Tag Archives: gender roles

The Importance of Being Critical

I spend a lot of time writing and talking about polyamory: here on my blog, in other publications, and in discussion groups and forums. And as anyone who follows this blog has gathered, I can often be critical of some things that occur frequently within polyamorous relationships: hierarchical structures, rules and regulations, veto-power, etc. Frequently, I’ve been accused of saying that some things are more poly than others, or that there’s a “right” way to do poly. I don’t like it when others are poly-police, saying what is and isn’t more “perfectly” poly than something else. But I want to take a minute to talk about how that kind of policing is different than being critical of some tendencies within a lot of poly relationships.

I engage a lot with social justice, in a variety of ways. To me, a huge component of that is turning a critical lens on the dominant social structures of patriarchy, heterosexism, racism, classism, and hierarchies of all kinds. But just like I challenge the system of compulsory monogamy, I’m also going to challenge problematic things I see happening within polyamory. There is no free-pass given just because we are both poly; if you are doing something I find to be patriarchal, problematically hierarchical, heterosexist, or any other oppressive thing, I am going to talk about that. That doesn’t mean I’m saying anyone is doing poly “wrong.” Poly means being open to the potential of loving multiple people simultaneously, nothing more and nothing less. I don’t think you’re more poly or less poly if you have a closed triad relationship, if you have seventeen lovers you only see once a year, if you have no lovers but know that the idea of loving multiple people sounds and feels right to you, if you have threesomes or foursomes or more or if you don’t, if you’re asexual and think polyamory works to describe the way you connect with others in your life. None of these is a more “correct” way to do poly, and I disagree with anyone who tries to tell you otherwise. But if I see behavior within poly relationships that I think is hierarchical or oppressive, I’m going to talk and write about that. And I think those kinds of challenges to the status quo are not only acceptable, but necessary.

A lot of my freelance writing outside of this blog is centered on feminism. Part of that involves dealing with problematic hierarchies that often exist between men and women in heterosexual relationships. When I am critical of patriarchal power dynamics, it doesn’t mean I’m saying that relationships between men and women are in some way inherently wrong. It means I’m criticizing the way that patriarchy plays out in some of those relationships. A lot of radical queer activists are very critical of more mainstream LGBTQ politics. That doesn’t mean they’re accusing anyone of being “less gay” or of doing queerness wrong. It just means that they’re critical of some of the priorities and tendencies within the mainstream LGBTQ movement. These kinds of criticism create important dialogue. And it is not about insulting individuals, but about challenging power structures that play out in very real ways, and that have very real and harmful consequences. When I write about what I see as the problems with hierarchies, restrictive rules and regulations, veto-power, or gender imbalances in poly relationships, what I want is to ask people to really think about the reasons they’re making the choices they’re making. I want to call out the social structures that cause us to behave the way we do, to question the status quo. I don’t want to tell anyone that they’re a horrible person or that they’re not poly enough. I want to have a conversation. I want to give people things to think about. Most of us have already accepted the fact that compulsory monogamy is a problem, that too many people are coerced by society into “choosing” monogamy without ever considering any alternatives. And I want to ask whether—even once we’ve broken that particular mold—some of the choices we make within poly relationships are rooted in similar unconscious social conditioning. These are questions I think we all must be willing to confront. And anyone who understands how pervasive the system of compulsory monogamy is should also be willing to turn a critical eye toward other social structures, as well.

I’m never going to tell anyone that their poly relationship is structured “wrong,” or that they’re less poly than someone else. But I’m always going to challenge hierarchies, wherever I encounter them. “To each their own” is a well-intentioned sentiment, but it’s not a worthy excuse for letting oppressive structures go unchallenged.

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Poly Feminism: Monogamy’s One-Sided History

The supposed long and honorable tradition of monogamous marriage is often held up as an argument against everything from legal same-sex marriage to polyamorous relationships. But even aside from the fact that such arguments from tradition are inherently fallacious, this depiction of monogamy’s history is simply wrong. Throughout most of known history, in fact, monogamy has been a patriarchal double standard. In many times and places, sexual fidelity within marriage has been demanded of women, while men have been either implicitly or explicitly entitled to seek sex freely outside of marriage. In ancient Greece, often held up as a paragon of sexual liberty, it was only men who were given license to engage in free sexual relationships with women and boys outside of their marriages; Rome’s marital expectations were no different. In Marriage: A History, Stephanie Coontz writes: “The sexual double standard was so completely accepted by Romans that the educator Quintilian used the notion of a sexual single standard as the perfect illustration of an illogical proposition: ‘If a relationship between a mistress and a male slave is disgraceful, then one between a master and a female slave is disgraceful.’ This statement sounds reasonable to contemporary ears, along the lines of what’s sauce for the goose is also sauce for the gander. But to Quintilian the parallel was ridiculous, and he had no doubt his audience would agree. To suggest that men should be bound by the same moral conventions as women, he argued, was as illogical as to conclude that human morality should be the same as animal morality.”

