what I am all right, it all makes perfect sense now.

It wasn’t much of a mystery. After all, lust isn’t exactly a subtle thing. Back then I derived as much pleasure from making out with my “girlfriend” as I might have from scraping the plaque from my dog’s teeth. In contrast, barely touching legs with a boy I had a crush on sparked an electric, ineffable ecstasy. In the locker room after high school gym class, I forced myself to picture naked girls in my head (particularly my girlfriend) as a sort of cognitive cold shower, a pre-emptive strike against an otherwise embarrassing physical response. I could go on but you get the idea: whether or not we like, hide or accept what we are, our true identities—gay, straight, bisexual—consciously dawn on each of us at some point in adolescence. We all have a natural “orientation” towards sexual contact with others, and for the most part we’re just hopeless pawns, impotent onlookers, to our body’s desires.

At least, that’s what most people tend to think. But actually, some scientists believe that there may be a fourth sexual orientation in our species, one characterized by the absence of desire and no sexual interest in males or females, only a complete and lifelong lacuna of sexual attraction toward any human being (or non-human being). Such people are regarded as asexuals. Unlike bisexuals, who are attracted to both males and females, asexuals are equally indifferent to and uninterested in having sex with either gender. So imagine being a teenager waiting for your sexual identity to express itself, waiting patiently for some intoxicating bolus of lasciviousness to render you as dumbly carnal as your peers, and it just doesn’t happen. These individuals aren’t simply celibate, which is a lifestyle choice. Rather, sex to them is just so … boring.

In one recent interview study published in a 2007 issue of the Archives of Sexual Behavior, a group of self-described asexuals was asked how they came to be aware they were different. One woman responded:

I would say I’ve never had a dream or a fantasy, a sexual fantasy, for example, about being with another woman. So I can pretty much say that I have no lesbian sort of tendencies whatsoever. You would think that by my age I would have some fantasy or dream or something, wouldn’t you? … But I’ve never had a dream or a sexual fantasy about having sex with a man, either. That I can ever, ever remember.

In another interview study, this one by University of Michigan researcher Kristin Scherrer, an 18-year-old woman put it this way:

I just don’t feel sexual attraction to people. I love the human form and can regard individuals as works of art and find people aesthetically pleasing, but I don’t ever want to come into sexual contact with even the most beautiful of people.

According to Brock University psychologist Anthony Bogaert, there may be more genuine asexuals out there than we realize. In 2004 Bogaert analyzed survey data from more than 18,000 British residents and found that the number of people (185, or about 1 percent) in this population who described themselves as “never having a sexual attraction to anymore” was just slightly lower than those who identified as being attracted to the same sex (3 percent). Since this discovery, a handful of academic researchers have been trying to determine whether asexuality is a true biological phenomenon or, alternatively, a slippery social label that for various reasons some people may prefer to adopt and embrace.

Sexual desire may wax and wane over the life course or—as many people on antidepressants have experienced—become virtually nonexistent due to medications or disease. There are alsochromosomal abnormalities, such as Turner’s syndrome, often associated with an absence of sexual desire. Traumatic events in childhood, such as sexual abuse, can also factor into an aversion to sex. But if it exists as a fourth orientation, true asexuality would be due neither to genetic anomaly or environmental assault; although little is known about its etiology (Bogaert believes it may be traced to prenatal alterations of the hypothalamus), by all appearances most asexual people are normal, healthy, hormonally balanced and sexually mature adults who, for still uncertain reasons, have always found sex to be one big, bland yawn. Asexuality would therefore be like other sexual orientations in the sense that it is not “acquired” or “situational,” but rather an essential part of one’s biological makeup. Just like a straight man or a lesbian can’t wake up one day and decide to become attracted to men, neither could a person—in principle, anyway—“become” asexual. Sexual dysfunctions such as Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder (HSDD) can also be ruled out if a “preference” towards a gender does not awaken in response to clinical intervention such as hormonal treatment. As Bogaert notes, even those with object fetishes or paraphilias usually display a gender-based attraction, such as men who have a thing for women’s shoes or necrophiliacs who have sex with dead women’s (but not men’s) bodies.

