Imagine, if you will, watching one of your favourite programmes that’s just returned for a new season. Then imagine relating to a character’s situation. Then, if you still can, wonder whether the title and setup of this piece are running on a formula used twice before.
I don’t usually do reviews for things at the risk of sounding like I’m trying to “make it” as a reviewer. Hell, even the musical bits appended to each of these over the last few months have had as much critical insight as a deranged mermaid inspecting the composition of an oak tree. In fact, I’m not really reviewing anything here, but will be making reference to a text that’s not really just text but actually a scripted and performed, Internet-hosted, on-demand animated TV series that academics might refer to as a “text”.
Less than seven days ago, Netflix dropped the third season of BoJack Horseman, which I managed to consume in less than three. Coincidentally, “less than three” is decade-or-so old form of text iconography signifying a heart, used to symbolise one’s appreciation or affectionate feelings towards something. It’s a show that I “less than three” for many of its portrayal of heavy emotions, insights into the human psyche and oddly surreal humour.
For those unfamiliar with it, the pitch is: in a world where humans and anthropomorphised animals inexplicably live amongst each other, an ageing sitcom star (a horse) ponders his own life’s purpose and meaning, eventually spinning off into wild bouts of depression, strings of terrible life choices and occasional visually spectacular drug hallucinations. For those who are familiar with it: I’m about to discuss a sort of side plot revelation at the end of Season 3, so, spoilers or whatever.
But before we get there, a side plot pay off at the end of a season needs a setup early on. And now I have to start citing episode numbers and extracts of dialogue, finally dragging this bit of heart-on-sleeve rambling to the eventual point of how a Netflix original series reaffirmed my own outlook on things, particularly relating to relating to other people. Let’s take a dip into it, and I have to warn you, we may end up going a bit deeper than you might expect.
BoJack Horseman has always struck a chord with me since it seemed to appear at just the right time I was experiencing something akin to (but not explicitly expertly confirmed as) depression. It’s not exclusively themes of depression that have landed with me, but general questions over identity and perception. How do I see myself? How do others see me? What do I want out of life? Where am I going? You know, the usual all-encompassing questions that absolutely nobody is prepared to deal with head on without opening up swirling black holes of doubt and further questioning. One specific bit that I found myself relating to a bit more this season came in the character-arc of human character Todd.
In Season 3 Episode, pretty much all of the key characters get an origin story in the form of an extended flashback sequence. As we hone in on Todd’s story, we see him as a teenager simply hanging out with others and generally not caring much about the big questions in life. Begin conversation with fellow teenager, Emily:
EMILY: So who do you like?
TODD: I don’t like anyone.
EMILY: That’s redonkulous! You have to like someone.
TODD: If I have to, I guess, uh… Kimber?
EMILY: (scoffs) Everyone likes Kimber.
The exchange continues with references to various other aspects of teenage life, but the conversation’s lack of relevance to the point I’m labouring towards means I don’t really have to focus any further on transcribing it. Shortly after, Emily not-so-subtly hints at her own romantic feelings towards Todd, hence initiating the conversation in the first place. However, Todd’s obliviousness and hesitation towards the “need” to like somebody screamed out to me.
In other terms, here’s a young guy happy enough to go about his life as normally as he pleases, until somebody tells him he has to fancy someone. Having not considered it before, he picks the name of a girl the other guys tend to go for, as some kind of method for fitting in. Ultimately, however, he doesn’t really care and would much rather skateboard off to a flashmob or whatever the rest of the scene’s about. And I actually related to that. The not considering liking someone bit, not the flashmob bit.
I often found myself not particularly fancying anybody, while the few fancies of my life have been far-between and fleeting – no more than a fortnight-long crush or something. On top of that, those fancies weren’t particularly romantic, but more of social attachment. I figured: “ooh, I like them, I’d like to spend more time hanging out with them and developing strong bonds with them on a very close level” but not necessarily including all the spectacle of hand-holding, kissy faces and nakedness.
Building on that, I’ve never particularly felt like a sexual person. The act doesn’t particularly grab me as much as it seems to grab everybody else. Sure it’s nice to get some kind of physical euphoria out of intertwining with another body, but it’s really not the be-all and end-all I’d be looking to achieve with somebody. I even find it a bit difficult to discuss openly considering my perpetually child-like view of the subject of sex as taboo, as something really naughty, even though thousands of people my age and younger keep on creating walking talking crying burping living proof of their own bedroom activities, and everyone else generally finds them to be adorable.