Of course, it’s difficult to fully draw comparisons between ancient civilizations and the modern world, but the sexual double standard is one feature of these civilizations that has persisted. In Western cultures, male infidelity was often discussed quite lightly and openly until the eighteenth century, and in the nineteenth century, such conversations simply became more discreet. In times and places where the law has concerned itself with marital infidelity, punishments for sexually unfaithful wives have nearly always been far more severe than punishments for unfaithful husbands. When men have been legally punished for crimes of infidelity, it is usually when they have played the role of the “other man,” and in that case have “stolen” another man’s property. In fact, much of marriage law was written as a kind of property law. And marriage was not, historically, an egalitarian relationship that gave both partners a kind of “ownership” over each other. It was unapologetically one-sided, granting men ownership of women. Even rape of another man’s wife was not historically seen as a violation of the woman so much as an act of theft from the husband.

Barbaric as all of this might sound, we are hardly free from these double standards today. Society still largely condones the sexual infidelity of men with a dismissive “boys will be boys” response, or places the burden on women to keep a man interested—ie., if you don’t have sex at a certain frequency or maintain a certain beauty standard, he’ll cheat; it’s simply his nature to do so, and fighting that nature is an uphill battle on the woman’s part. Women, meanwhile, continue to face much harsher social condemnation for infidelity, as sexual desire is still not widely seen as a “natural” part of our characters. When women engage in infidelity, we are defying not only the bounds of monogamy, but the bounds of our (chaste and virtuous) gender roles as well. And while perhaps it happens, I’ve never once heard someone blame a man for his female partner’s unfaithfulness, and find it difficult to imagine folks saying things like “he shouldn’t have let himself gain those 30 pounds and she wouldn’t have found someone sexier” or “he should have gone down on her more often, then she wouldn’t have looked for it elsewhere.” Sexual double standards might no longer be codified in (Western) law, but they are no less engrained in society.

Many of the attempts to encourage more egalitarian marriage have centered on discouraging male sexual liberty. But polyamory can be seen as taking the opposite approach: not denying male desire for multiple partners, but claiming a right to that desire for women as well. By and large, men, as a group have never been monogamous (though obviously, plenty of individual men have been). And in that sense, polyamory certainly has the potential to exist as a new frontier for women in particular.

All of this is not to say, of course, that monogamy cannot be egalitarian. As human beings, we have the ability to constantly reshape and redefine our social institutions, and countless modern-day couples live happily in marriages that bear no resemblance to the historical woman-as-property model. But if we are going to have an open and honest dialogue about what monogamy means, I believe we need to have an honest awareness of its history. And we can’t possibly talk truthfully about the “tradition” of marriage without acknowledging that tradition as a patriarchal one.

What do Radical Politics have to do with it?

From my experience in poly circles and communities, it seems there’s often a reluctance to talk about politics. There’s something to be said, perhaps, for having politically-neutral spaces where folks can come together for personal advice on dealing with poly issues. But even when conversations turn to poly activism, it seems to me that there’s often a hesitation to link our cause with any bigger socio-political picture, let alone to actually endorse or argue for any specific political position. But I’m going to go ahead and stick my neck out here and talk a bit about why for me, my polyamorous identity and my radical left politics are inseparable.

I have heard a lot of people say things like “I don’t want to politicize my personal relationships.” I get that. I really do. I think it’s a very natural impulse to want our intimate relationships to exist outside of a realm of rational, ideological thought. But here’s the thing: our relationships are already politicized. Whether we’re gay, straight, bi, queer, monogamous, polyamorous, asexual, or whatever nuanced combination of those identities, how we form intimate relationships—and to what degree those relationships are accepted and validated by the society we live in—is hugely shaped by the socio-political context in which we exist.

