In a nutshell, the traditional Relationship Escalator looks like this: two (and only two) people progress from initial attraction and dating, to becoming sexually and romantically involved and exclusive, to adopting a shared identity as a couple, to moving in together and otherwise merging their lives — all the way up to marriage and kids, ’til death do you part.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with this approach. The Relationship Escalator is popular for a reason: it works quite well for many people.

It’s just not the only game in town.

The default bundle of societal expectations for intimate relationships. Partners follow a progressive set of steps, each with visible milestones and markers, toward a clear goal.

The Escalator is the standard by which most people gauge whether an intimate relationship is significant, serious, good, healthy, committed or worthy of effort.

The goal at the top of the Escalator is to achieve a permanently monogamous relationship: sexually and romantically exclusive between only two people. In addition, Escalator partners are expected to live together permanently, and to have their relationship legally sanctioned and publicly recognized — typically via legal marriage.

Partners are expected to remain together at the top of the Escalator until death.
Common related (but not as heavily required) Escalator milestones include shared ownership of a home, combined finances and having kids together.

On the whole, this is how the Relationship Escalator typically works:

1. Making contact. Flirting, casual social encounters, possibly including making out or sexual hookups.

2. Initiation. Romantic courtship gestures or rituals, emotional investment or falling in love, and usually sexual contact (except in religious or socially conservative circles).

3. Claiming and defining. Mutual declarations of love, presenting in public as a couple, adopting and using common relationship role labels (boyfriend, girlfriend, etc.). Having expectations, or sometimes making explicit agreements, for sexual and romantic exclusivity — and also ending other intimate relationships, if any, and ceasing to use dating sites or apps. Transitioning to barrier-free vaginal/anal intercourse, if applicable, except if that would present health or unwanted pregnancy risks. Once this step is reached, any further step, including simply remaining in the relationship, may be considered an implied intention to continue the relationship indefinitely.

4. Establishment. Adapting the rhythms of life to accommodate each other on an ongoing basis. Settling into patterns for regularly spending time together (date nights and sexual encounters, time at each others’ homes, etc.). Developing patterns for keeping in contact when not together, such as email, phone calls, video chat or texting.

5. Commitment. Explicitly discussing, or planning for, a long-term shared future as a monogamous couple. Expectations of mutual accountability for whereabouts, behavior and life choices. Meeting each other’s family of origin.

6. Merging. Moving in together, sharing a home and finances. Getting engaged to be married, or agreeing to a similar legal or civil formalization of the relationship.

7. Conclusion. Getting legally married, if this option is available, or otherwise making an equivalent formal, recognized, legally binding arrangement. The relationship is now finalized; its structure is expected to remain fairly static until one partner dies.

8. Legacy. Purchasing a home together, if possible. Having and raising children — not mandatory, but still strongly socially venerated. This part of the Escalator is no longer as obligatory as it once was. However, often couples may not feel, or be perceived as, fully valid until they hit these additional milestones of post-marriage.

People who are dating usually seek to determine fairly soon whether a new connection has Escalator potential, and proceed accordingly. If at some point a partner or relationship becomes disqualified from the Escalator, usually that relationship gets sidetracked to a less important status; or it ends or simply fizzles out.

Here’s one way that the traditional pecking order for relationships becomes apparent: relationships which do not include sex, romance or family ties tend to get a diminutive label: “just” friends. This can seem like a rebuff not only to the power of friendship but also to people who are asexual or aromantic, whose deepest relationships often are dismissed or devalued.

1. Monogamy. Under current social norms, this means a closed relationship where sex and romance are shared exclusively between two partners. Monogamy is actually about who a person is not allowed to share sex or romance with. Sex and/or romance commonly wane in long-term monogamous relationships, so monogamy does not ensure access to sex or romance — but it does preclude seeking it outside a monogamous relationship.

In contrast, consensually nonmonogamous relationships (where everyone involved understands that the relationship is not exclusive) are the most visible way, and probably the most common way, that people step off the Escalator. Some popular approaches to consensual nonmonogamy are polyamory, swinging, don’t ask don’t tell or being monogamish.

2. Merging. Riding the Relationship Escalator means that partners eventually move in together and otherwise blend the infrastructure of their daily lives, such as sharing finances. Furthermore, Escalator partners also tend to merge their identities to some extent. Typically they start to view and present themselves as a unit — for instance, saying “we” more often than “I.”

Relationships where partners deliberately choose to limit or avoid this kind of merging may be considered more autonomous. This can include choosing not to live together at all, or not full time. It also can mean socializing separately, making big choices (like career moves) independently, or not treating an intimate partner as a default companion or sole/primary source of support.

3. Hierarchy. Traditionally, some types of relationships typically are presumed to be most important — which means they usually get to trump other relationships by default. Typically, an Escalator relationship is deemed more important than almost any other adult relationship someone might have, such as friendships. (Parenting, and certain other responsibilities to immediate family, usually are permissible exceptions to this pecking order.)