Later in the course of the show, Todd and Emily are reunited in the present, happening to be in the same hotel. As the pair reconnect during an evening, they make their way to Todd’s room. As he bids Emily good night, she makes several advances to join him in his room – all of which he haphazardly wriggles away from. Despite his obvious connection with her, he seems unnerved an awkward at the prospect of things turning sexual. Relatable point the second.
After some time apart to reflect on things, the two meet again in Season 3 Episode 12, the season finale. They have a good time. They have ice cream. They connect. Todd, in his blissful ignorance, suggests that they spend more time together. But Emily wants to put this thing to bed; she needs to know where she stands with him:
EMILY: Todd, can I ask you something?
TODD: Of course.
EMILY: What’s… your deal? I feel like you like me, but you don’t like me, but you like me and I don’t know what that is. Are you gay?
TODD: Whoa! Why would you even-
EMILY: You can tell me if you’re gay, it’s fine. This isn’t the 1600s or some places in the present.
TODD: I’m not gay. I mean, I don’t think I am, but… I don’t think I’m straight either. I don’t know what I am. I think I might be “nothing”.
EMILY: Oh, well that’s okay.
TODD: Yeah?
EMILY: Yeah, of course.
This one hit home harder than the previous points, but not because of the revelation – I could sort of see it coming really. More the fact that the words used to get there were strongly reminiscent of the words I’ve had with myself several times over the years. Over the years, extended periods of loneliness have allowed me to do a fair bit of soul searching and, quite honestly, I don’t know if I’d class myself as a “this” or a “that”, or even a “the other”. When it comes to intimate relationships, maybe I’m not really anything.
I’ve been extremely frustrated for a considerable portion of my adult life. On the one hand, I’ve grown up in a society where finding and spending you time with a significant other is “normal”, and that being single is for sad loser people who just need to get out more. As a result, I’ve internalised a lot of anger at myself for not being attracted to people often enough to lock one down as a companion. On the other hand, I worry that if I ever did meet, grow fond of and settle down with another, I’d probably end up being too awkward (even somewhat reluctant) to express my feelings in a physical capacity.
All things considered, when I try to boil it down to an easy description, the best I seem able to come up with runs along the lines of: I’d like to find a best friend/close life companion I could co-exist with in a mutual friendship/exclusive relationship, containing aspects of a somewhat romantic nature, and would consider physical sexual activities on an occasional basis. I have to say that because the more basic label of “asexual” just feels to me to be blunt and, frankly, inaccurate.
On a scale of asexuality – or of having no desire to engage in romantic or sexual contact with anybody else – perhaps, I’m hovering somewhere towards the top end. I wouldn’t rule the lot out, in fact I think it might be nice to be with someone, but my internal desires just haven’t been all that bothered. Putting physical sexuality to one side, perhaps I’m more romantic than (shall we say) “aromantic”. I feel like I could form an emotional attachment with somebody, and that they’d most likely be female, although that’s simply because I’ve long imagined a future version of myself potentially settling down with somebody, and that hypothetical somebody has always been a girl. Call me ignorant but I feel I’d form a stronger, intimate bond with a girl rather than a guy simply because girls are (generally portrayed as being) more emotionally open.
Thanks to the exquisite writing talent behind BoJack Horseman, I actually feel somewhat normal for not really liking anybody and that being okay. I’m not sure whether this unrelenting slew of words could be defined as a “coming out” when in truth, I’ve never particular felt as though I’ve been “hiding in”. If anything, this is simply an admission of an ongoing sense of not really being attracted to anybody in a society that tells me I probably should. As this moderate confusion and questioning slowly unravels itself day-by-day – and will probably continue to do so for the rest of my time on this planet – I suppose if I was to pin a definition to it, I’d stick it somewhere around “slightly asexual, fairly emotional, romantically straight and never truly 100% satisfied about anything”, which may well be an extremely accurate description, however I don’t actually think they’ve come up with a special flag for that.
I never really listened to Elbow. I only really know the main violin-y bits from One Day Like This, which my mum likes to call “Throw Those Curtains Wide” because of the extent of lyrical memorability. I don’t even know if they’ve completely split or just decided to have a bit of a pit stop. Whatever the situation, the frontman seems to be going off on his own bit of music career continuation, like all good ex-members of boybands on hiatus
The sound of strings has always appealed to me; I’m a sucker for a violin and a harp. Whether surface rubbed with a bow or plucked faster than my own fingers can type a laboured paragraph, strings can grab my attention better than someone shouting “Hey, over here, free food and money!” This may be why my interest in this track piques early on. However, while I may have come for the plucky intro, I stay for the ensemble.
Guy Garvey – Open The Door
Jamie Walsh 
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