But the story of asexuality is very complicated. For example, as discussion on the AVEN (Asexuality and Visibility Education Network) website forums demonstrate, there is tremendous variation in the sexual inclinations of those who consider themselves to be asexual. Some masturbate, some don’t. Some are interested in nonsexual, romantic relationships (including cuddling and kissing but no genital contact), while others aren’t. Some consider themselves to be “hetero-asexual” (having a nonsexual aesthetic or romantic preference for those of the opposite sex), while others see themselves as “homo-” or “bi-asexuals.” There’s even a matchmaking website for sexless love called asexualpals.com. Yet many asexuals are also perfectly willing to have sex if it satisfies their sexual partners; it’s not awkward or painful for them but rather, like making toast or emptying the trash, they just don’t personally derive pleasure from the act. As researchers Nicole Prause and Cynthia Graham found in their interviews with self-identified asexuals, “they were not particularly sexually fearful … they had a lower excitatory drive.” Others insist on being in completely sexless relationships, possibly with other asexuals. Thus, while many asexuals are virgins, others are ironically even more experienced than your traditionally sexual friends. Some want children through artificial means such as in vitro fertilization; others are willing to have them the old-fashioned way or don’t want children at all.

Thus, on the one hand there seems to be a sociological issue of people of a marginalized sexual identity gathering steam and beginning to form an identifiable community. (And in the process attracting significant media attention, including coverage on the Montel Williams Show, The View and an excellent feature story in New Scientist a few years ago.) On the other hand, there remains—to me—the more intriguing biological issue of asexual essentialism; that is to say, is it really possible to develop “normally” without ever experiencing sexual desire, even a niggling little blip on the arousability radar, toward any other human being on the face of the earth? I have little doubt that there are self-identified asexuals who would fail to meet this essentialist criterion, but if even a sliver of the asexual community has truly never experienced arousal, then this would pose fascinating questions for our understanding of human sexuality andevolutionary processes.

I still have a lot of questions. Scientists have just scratched the surface in studying human asexuality. You can count the number of studies on the subject on one hand. Does asexuality, like homosexuality, have heritable components? Certainly it’s plausible. After all, historically, female asexuals would have probably had offspring with their male sexual partners, thus ensuring continuity of the genetic bases of asexuality. Although Bogaert’s original findings suggested that asexuality was somewhat more common among women, more recent research by Prause and Graham found no such gender difference in their college-aged sample of self-reported asexuals. If some asexuals masturbate in the absence of sexual fantasy or porn, then what exactly is it that’s getting them physically aroused? (And how does one achieve orgasm—as some asexuals apparently do—without experiencing pleasure?) Also, if you’re on board theoretically with evolutionary psychology, almost all of human cognition and social behavior somehow boils down to sexual competition. So what would the evolutionary psychologist make of asexuality? If sex is nature’s feel-good ruse to get our genes out there, is there actually a natural category of human beings that is immune to evolution’s greatest gag?

I must say, the only good way to solve the riddle is also a bit unsavory. But unless psychological scientists ever gather a group of willing, self-identified asexuals and, systematically and under controlled conditions, expose them to an array of erotic stimuli while measuring their physicalarousal (penile erection or vaginal lubrication), the truth of the matter will lie forever hidden away in the asexual’s pants.

In this column presented by Scientific American Mind magazine, research psychologist Jesse Bering of Queen’s University Belfast ponders some of the more obscure aspects of everyday human behavior. Ever wonder why yawning is contagious, why we point with our index fingers instead of our thumbs or whether being breastfed as an infant influences your sexual preferences as an adult? Get a closer look at the latest data as “Bering in Mind” tackles these and other quirky questions about human nature. Sign up for the RSS feed or friend Dr. Bering on Facebook and never miss an installment again. For articles published prior to September 29, 2009, click here: older Bering in Mind columns.