In contrast, off the Escalator and especially in consensual nonmonogamy, hierarchy gets more complex and can become ethically and emotionally fraught. In egalitarian relationships, decisions about spending time, attention and other resources are made case-by-case, not based on a default or predefined ranking of relationships.

4. Sexual and romantic connection. People tend to assume that Escalator partners do (or at least, at some point, did) have sex with each other, as well as feel romantically “in love” with each other. Furthermore, it’s widely assumed that if an Escalator relationship is healthy and strong, then those partners should still share their sexual and romantic connection — barring considerations such as age, illness or disability. There’s a subtle stigma that if partners never connected sexually and romantically, then something must be wrong with, or at least not fully valid about, their relationship.

However, many people fall along the spectrum of asexuality: sex is not an important, necessary or desirable part of their intimate experience. And sometimes, people who do enjoy and desire sex sometimes choose to form committed nonsexual relationships, even life-entwined partnerships, with people who are not sexual or romantic partners.

5. Continuity and consistency, at least as a goal. The Escalator is a continuous, one-way trip. Escalator relationships are not supposed to pause or step back to a less-merged state. Also, Escalator partners have defined, permanent roles — for instance, partners aren’t supposed to shift between being lovers and platonic friends. (Well, actually this does often happen in long-term traditional relationships, but it’s usually not overtly acknowledged.) And finally, the Escalator is supposed to last forever; death is the only way to end an Escalator relationship that isn’t automatically branded a failure.

Nevertheless, many intimate relationships are fluid (shifting form or roles over time), discontinuous (on/off, or pause/play) or finite (agreeably limited by time or context, such as a summer romance). These can be deeply meaningful and significant — even though by Escalator standards, such relationships can be dismissed as insignificant, unhealthy, a waste of time or a failure.

anti-queer stigma, including the historic denial of social and legal recognition and privilege for queer relationships, has yielded an intriguing side effect. Being part of any demographic that is marginalized for diverging from social norms sometimes can create more freedom to explore additional unconventional approaches to life and love — at least, within subcultures.

Thus, people who are exploring unconventional or queer intimate relationships today — whether they’re heterosexual and cisgender, or not — owe a profound debt to the many queer people who bravely stuck their necks out for the right to live and love as they choose.

In my own life, I’ve maintained a very close relationship with my former spouse. Taken in its entirety, this is the most significant and enduring intimate relationship of my life, having lasted nearly three decades as of this writing.

After our divorce nearly a decade ago, my former spouse and I remained close and visited often. Since then, sometimes he has shared my home, as a guest or temporary housemate. Also, all along we’ve shared our vacation cabin, where we stay together several times a year. (In fact, that’s where I’m writing this right now, as he’s grilling up dinner.)

Throughout our relationship, he and I have always remained in daily contact, and we are each other’s go-to support person for big news, changes and challenges. Currently, our homes are fairly close so we hang out a few times a week. We’re still very affectionate and cuddly, although no longer sexual or romantic with each other.

Indeed, getting unmarried is what allowed us to preserve and nurture all these wonderful parts of our relationship. Being married, even in a poly marriage, never really suited us well. It created too much friction and pressure, and led us to chafe at each other. Our aftership has proved to be the most peaceful and mutually fulfilling phase of our entire relationship.

Traditionally, when an intimate relationship ended, one-time partners tended to exit each other’s lives as much as possible, often with considerable acrimony.

It can seem much simpler to assume that as long as an intimate relationship looks a certain way, then it should meet people’s needs and make them happy. Sticking to popular patterns of relating generally supports such assumptions.

In contrast, not making lots of assumptions about how relationships work can seem like an onerous burden. Clear, frank, discussion of what intimate partners each truly want or need in life (or within a specific relationship), and negotiating how to customize relationships in light of this information, is sometimes viewed not normal — and perhaps even risky or threatening.

The active stigma against unconventional relationships surfaces in myriad ways: being casually treated with suspicion, housing and child custody discrimination, alienation from family and community and much more. Or having to explain your relationships more than other people seem to need to.

Oddly, when it comes to consensual nonmonogamy, the consent part is generally considered more taboo than sharing sex or romance with more than one person. That’s because cheating is an acknowledged aspect of social norms.

It’s common for people to discuss cheating as something that unfortunately happens. In contrast, knowing that one’s partner is having sex with, or falling in love with, someone else — and being okay with that? Actually negotiating nonmonogamy? Agreeing to it? Maybe even meeting or befriending their other partners? That’s where the shaming and freakouts tend to start.