Making the transition to living polyamrously played a huge role in my personal radicalization. I’d always had socialist leanings and was aware that my opinions were far left of liberal Democrats, but to a certain degree I was comfortable with writing my own ideologies off as extremes that would likely never be reflected or represented by a majority. At the same time, I’d spent years trying to find contentment in monogamy, knowing all along that it wasn’t authentic for me but seeing no other viable alternative. I didn’t see a problem with society for presenting monogamy as the only option, I instead saw flaws within myself for being unsatisfied. When I was finally living in a poly relationship, feeling free to actually be myself for the first time in my life, I couldn’t help but look back and wonder what had taken me so long, and why this had seemed so incredibly impossible. And the answer, of course, was that my life and my choices had been circumscribed by society. I thought of myself as someone who was reasonably comfortable going against the status quo, but even I had some social constructs—like monogamy—that were so deeply internalized, I couldn’t even think to seriously question them, even when they were causing me to suffer. It became incredibly disturbing to me that we are so indoctrinated into the set of norms we live with, we are more prepared to criticize our own inner desires than to criticize the constructs which make those desires shameful. And that realization played a huge role in opening my eyes to just how severely society limits us.

The real crux of all this, of course, is that these limitations exist for a reason. Social norms don’t just happen spontaneously with no larger connection to the structure of the world we live in. These norms serve a purpose, a purpose that almost always has something to do with upholding the current hierarchy. Social constructs are not merely about “tradition,” they’re about protecting the interests of the rich, straight, white men in power. And any social change that didn’t threaten that power structure would be met with little resistance.

Let’s look for just a moment specifically at patriarchy. This is an extremely simplified breakdown, because I don’t want this post to become thesis-length. But to summarize: we live in a patriarchal society. And patriarchy relies on the subordinate position of women. Upholding the dominance of men requires upholding traditional gender roles. And traditional gender roles rely to some degree on traditional relationship structures. Both compulsory heterosexuality and compulsory monogamy, then, help to uphold the patriarchal order. And so on, and so forth, with every intersecting system of oppression we live with.

Now, I want to be clear when addressing these things that I am not suggesting that all leftists reject the institution of monogamy as part of their political position. I don’t believe that something as personal and emotional as our intimate relationships should ever be chosen as a political stance. The aim of radical leftists should be to create a world in which we are all granted the freedom to form intimate relationships authentically, whatever that means for each of us. But I do call on radical leftists to challenge the institution of compulsory monogamy, and to consider the ways that institution both supports and is supported by the other oppressive structures we dedicate ourselves to fighting against.

On the other side of that coin, I call on poly folks to consider the way our struggles to live authentically and to be accepted connect with the bigger hierarchical picture of our society. When I talk about solidarity, I don’t just mean that we sympathize with and support the struggles of other people because we understand what it’s like to be looked down on, too. And I’m not just talking about some kind of reciprocal “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” way of looking at various fights for social justice. I’m talking about actually recognizing the complex system of oppressive social norms that are actually interconnected and are actively working to uphold one another. If you want to fight for poly acceptance but are not also interested in dismantling structures of racism, sexism, heterosexism, and classism, then I don’t believe you’re seeing the whole picture of society as it actually exists.

I realize this is brief for a discussion of such complex and deep-rooted problems, and I’m sure that some of it probably seems a bit vague and over-simplified. But the bottom line is, I think we need to start a dialogue. If we want to really challenge the status quo, to really disrupt social norms, then we need to start by thinking about where those norms came from, and whose interests they serve.

Polyamory and Feminism

Because I want to be perfectly clear here, I think it’s worth noting before I even delve into this topic that I am not in any way claiming polyamory is inherently feminist. We live in a patriarchal society, and I don’t believe any form of heterosexual relationships is completely free from the influence of that society. Poly relationships are absolutely capable of replicating traditional, sexist models of intimacy. I do believe, however, that there are some feminist possibilities within polyamorous relationships. And it’s those possibilities I’d like to discuss. Ultimately, it’s worth keeping in mind that these are all ways that polyamory feels feminist for me, while being aware that no experience is universal. I’d hate to imply that there’s never any sexism or misogyny among folks who identify as polyamorous, and I’d also hate to imply that there are no wonderfully egalitarian heterosexual monogamous relationships.

So, with that disclaimer out of the way, I present a brief list of some of the feminist potentials I see within poly relationships.

