This Intersex Day of Remembrance, we’re amplifying intersex voices and experiences often left out of our community kōrero. We spoke with Intersex Aotearoa about hookups, body diversity, and what safety and affirmation look like in queer spaces.

Being intersex means someone’s body doesn’t fit typical definitions of male or female. This can be in terms of chromosomes, or physical traits like genitals or reproductive organs. Intersex people may have a combination of features that are usually associated with both sexes or with neither. It's important to note that while being intersex is about biological traits, an intersex person might identify as a man, woman, or something else entirely. For me being intersex doesn’t just inform my identity, but it is at the forefront of how I view and interact with the world.

On one hand; I think that people misunderstand why we are a grouped in as part of the Rainbow Community. The Rainbow movement is about pushing back against a shared sociological struggle, where people are discriminated on because innate parts of their being. For Intersex people, that includes our bodies.

On the other hand I think because the Rainbow Community acts as an umbrella people assume that most intersex people would be familiar with queer culture, and consider themselves as a member of the Rainbow Community. The reality is that this isn’t always the case, and while we don’t have the numbers, we are the most siloed from the rest of the community, either by the fact that we are medicalised differently, or by our own choice by not understanding that we have a place in the community, or even that we just don’t relate to it.

I have found queer hookup culture to be something that has given me great safety in some ways. I think as a community we are already more open to bodily diversity, and over time it has been something that we talk about more and more, especially with the prominence of our transgender whānau becoming more accepted. There’s a safety in encounters being somewhat anonymous, because you can have someone interact with your body and outside of a relationship, you don’t have to carry the unconscious bias or stigma that someone may have and express in a longer-term scenario. If things don’t go well, or if someone expresses stigma or bigotry, you don’t haven’t had to invest much time or energy into that relationship up to that point, so it can make things feel a lot easier.

Inversely it’s also sometimes really hard to navigate. Most people will feel that if their variation presents a bodily difference, they will need to be open and communicative about it to avoid uncomfortable or dangerous situations. While this is seen as “best practise” it also can lead to fetishisation. Once you are open about being intersex in your dating life you can attract people who are only interested in Intersex people as a fetish (what the transgender community would call “chasers”). It’s very hard to feel like people are interested in you as a whole when the only thing they’re there for is your body, and it can be very mentally damaging.

Unfortunately – yes. For all the times I can disclose that I’m intersex, it only takes them forgetting once to say something about what parts of me look wrong or in what ways my body is different. I have been asked about what surgeries I’ve had, I’ve had people assume that parts of my body “aren’t real” or “altered”, and it doesn’t matter what I have told them going into an intimate encounter if their perception of what it is to be intersex is inaccurate and unchallengeable. A general piece of advice I would give to people who know they’ll be hooking up with someone intersex, even if you’re curious, let them talk about it in their own time, if they want to they will. Giving them that time and space to navigate things in their own way will be an empowering experience for them.

The most affirming experiences I’ve had have been the most normal. To be able to have a normal hookup without any of the usual hang ups? Wehi nā! Now that’s affirming! When people take you as you are and just enjoy your time together, it can make such an impact on your own self-worth.

It’s a tricky one. I think transgender and gender non-conforming queer people have opened a door for us that we have struggled to keep open ourselves. In-terms of physical presentation, as a community I think we are there, there’s room for everyone and a vast majority of queer people are accepting of how anyone looks despite their identity. I think we just need to be open to more labels. Some people – including intersex people – may find that they fall outside of those labels and choose non-binary. For me, I have no “gender”. I have my sex and I have my personhood, both are “Intersex”.

The internet and the porn industry have unfortunately worked to spread a lot of misinformation about a lot of different groups of people, including intersex people.

For us, that often means pushing back against hypersexualised or dehumanising portrayals that reduce intersex bodies to curiosities or fetishes, rather than recognising us as whole people. We also find ourselves correcting basic misunderstandings - that being intersex is rare, or that it’s always visible, or that it has anything to do with sexuality or gender identity. In reality, intersex people exist in every community, culture, and walk of life, and most of the challenges we face come not from our bodies, but from the systems that try to fit us into narrow boxes.

Consent is key – when many intersex people grow up being medicalised, you are not told that you can say no to physical examinations, that you have control over how people treat you and what access people have to your body. To be given a clear structure of consent being asked at every step in your encounter is huge. Intersex people can have trauma responses related not just to consent, but also their bodies and past experiences. Hold space for your partner to tell you if they’re triggered or uncomfortable, it can happen without you realising and your response means everything.

I would say it’s a mind-set thing. An experience with an intersex person whose body is different to someone you’ve hooked up with before doesn’t have to change your perception of yourself and your sexuality. I could just be a new experience to you, and that’s okay! The main thing is that if you go in to any scenario worrying “Kua raru au!”/”I’m out of my depth here!” you’re probably not going to have a great time.

I’d tell them that there’s nothing wrong with moving slowly, and nothing broken about wanting connection to mean something deeper than curiosity. I’d tell them that their body is not a project or a problem to solve, and that they don’t owe anyone an explanation for how it is or why.

I’d want them to know that consent goes both ways; it isn’t just about giving permission, it’s also about knowing you have the right to say no, to pause, or to change your mind. So many of us who grew up being medicalised were never told that. We learned to dissociate, to comply, to let other people decide what happened to our bodies. I’d tell them that consent is something you can reclaim. Sex and intimacy are not things that other people get to define for you, they’re experiences you build through trust, joy, and safety. It’s okay to learn, to make mistakes, to be uncertain.

You don’t have to perform normalcy. You just have to be present, and kind to yourself in the process.

I love that I’ve made peace with being a little bit of everything, and not needing to fit neatly anywhere. I love that I can speak openly about my body and experiences now without feeling ashamed or like I need to translate them for someone else’s comfort. There’s strength in honesty, and in humour, and I’ve learned to hold both. Most of all, I love that I’ve found community: people who see me, who understand that being intersex isn’t a limitation, it’s a way of being in the world that’s textured, curious, and full of life.

Being intersex has taught me that the most radical thing any of us can do is to meet ourselves - and each other – where we are, and with the most open of hearts.

Ngā mihi Intersex Aotearoa for your generous kōrero!