LGBTQQIP2SAA, Almondsexual, Berrisexual: The New LGBTQ+ Alphabet

Carle Jasmin (Image : AI / Gay Globe)

In the litany of acronyms used to identify gay men and lesbians, there are now so many letters that we no longer know where to turn, or even how to interpret all of them. And even for us, journalists specializing in LGBTQ+ communities, or whatever, most of us — if not virtually all of us — do not know what every single letter means. Increasingly, we need to consult a glossary just to decode a simple acronym. At this rate, we will soon need a PhD in identity cryptography just to figure out what we are talking about.

The strongest documented candidate: LGBTQQIP2SAA

It contains 11 alphabetical characters, plus the number 2, for a total of 12 characters:

L G B T Q Q I P 2 S A A. It generally means:

L — Lesbian
G — Gay
B — Bisexual
T — Transgender
Q — Queer
Q — Questioning
I — Intersex
P — Pansexual
2S — Two-Spirit
A — Asexual
A — Ally / Androgynous, depending on the source

But hold on: a new designation has now arrived to enrich — or complicate, depending on your perspective — our remarkable collection of identity terms: Almondsexuals, also known as Verians. Yes, you read that correctly. After exhausting a good part of the alphabet, we have now arrived at almonds.

And as if our endless series of letters did not already contain enough characters, we obviously needed to add another category. No “V” in LGBTQIA2S+? No problem: we could always invent one. All right, I am exaggerating a little… but only a little.

This microlabel joins the newcomers such as berrisexuals, presented as something of an opposite equivalent, with an attraction primarily directed toward feminine or feminized people. Are you still following? Because I, despite having been a journalist specializing in LGBTQ+ realities for decades, am seriously beginning to need a glossary… and perhaps soon a subscription to the Encyclopaedia Britannica. And above all, do not ask me what the next letter is going to add. I would rather save a few neurons for what comes next.

Let us return to our almonds. An Almondsexual, or Verian, person would be primarily attracted to men, masculine people, as well as certain non-binary people, androgynous people or gender-neutral people, while occasionally being capable of feeling some attraction toward women or feminine people.

In other words, it is not exactly “I like men,” and not quite “I am bisexual,” but rather “I am mainly attracted to men, with a limited possibility of also being attracted to certain women.” Apparently, that is a sufficiently important nuance to warrant creating its own microlabel.

And why Almondsexual? A mystery. The term obviously does not mean that the person has a particular attraction to almonds — which would at least have been much easier to explain. The term is also used under the name Verian, which, let us admit, at least avoids the inevitable question: “So… do you sleep with almonds?”

Are you still with me? Because the LGBTQ+ alphabet was apparently only the beginning. Now we also have to learn the vocabulary of fruits and nuts.

What exactly are all these microlabels for?

But deep down, what is the purpose of this almost industrial proliferation of microlabels? To allow everyone to better define their identity, we are told. Fine. The problem is that by trying to define every nuance, every preference, every variation in attraction or gender, we end up creating a classification system so complex that it becomes practically impossible to understand.

There was a time when “gay,” “lesbian,” “bisexual” or “trans” were already enough to understand the essentials. Today, we sometimes need to know a succession of letters, numbers, combinations and microlabels to know exactly what a person is talking about. And even within LGBTQ+ communities, many people have to look up the definition of a term they have just discovered.

The intention is nevertheless laudable: allowing everyone to put a word to their experience. But do we really need a new word every time a nuance appears? If I am primarily attracted to men, but can exceptionally be attracted to certain women, do we necessarily need to create a new box, give it a name, a definition, a flag, and possibly an acronym?

At this rate, we will soon no longer simply introduce ourselves with our first name and our sexual orientation. We will have to provide a technical specification sheet.

And the paradox is rather delicious: a movement that has long claimed the right not to be locked into boxes sometimes seems to have developed a genuine passion for boxes. Except that there are now so many of them that we need a map to find our own.

The problem is obviously not that someone finds a word that suits them. If a microlabel allows a person to better understand what they feel and makes them feel less alone, so much the better. The problem begins when this endless succession of new categories becomes more important than the person themselves.

About the “abolitionists”

Does an international movement currently exist that wants to put an end to the proliferation of microlabels within gay, lesbian and LGBTQ+ communities? The answer is far less spectacular than one might imagine: to our knowledge, there is no structured international organization whose official objective is to eliminate microlabels.

There is, however, a school of thought known as label abolitionism, or “label abolitionism,” which questions this tendency to give a name to virtually every nuance of sexual orientation, attraction or identity.

And the subject is worth raising because it contains a rather extraordinary paradox. For decades, gay and lesbian communities have precisely demanded the right not to be confined to categories imposed by society. The words “gay,” “lesbian” and “bisexual,” among others, helped give visibility to realities that had been ignored, criminalized or pathologized. But over time, the process has become considerably more complex.

The major categories were joined by subcategories, and then by microlabels designed to describe increasingly subtle differences in individual experiences. And when words are no longer enough, letters are added. When there are no more letters available, numbers are added. And when even that is not enough, a new term is invented.

That is how we can now make the acquaintance of labels such as Almondsexual or Berrisexual, whose definitions sometimes require more explanation than the sexual orientation they are supposedly intended to describe.

The phenomenon is not necessarily absurd. For some people, finding a word that precisely corresponds to their experience can be liberating. It can help them better understand what they feel and discover other people with comparable experiences. But one question remains: do we really need to turn every nuance into a distinct identity?

This is where critics of “label abolitionism” find their ground. There is a fundamental difference between allowing a person to define themselves as they wish and expecting society as a whole to know, memorize and use every new definition. And that is probably where the proliferation of microlabels reaches its limits.

One could obviously regard this as linguistic progress. After all, languages evolve and new words constantly appear. But there is something rather ironic about having to consult a multi-page manual to understand someone who is simply asking to be understood. And the paradox becomes even more obvious when we realize that multiplying categories can ultimately produce exactly what the earliest LGBTQ+ rights movements sought to combat: an obsession with classification.

Sometimes, those who demand the right not to be defined by others end up with the most sophisticated systems of definition in history.

Subgroups for subhumans?

By constantly creating subgroups, subcategories and now endless microlabels, are we not diluting our own identity to the point where it ends up meaning very little to the general public? By trying to name every nuance, every exception and every variation of human experience, do we risk fragmenting a community that nevertheless fought for decades to be recognized as a community?

And above all, by constantly subdividing, differentiating and classifying ourselves from one another, are we not recreating, in a much more sophisticated form, the same mechanisms of hierarchy and exclusion that we claimed to be fighting?

We wanted emancipation. We wanted to escape the boxes imposed on us by others. We wanted to be recognized as human beings in our own right. So, frankly, was the plan really to end up creating, ourselves, a whole new series of little boxes in which we could once again confine and exclude those who are not like us?

Feel free to add your observations or comments in the form at the bottom of this page.

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The strongest documented candidate: LGBTQQIP2SAA

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