Polyamory disrupts traditional gender roles. Much of what we know as traditional gender roles are predicated on a heteronormative man/woman gender dichotomy in our intimate relationships. Whether we’re considering interpersonal dynamics or the way household labor is divided, it can be all too easy to simply fall into socially prescribed patterns for behavior based on what’s supposedly “appropriate” for one’s gender. In much the same way that queer relationships have the ability to subvert rigid gender roles, relationships that include more than one partner inherently exist outside of the traditional one man/one woman binary relationship. Breaking away from that model doesn’t necessarily mean that anyone is stepping outside of their prescribed gender roles, but it does open up some interesting potential.

Polyamory allows for women’s sexual autonomy. Throughout much of history, the institution of “monogamy” has really carried an implicit understanding that men are frequently engaging in infidelity while women are expected to be absolutely faithful. Apart from being an obvious double standard, this one-sided expectation exemplifies a multitude of oppressive gender stereotypes: that female sexuality serves only to satisfy men, that women do not have sexual desires of their own, that men are sexually insatiable but women are practically asexual. When men transgress boundaries of monogamous commitment, there’s frequently a “boys will be boys” connotation to the way we discuss their infidelity. When women transgress those same boundaries, however, they are seen as deviating from their very nature and are labeled as sluts and whores. At best, we expect men to struggle with monogamy, while for women we expect monogamy to feel like the most natural state imaginable.

Sexist double-standards certainly exist in some polyamorous relationships, as well, but there is at least a strong potential for the equal validation of male and female sexual desire, autonomy, and agency. Though many folks unfamiliar with polyamory still associate the concept of multiple partners exclusively with forms of patriarchal, religious polygamy, the norm by far within polyamorous communities seems to be that women and men are equally free to pursue multiple relationships, and it appears that a relationship structure like my own–one woman committed to two men–is one of the most common poly configurations. Certainly, plenty of heterosexual monogamous couples have relationships in which the sexual agency of both partners is respected as equal; non-monogamy is hardly a requirement for such a relationship. But polyamory is at least one possible path to greater sexual autonomy for women.

Polyamory reduces the potential for possessiveness, control, and jealousy. Jealousy in romantic relationships goes both ways, and deserves at least one entire blog post of its own. But smothering, possessive, controlling behavior is more frequently exhibited by men than women in heterosexual relationships, and is frequently a precursor to physical abuse. Obviously, there’s more to blame than just monogamy for the fact that so many men think they have a right to own and control the women in their lives. And there are definitely plenty of monogamous relationships that do not include this kind of possessiveness. But the ideology behind monogamy does lend itself to the notion that we have a kind of ownership over romantic partners, and especially that men have a kind of ownership over women’s bodies. Most early marital law, after all, was akin to property law, with women as the property. Polyamory liberates both men and women from this possessive notion of romantic love, but that liberation strikes me as even more meaningful for women, who are so often policed and scrutinized far more closely than their male counterparts.

Polyamory teaches everyone involved to communicate their needs and desires. Ideally, everyone in all relationships should be engaging in open and honest communication, asserting their individual needs and desires. But society often discourages women from doing so. Women are afraid of appearing too needy, too demanding, or–if the desires in question are sexual–too slutty. But because polyamory has no simple scripts to follow, it forces everyone involved to communicate clearly about what they want and need from individual partners. Again, this kind of communication is certainly a feature of many monogamous relationships as well, and should be an ingredient in all of them. But even many women with respectful, feminist partners have a difficult time asserting themselves after being taught by society to repress their desires. Polyamory forces the issue of open communication, and can help women feel entitled to articulate the specifics of their wants and needs.

Some Thoughts on “Primary” and “Secondary” Labels

For those unfamiliar with the terms, “primary” and “secondary” are labels sometimes used by poly folks to identify the nature of various relationships. “Primary” relationships are typically marital or marital-type, cohabitational relationships, whereas “secondary” relationships would generally be more casual in nature. Personally, I’m not a big proponent of such labeling, and the following is a list of the ways I find “primary” and “secondary” designations to be problematic.

