Decolonizing Desire
Desire is one of the most intimate things we carry, and yet somehow it’s also one of the most colonized. I know that sounds dramatic (I do enjoy a little drama now and then), but really—how many of the things we think we “want” are actually ours? And how many are centuries of propaganda crafted by people with unprocessed childhood wounds, authoritarian tendencies, and the audacity to call their mess “universal truth”?
If love has been heavily scripted, desire has been straight-up choreographed. And the choreography isn’t subtle, is it? Patriarchy writes the opening scene, white supremacy handles casting, capitalism produces the whole show, and suddenly we’re performing a version of longing that, well…
When I talk about decolonizing desire, I don’t mean deleting desire or pretending we can exist without wanting things and people. Desire is human. It’s natural. It keeps things interesting, sometimes even juicy. What I mean is: what if our desire could be ours again? Unmanipulated and unpoliced. Not inherited from systems that treat us like objects, but arising from who we actually are beneath all the conditioning.
Recently I watched a video of a woman sharing that she’s been with her partner for over a decade, despite never having lived on the same continent. The way she described their relationship—choosing what worked for them instead of what was expected—felt refreshing. I could already hear the collective side-eye from people whose relationship scripts are carved in stone. But that’s exactly the point: most of us don’t question the templates we’ve been handed. Anyway, just a sidenote.
Let’s start with patriarchy, because how could we not? It’s the biggest dinosaur in the room.
Patriarchy has been curating desire since forever, assigning roles like a controlling director who insists women must be small, accommodating, grateful, and preferably quiet (unless the noise is for male pleasure). Men, of course, were cast as the ones who desire, while everyone else exists to be desired. And anyone outside those binaries apparently doesn’t exist at all.
Patriarchy doesn’t just tell you who to want, it tells you how: aggressively, passively, modestly, discreetly, heteronormatively, and always in a way that doesn’t threaten its fragile ego. So much of what we internalize as desire is actually just social obedience.
Then colonialism enters the stage like an untalented, greedy, blood-sucker of an editor who insists on controlling the story. And it doesn’t arrive alone. It brings Bibles, it brings beauty hierarchies, it brings rigid binaries, and it brings an entire ship-load of sexual shame.
Colonizer missionaries and officials worked hand in hand, turning their own discomfort, dogma, and shame into universal moral law. Cultures that celebrated sensuality, queerness, erotic power, or fluid identities were suddenly labeled “sinful,” “primitive,” or “in need of civilization.” Desire, something that connected people to land, community, and spirit, became something to monitor, regulate, punish, and fear.
And then there’s white supremacy. How could we ever forget?
It perfected the art of infiltrating desire, teaching generations that beauty equals proximity to whiteness, that desirability equals worth, and that everyone else must work twice as hard for half the affirmation. You know the drill. All of it. And on the other side, desire often arrives filtered through fetishization, the kind of attention that feels less like intimacy and more like someone eagerly licking a stamp for their passport to “exotic experiences.
Capitalism? Naturally.
It monetizes our desires faster than you can say “blood sucker.” It hyper-focuses on desirability because insecurity is extremely, extremely profitable. I don’t even feel like going into capitalism today—you already know. Let’s just say capitalism wants desire to be a black hole. Bottomless in every sense. So here’s the real question: What does desire look like when it isn’t colonized?
If this resonated with you, moved you, or made you pause and reflect – consider this your cue. I’ve set up a virtual tip jar via Buy Me a Coffee. No monthly commitments, no strings, no memberships required.
Your sweet kindness helps keep the thoughts flowing, the energy exchange intact, and the glow of my inner goddess alive. It won’t fix capitalism, but it might buy me five minutes of joy (or at least a cortado).
Gracias. Thank you. Jërëjëf. Merci. Obrigada. Danke. Arigatō. Medaase. Grazie. Hvala. Tack. Asante. Shukran. Teşekkürler. Dziękuję.
