For relationship anarchists, there is no pecking order among their connections—partners, friends, neighbors, colleagues—are all regarded the same. They treat all their relationships equally, be they romantic or platonic, and believe each relationship possesses “similar or identical potential for emotional, physical, or mental intimacy, love, and satisfaction,” Rare noted in the study. No one person is given preference over the other.
It may seem like relationship anarchy mirrors polyamory, but there are fundamental distinctions. Some poly people apply hierarchies to their relationships—“veto power,” as Lavvynder calls it. Relationship anarchists, who can be poly, do not put romantic partners above anyone. “We’re not making rules about other people’s relationships. We’re just focusing on the connection that we have with that other person.”
One misconception about relationship anarchists is that they have perfected relationship dynamics, but that couldn’t be further from the truth, Lavvynder adds.
“A lot of people will tell me, ‘oh, I wish I could be polyamorous or a relationship anarchist, but I just get too jealous.’ And it’s like, well, I get jealous too. I’m not void of that emotion. I also experience jealousy. If my partner is talking to somebody new, I feel threatened by that. But the way to deal with that is not to make some rule about how your partner is engaging with other people. It’s to figure out what you need to do for yourself,” they say. “It’s really fucking hard, actually.”
It’s all about shared values, not sexual exclusivity, says Sam, a 33-year-old music licensing administrator in Los Angeles who identifies as gender-fluid. Relationship anarchy pushed her to rethink how she defined connection. “Everyone is taught the rules at a young age: One person in your life is meant to be your everything,” she says, likening it to “a Disney fairy-tale romance.” And “any deviation from that is an offense beyond repair.” People, she says, would feel more fulfilled in their relationships “if they were able to prioritize others based on what they actually wanted versus what they believe is expected of them.”
Sam came to the realization following a breakup. She was “freshly out as a queer person,” new to non-monogamy, and in a relationship that encouraged the exploration of her sexual identity. She and her ex were “swingers,” but Sam says she was “deeply uncomfortable and unfulfilled” by all the “casual and often unsatisfying” sexual experiences. When the relationship ended, she dove into the polyamory scene in Los Angeles, where she later learned about relationship anarchy.
José Esteban Muñoz, in Cruising Utopia: The Then and There of Queer Futurity, has suggested that “queerness is a structuring and educated mode of desiring that allows us to see and feel beyond the quagmire of the present.” It comes as no surprise, then, that young people who identify as LGBTQIA+ and also practice ethical non-monogamy are finding that relationship anarchy is for them.
“We’ve pushed so many societal norms already, and we’re in this place where it’s like, well, how else can we push this even more?” Lavvynder says.