Bering in Mind: Are there asexuals among us? On the possibility of a "fourth" sexual orientation »

Gay people are often asked by the curious: When did you first realize you were gay?” In my case, I remember undressing my Superman doll—and being terribly disappointed at the result—as well as being motivated to befriend the more attractive boys in third grade. But hormonally speaking, it wasn’t until I was about fourteen that I first looked in the mirror and thought to myself, ah, that’s what I am all right, it all makes perfect sense now.

It wasn’t much of a mystery. After all, lust isn’t exactly a subtle thing. Back then I derived as much pleasure from making out with my “girlfriend” as I might have from scraping the plaque from my dog’s teeth. In contrast, barely touching legs with a boy I had a crush on sparked an electric, ineffable ecstasy. In the locker room after high school gym class, I forced myself to picture naked girls in my head (particularly my girlfriend) as a sort of cognitive cold shower, a pre-emptive strike against an otherwise embarrassing physical response. I could go on but you get the idea: whether or not we like, hide or accept what we are, our true identities—gay, straight, bisexual—consciously dawn on each of us at some point in adolescence. We all have a natural “orientation” towards sexual contact with others, and for the most part we’re just hopeless pawns, impotent onlookers, to our body’s desires.

At least, that’s what most people tend to think. But actually, some scientists believe that there may be a fourth sexual orientation in our species, one characterized by the absence of desire and no sexual interest in males or females, only a complete and lifelong lacuna of sexual attraction toward any human being (or non-human being). Such people are regarded as asexuals. Unlike bisexuals, who are attracted to both males and females, asexuals are equally indifferent to and uninterested in having sex with either gender. So imagine being a teenager waiting for your sexual identity to express itself, waiting patiently for some intoxicating bolus of lasciviousness to render you as dumbly carnal as your peers, and it just doesn’t happen. These individuals aren’t simply celibate, which is a lifestyle choice. Rather, sex to them is just so … boring.

In one recent interview study published in a 2007 issue of the Archives of Sexual Behavior, a group of self-described asexuals was asked how they came to be aware they were different. One woman responded:

I would say I’ve never had a dream or a fantasy, a sexual fantasy, for example, about being with another woman. So I can pretty much say that I have no lesbian sort of tendencies whatsoever. You would think that by my age I would have some fantasy or dream or something, wouldn’t you? … But I’ve never had a dream or a sexual fantasy about having sex with a man, either. That I can ever, ever remember.

In another interview study, this one by University of Michigan researcher Kristin Scherrer, an 18-year-old woman put it this way:

I just don’t feel sexual attraction to people. I love the human form and can regard individuals as works of art and find people aesthetically pleasing, but I don’t ever want to come into sexual contact with even the most beautiful of people.

According to Brock University psychologist Anthony Bogaert, there may be more genuine asexuals out there than we realize. In 2004 Bogaert analyzed survey data from more than 18,000 British residents and found that the number of people (185, or about 1 percent) in this population who described themselves as “never having a sexual attraction to anymore” was just slightly lower than those who identified as being attracted to the same sex (3 percent). Since this discovery, a handful of academic researchers have been trying to determine whether asexuality is a true biological phenomenon or, alternatively, a slippery social label that for various reasons some people may prefer to adopt and embrace.

Sexual desire may wax and wane over the life course or—as many people on antidepressants have experienced—become virtually nonexistent due to medications or disease. There are alsochromosomal abnormalities, such as Turner’s syndrome, often associated with an absence of sexual desire. Traumatic events in childhood, such as sexual abuse, can also factor into an aversion to sex. But if it exists as a fourth orientation, true asexuality would be due neither to genetic anomaly or environmental assault; although little is known about its etiology (Bogaert believes it may be traced to prenatal alterations of the hypothalamus), by all appearances most asexual people are normal, healthy, hormonally balanced and sexually mature adults who, for still uncertain reasons, have always found sex to be one big, bland yawn. Asexuality would therefore be like other sexual orientations in the sense that it is not “acquired” or “situational,” but rather an essential part of one’s biological makeup. Just like a straight man or a lesbian can’t wake up one day and decide to become attracted to men, neither could a person—in principle, anyway—“become” asexual. Sexual dysfunctions such as Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder (HSDD) can also be ruled out if a “preference” towards a gender does not awaken in response to clinical intervention such as hormonal treatment. As Bogaert notes, even those with object fetishes or paraphilias usually display a gender-based attraction, such as men who have a thing for women’s shoes or necrophiliacs who have sex with dead women’s (but not men’s) bodies.

