No Nim is an island

The concept of fusion in Steven Universe is robust enough to support many different meanings and metaphors as the story unfolds. As introduced in the early Season One episode "Giant Woman," fusion is the physical manifestation of a relationship among two or more Gems, in the form of a new, larger Gem with a composite personality and greater abilities. Even when performed for a utilitarian purpose, it holds emotional and social significance for the characters involved—and how could it not, when it gives form, face, and shared consciousness to their interpersonal connection? I would describe fusion as an inhuman intimacy ritual that not only engages the body and mind (like many forms of physical affection among humans) but also redraws the borders of the self (like the construction of an intimate partnership). Clearly, there is potential here for both aromantic and asexual coding. There are also significant hurdles to getting the latter on screen.

The limitations that come with writing for a younger demographic can inspire creative and thoughtful queer narratives that help children build compassionate, progressive worldviews. This has only become truer in the years since SU dared to push the envelope and pave the way. This show excelled at presenting subjects like same-gender affection, trans self-discovery, nonbinary identity, and disinterest in typically romantic activities and gestures, both through quiet normalization—with or without the use of specific labels—and through allegories for more complex struggles and joys. 

Even now, though, representing asexuality in a children's cartoon, which by its nature does not deal directly with sexual themes, is tricky. The fluid polysemy of fusion underlies much of SU's queer theming and character writing; but how do you represent asexuality through a character's attitude toward fusion without implicitly conflating this magical ability with sex? I honestly would not have blamed the creators for steering clear of the subject entirely, given that they were already working under threat of cancellation and fighting for every scrap of queerness that made it into the show. But Maya Petersen and other members of the Crewniverse managed to thread the needle.

You can argue, as I'm sure people have, that if all Gems are biologically asexual, and only one anomalous Gem (Rose Quartz) has even experienced sex, then disinterest in fusion can only ever represent aromanticism as an identity and can never be extrapolated to sexual orientation. But that strikes me as a superficial argument, closing off avenues for character analysis and undercutting the very deliberate queer dimension to the writing.

Before reading the above-linked Variety interview with Rebecca Sugar, my response might have been this: None of the fusion relationships we see onscreen in SU are sexual in nature, but this doesn't mean that fusion can't hold that meaning for any Gem or human*, or that a lack of interest in fusion can't serve as an analogy to asexual identity within the narrative. And that's all still true. However, this counterargument is missing something, and that's a child-centered perspective. 

Some young children may be aware of asexuality, especially if they know adults who identify as such and have explained it to them in an approachable way. But what does it mean, practically, for a child to know that "asexual" is one way for a person to be, and a word and community that they may or may not find fitting or welcoming to their older selves? Well, they should understand that while many people's ideal future involves an intimate partner or spouse, often comprising a nuclear family unit, there are infinite other paths to happiness and fulfillment. And they should be firmly instilled with the idea that their body is their own, and no one can force them to do things with it that discomfort or simply disinterest them.

Peridot—who is not a child, but is an outsider and an initial skeptic of the Crystal Gems' ways—models all of this beautifully in her welcome-to-Earth arc, reflecting asexual and aromantic experiences simultaneously**. She demonstrates intellectual curiosity around fusion and arrives at a deeper understanding of it through the lens of a fictional pairing she's invested in, but she ultimately decides that the real thing isn't for her, and she is comfortable and steadfast in that decision. Her guide in this exploration is Garnet, who values fusion to the highest degree but doesn't take Peridot's aversion personally—in fact, she immediately says she's proud of Peridot for trying something new but backing out when it stops feeling right; and for endeavoring to understand Garnet better while honoring her own inner truth. Absolutely incredible.

Could this representation have been more overt? In theory, yes. Given the time period and context and executive constraints, likely not. Is it a problem that Peridot is a nonhuman, an alien? Maybe for some people, though I feel that if a character is written with depth and personality, they've already dodged the actual harmful conceptions of ace and aro people as robotic, soulless, or inhuman—even if they happen to be a robot or extraterrestrial. Steven Universe features a diverse cast of nonhumans, all of whom feel deeply and approach fusion from different perspectives; Peridot simply holds one attitude among many. Is it harmful for the ace- and aro-coded character to also be the most noticeably autistic-coded character? I can't personally answer that, except to point out that the SU fandom, like the general population, includes many people who exist in the overlap of those identities and deserve prominence in this discussion. If this post reaches any autistic aspec fans, please share your thoughts. As for the notion that Peridot is infantilized... it's probably for the best that the planned scene with her sitting in a high chair got cut, but regardless, she is an adult. She is competent in some areas and naïve in others; she starts off about as emotionally immature as Amethyst and grows just as far, without ever losing her sense of fun or bombast. Sounds pretty aspirational to me.

(It would be false to say that Amethyst and Peridot are my favorite characters because their coloring matches the ace and aro flags, but it's a delightful coincidence.)

Aroace representation is sparse enough in adult media, where there are theoretically no barriers to mapping out the identity in full. In a child-friendly show, it's pretty astonishing to not see the "ace" factor sublimated into the aro coding to produce a character who's merely uninterested in dating or marriage. I'm not sure there's a way around that in cartoons about normal humans doing normal human things, though I'd love to see another queer-positive kids' show tackle the challenge***. But within the character-driven sci-fantasy of SU, the concept of fusion is fertile ground for laying out these nuances of bodily autonomy and selfhood-within-community, in a way that serves the fictional characters as much as it encourages emotional development in the children watching.

One more reason—as if we needed another—to love this cartoon about learning how many ways there are to love.

~ ~ ~

[On a mostly unrelated note, Steven and Connie are a shining example of a lifelong loving relationship that flows beyond the narrow banks of the friendship-to-romance streamline that audiences tend to expect from young boy-girl friend pairs. It is so, so important to me that we never see their first "real" kiss onscreen, because that milestone changes nothing about the love and devotion they feel for each other. I was very confused, and honestly peeved, when I saw bloggers excitedly declaring Connverse to be "canon" after their casual little kiss in the final scene of Future, because... Steven and Connie have always been together in every way that matters. When was this ever in question? Even within the morass of mortification that is "Together Forever", the show never once entertained the notion that their relationship might not survive. They will continue to be jam buds and best friends and fusion partners and absolute cuties even as an old married couple; we've known this since early days. So who cares about the specific gestures they choose to communicate their affection? (Less diplomatically, I'm very tired of the rigid equation of mouth kiss = romantic = official = canon, and all its equally flawed rephrasings and corollaries, that lead people to denounce some of the queerest stories around as "bait" because there wasn't enough implied saliva.) As individual characters, Connie and Steven may or may not be ace and/or aro, but there's a lovely, refreshing queerplatonic reading to be found in their friendship regardless—and I am so grateful to the crew for simply writing them as kids who think the world of one another.]

Footnotes:

* For example, I do think Rose Quartz was as ace as the rest of them, irrespective of her sexual experimentation with Greg and her other human lovers. But those encounters are hardly framed as thoughtless or meaningless. I imagine Rose as being fascinated by the differences in human and Gem intimacy, and reaching conclusions that subsequently informed and colored her subjective experience of both acts. This is not territory that the show would or should have ventured into, nor is it something I'm personally interested in reading or writing, but it's a valid axis for mature fan discussion nonetheless.

** Not to mention a bit of anti-imperialist deprogramming, as her understanding of fusion expands from "tactical display of force in battle" to "expression of trust and camaraderie, for communal benefit or simply personal enjoyment," and beyond.