1. They imply a hierarchy of relationships.

I think we can all recognize that we have different relationships that have varying degrees of importance in our lives. My relationships with–and responsibilities to–my daughter and my partners are central to my life, and I can acknowledge that in a sense they are of “primary” importance to me. But I would never look at my friendships or my relationships with my extended family and label them as “secondary” relationships. They are simply each unique relationships that are valued as individual connections with individual humans, and I don’t view them in a hierarchical sense in relation to one another. Even among friendships, like most people I have some that are incredibly central to my life and others that involve more occasional contact; many of those relationships have organically shifted to various places on that spectrum over time. But I would see no need to “classify” them in a way that implies a hierarchical order of significance. If it doesn’t feel natural to “rank” our platonic friendships in this way, I wonder why it should be any different with relationships of a romantic nature. Certainly, there are some people who are seeking relationships of a specific variety, with lower expectations of things like time, availability, and commitment. But I believe there are ways to openly and honestly communicate these particular desires without treating relationships as something hierarchical.

2. “Primary” and “secondary” seem to contain an assumption that relationships will be at odds with one another.

Many times, when I hear people describe their reasoning for using these labels, they seem to be thinking ahead to potential conflict, as if being in two or more relationships means constantly having to choose between meeting the needs of two or more people. Designating someone as a “primary,” then, becomes a way of saying “when forced to choose, I will choose you.” But I think, first of all, it’s a rather pessimistic view of relationships to assume that there will constantly be this problem of butting heads. To me, it makes a lot more sense to strive for relationships that co-exist harmoniously, instead of assuming that poly relating means constantly choosing between two conflicting sets of needs and desires. And second, even in situations where there legitimately is a conflict of needs or desires between two relationships, I believe in a much more situational, contextual way of determining which choice to make, rather than a blanket “person A has priority” kind of policy. Again, while I can acknowledge that my daughter and my partners “come first” in a broad sense, there might be times when a friend is in crisis and needs me badly at that time; in that situation, I would prioritize the needs of my friend. Or, there might be times when two different partners want two different things, but one of them is behaving unreasonably or irrationally. Again, I would weigh out the context of the particular situation, rather than giving one person an infinite trump card based on their designated “role.” But again, I find that in situations where everyone involved is committing to harmoniously co-existing, these kinds of “choose between person A and person B” situations are really a rare occurrence, though people seem to imagine that such conflict management must be a constant struggle in poly relationships.

3. These labels imply static, fixed relationship roles.

While I recognize that this isn’t the case for everyone, I personally don’t feel comfortable circumscribing any relationship I enter into by saying that it can only contain such and such degree of commitment/seriousness/time spent together/etc. When my boyfriend and I first started dating, my husband and I had been together for well over a decade and were living together along with our daughter; it would have been easy to view those relationships in a “primary”/”secondary” way. But I was very clear from the start that I had no preconceived notions on the limitations of this new relationship, and I wanted the possibilities to be as open as they would be in a “typical” context. Two years later, those relationships don’t in any way resemble a “primary”/”secondary” division, and they were free to evolve that way at their own natural pace. I realize not everyone is open to the possibility of two or more relationships having equal levels of commitment, but for those of us who are, it seems inauthentic to pigeonhole relationships into pre-defined roles.

4. Such labeling seems to indicate that one partner has authority over relationships with the other(s).

This might not always be the case with folks who use “primary” and “secondary” designations, but at least to me, they seem to often be hierarchical not just in terms of a hierarchy of value/time/commitment, but in terms of an actual hierarchy between partners. I’ve written previously about my feelings about rules in poly relationships, so I’ll avoid going on about them in depth here. But to summarize, I’m not personally in favor of arrangements where one partner is given the ability to dictate the minute details of relationships with others. Oftentimes a “primary partner” label carries with it things like “veto power” (the right to “veto” a partner’s choice of significant other) or the right to micromanage a partner’s other relationships. For me, being polyamorous is about respecting one another’s autonomy, and also loving and respecting one another enough to treat one another with fairness and to recognize and validate each individuals needs without being forced to do so by a set of rules and regulations.

5. These labels reinforce monogamy-centered views that polyamory is all about one central  “couple,” with other relationships on the side.

Many people try to project a rather mono-normative set of expectations onto poly relationships, by assuming that there is always one traditionally committed pair at the center, and all other relationships are inherently more casual “fun on the side.” This phenomenon reminds me of the heteronormative tendency to look at same-sex relationships and assume that one person is more like the “man” and the other the “woman,” rather than recognizing that relationships exist outside of that binary. The reality is that a large number of polyamorous relationships do not fit that model; many include three or more people sharing homes, raising children, and existing as a unified family that cannot be reduced to a central “couple.” Non-poly people seem to often find it easier to relate to polyamorous relationships when they see something there that resembles a more “traditional” pairing. But that view is often far from accurate.