But the story of asexuality is very complicated. For example, as discussion on the AVEN (Asexuality and Visibility Education Network) website forums demonstrate, there is tremendous variation in the sexual inclinations of those who consider themselves to be asexual. Some masturbate, some don’t. Some are interested in nonsexual, romantic relationships (including cuddling and kissing but no genital contact), while others aren’t. Some consider themselves to be “hetero-asexual” (having a nonsexual aesthetic or romantic preference for those of the opposite sex), while others see themselves as “homo-” or “bi-asexuals.” There’s even a matchmaking website for sexless love called asexualpals.com. Yet many asexuals are also perfectly willing to have sex if it satisfies their sexual partners; it’s not awkward or painful for them but rather, like making toast or emptying the trash, they just don’t personally derive pleasure from the act. As researchers Nicole Prause and Cynthia Graham found in their interviews with self-identified asexuals, “they were not particularly sexually fearful … they had a lower excitatory drive.” Others insist on being in completely sexless relationships, possibly with other asexuals. Thus, while many asexuals are virgins, others are ironically even more experienced than your traditionally sexual friends. Some want children through artificial means such as in vitro fertilization; others are willing to have them the old-fashioned way or don’t want children at all.

Thus, on the one hand there seems to be a sociological issue of people of a marginalized sexual identity gathering steam and beginning to form an identifiable community. (And in the process attracting significant media attention, including coverage on the Montel Williams Show, The View and an excellent feature story in New Scientist a few years ago.) On the other hand, there remains—to me—the more intriguing biological issue of asexual essentialism; that is to say, is it really possible to develop “normally” without ever experiencing sexual desire, even a niggling little blip on the arousability radar, toward any other human being on the face of the earth? I have little doubt that there are self-identified asexuals who would fail to meet this essentialist criterion, but if even a sliver of the asexual community has truly never experienced arousal, then this would pose fascinating questions for our understanding of human sexuality andevolutionary processes.

I still have a lot of questions. Scientists have just scratched the surface in studying human asexuality. You can count the number of studies on the subject on one hand. Does asexuality, like homosexuality, have heritable components? Certainly it’s plausible. After all, historically, female asexuals would have probably had offspring with their male sexual partners, thus ensuring continuity of the genetic bases of asexuality. Although Bogaert’s original findings suggested that asexuality was somewhat more common among women, more recent research by Prause and Graham found no such gender difference in their college-aged sample of self-reported asexuals. If some asexuals masturbate in the absence of sexual fantasy or porn, then what exactly is it that’s getting them physically aroused? (And how does one achieve orgasm—as some asexuals apparently do—without experiencing pleasure?) Also, if you’re on board theoretically with evolutionary psychology, almost all of human cognition and social behavior somehow boils down to sexual competition. So what would the evolutionary psychologist make of asexuality? If sex is nature’s feel-good ruse to get our genes out there, is there actually a natural category of human beings that is immune to evolution’s greatest gag?

I must say, the only good way to solve the riddle is also a bit unsavory. But unless psychological scientists ever gather a group of willing, self-identified asexuals and, systematically and under controlled conditions, expose them to an array of erotic stimuli while measuring their physicalarousal (penile erection or vaginal lubrication), the truth of the matter will lie forever hidden away in the asexual’s pants.

In this column presented by Scientific American Mind magazine, research psychologist Jesse Bering of Queen’s University Belfast ponders some of the more obscure aspects of everyday human behavior. Ever wonder why yawning is contagious, why we point with our index fingers instead of our thumbs or whether being breastfed as an infant influences your sexual preferences as an adult? Get a closer look at the latest data as “Bering in Mind” tackles these and other quirky questions about human nature. Sign up for the RSS feed or friend Dr. Bering on Facebook and never miss an installment again. For articles published prior to September 29, 2009, click here: older Bering in Mind columns.