Now, I want to be clear that I do realize not everyone who uses the labels “primary” and “secondary” to describe their relationships is actually behaving in what I would consider to be problematic ways; I understand that sometimes those labels simply seem to make sense for the shape that certain relationships happen to take. But I also believe language has power, and it does make a difference how we choose to describe things to the world; the list above are all factors that, if nothing else, I think folks should take into consideration when deciding what terms they’re comfortable using to identify the people they love.

“But What About the Children?!”

As a polyamorous parent, few things are as frustrating or as offensive to me as the “but what about the poor children?” argument against polyamory, which I hear far too frequently. As with similar objections to same-sex marriage, it seems to me that this argument is really just an excuse for passing judgment; when pressed as to why it matters how consenting adults choose to live their lives, talking about the children in non-traditional family settings is a way for opponents of such relationships to claim that there are in fact “innocent victims” here. I don’t believe that these folks are really concerned about the well-being of children so much as they’re desperately seeking to validate their own biases and criticisms. And, of course, it’s a good way to “go for the jugular,” so to speak, as it seems fairly universal (and understandable) that parents are highly sensitive to any accusation that their home environment is harmful to their children. No matter how baseless we know such accusations to be, they still sting.

That’s why I was pleased to see a couple different articles speaking favorably about poly parenting in recent weeks. In her Psychology Today Blog last month, Bella DePaulo discussed some of the results of research on poly families being conducted by Elisabeth Sheff, and made several points about poly parenting that I’ve found myself making time and again. For one, on the question of stability, DePaulo points out that single parents also date, creating potential for their romantic partners to move in and out of their children’s lives, but we do not see single parents criticized for dating; we recognize that children can form valuable and meaningful relationships with step-parents. She also quotes the research finding that children are equally likely to report feeling a loss of platonic friends who have, for one reason or another, moved out of their parents’ lives. And finally, she raises the question of whether polyamorous partners might be more likely to remain in a child’s life even after a romantic relationship has ended. Those two points certainly hit close to home for me; my daughter has become attached to several platonic friends who are now no longer in our lives. My ex-boyfriend, however, is still a close friend and a part of her life. The idea that polyamory offers any larger threat to stability in a child’s life than any of the myriad other varieties of relationships kids are exposed to simply seems without merit; after all, even family members sometimes have a catastrophic falling-out that ends relationships. We can’t possibly shelter our children from any and all possibility that close and trusted adults will pass out of their lives, whether we’re single parents who are dating, polyamorous parents who are dating, or even just monogamously partnered parents who include other humans in our children’s lives.

More recently, at Live Science, Stephanie Pappas wrote about debunking 5 polyamory myths—one being that polyamory is bad for children. Pappas sited Sheff’s research as well, and pointed out that one concern many poly parents have is about the stigma their children potentially face from the outside world. If I had one poly-related concern for my daughter, this would be it. We talk frequently about other people’s opposition to families like ours, and I adore that she often says things like “oh no, kids having more people who love them! How scary!” But I hate that such conversations are even necessary. I don’t worry at all about her being harmed by our happy, loving, stable family. But I do worry about her being harmed by the hateful attitudes of people who don’t approve of her family simply because it has a different shape than what’s considered “normal.”

I’m immensely appreciative of articles like these, and I hope that they’re the beginning of a turning tide of opinion about polyamorous parenting. And I’d also like to add one thing that neither article mentioned: the fact that poly parenting can have feminist potential as well. We all know that even in supposedly progressive heterosexual relationships, the bulk of the childcare burden still tends to fall disproportionately on women’s shoulders. It seems to me that in order to truly change this, we’re going to have to rethink parenting in some drastic ways, to move beyond the male/female dyad. Polyamorous relationships open up the possibility of involving more adults in the raising of children, creating new potentials for more equitable distributions of child-rearing responsibilities. There are certainly other means of doing this: communal living and community resource sharing can allow for similar flexibilities in child-raising. And on the flipside, polyamorous parenting is of course not inherently feminist. But it seems to me worth noting that polyamory is at least one of the many ways we can think about taking a revolutionary approach to gender roles and responsibilities in parenthood.