Under current social norms, monogamy typically means that for the duration of their relationship, two people agree to mutual exclusivity in sharing three types of intimacy:

1. Sexual or sensual. At a minimum, monogamous couples typically refrain from sexual contact with others — specifically, physical contact involving the genitals, anus or breasts. For many monogamous couples, kissing and cuddling other people (at least, potentially attractive people), or other kinds of affectionate touch (such as holding hands), are also considered out of bounds. Likewise with phone or webcam sex, sexting or erotic emails. In its stricter forms, monogamy also can mean that partners are not allowed to flirt with or compliment others, look appreciatively at attractive people, mention that they find other people attractive, spend time alone with or perhaps even talk to potentially attractive people, visit strip clubs or enjoy pornography.

2. Romantic feelings and expression. In monogamy, often partners are not permitted to exhibit toward others the behaviors commonly associated with seduction, crushes/infatuations, courtship and falling in love. Nor are they allowed to respond to romantic or flirtatious overtures from others. In some cases, monogamy also forbids having romantic emotions, desires, or fantasies about others, even if these are never acted upon.

3. Emotional bonding. Some monogamous partners consider it out-of-bounds to share deep emotions, or emotionally laden experiences, with others who might be romantically or sexually attractive or available. This can include confiding with such people about emotionally sensitive topics such as one’s relationship challenges or unmet needs. Turning to potentially attractive others for emotional comfort, reassurance, validation, advice or to share joys and triumphs can be considered a significant betrayal. Sometimes, this practice is called an emotional affair and it may be considered more of a betrayal than sexual infidelity.

The strong social taboos against consensual nonmonogamy make it difficult for some people to grasp the concept that intimate partners might be able to consent to nonmonogamy. This choice is sometimes interpreted as an intrinsic moral violation, or perhaps even a logical impossibility. Thus, consensual nonmonogamy is often called “cheating” — just with “permission.”

This illustrates the power of social norms to deny personal agency. Many people believe that it’s not up to partners to decide for themselves whether they might be cheating.

There is a strong social stigma against consensual nonmonogamy — but where does it come from? It appears to draw on two ancient, deep-rooted beliefs that are common in many cultures:

1. Social territoriality. The belief that people can — and in certain contexts, particularly intimate relationships, should — be treated as a kind of territory. This is crucial subtext when intimate partners say or believe that they “belong” to each other. It’s also why, in an intimate relationship, partners might feel somewhat entitled to surveil, judge or restrict each other’s behavior, associations or choices. Such controlling behavior is especially likely for anything they believe might lead their partner to have sexual or romantic connections with others. This gets to be dicey territory; a socially acceptable level of monitoring and limits can easily shade into an abusive relationship. Furthermore, people sometimes believe that failing to exhibit territoriality toward their intimate partner might indicate weakness or a lack of care or commitment.

2. Sex negativity. The belief that sex and sexuality are intrinsically evil and / or dangerous. Therefore they must be restricted to protect the safety of individuals, relationships, families, communities or even society at large. This tends to be most visible in attitudes toward female or queer sexuality, but it can apply to anyone.

Informed consent can apply to any intimate relationship style, monogamy included. This takes work: specifically, introspection, inquiry and negotiation.

The catch is, social norms encourage assumptions. This can create dilemmas about consent. When people rely on assumptions, they often sidestep communication and negotiation. Making choices that impact others can seem less risky when you don’t expect them to object or raise questions. However, not giving people a fair chance to voice their wishes impairs their ability to consent. The stakes can be extremely high.

Explicit consent need not feel unromantic or daunting. Done right, it can be another form of intimacy, or at least friendliness. It need not be an inquisition. It can simply be a conversation — ideally, an ongoing conversation, rooted in mutual appreciation and care, and revisited periodically.

Introspection is a vital component of informed consent. This means getting to know oneself well enough to be able to clearly express wants, needs and uncertainties; as well as what one can offer or accept in intimate relationships.

Many nonmonogamous people prefer to compartmentalize their intimate relationships or encounters, so that little or no information about relationships is shared between relationships. Often, this is done with the intent of keeping things simple. It can be easier, at least initially, to mostly ignore the existence of other relationships, or to assume that overlapping relationships don’t really affect each other. Also, compartmentalization can be a strategy to minimize jealousy or insecurity.

Words get very, very interesting when it comes to friendship.

It’s common for people to discuss friendships as if these relationships are inherently less important than sexually or romantically intimate relationships. That is, a friendship, regardless of its depth or duration, rarely is counted as a “real” relationship — even though friendships might be some of the most enduring and meaningful relationships in a person’s lifetime.

Consider this: once past teenage or college years, many people feel it sounds odd to call someone their best friend. Often, adults lack the vocabulary to clearly acknowledge the depth and intensity of very close friendships.

Furthermore, social norms implicitly assume that if there’s any chance that two people might share sex or romance, then they must default to having a sexual or romantic relationship. This is why, when mentioning a potentially attractive friend who happens to not be a sexual and romantic partner, people commonly volunteer this clarification: “Oh, we’re just friends.”

…The diminutive “just” is telling. It indicates how our society prioritizes sexual and romantic relationships above others. It also implies that whether people are sexually or romantically involved is always relevant — even to people who are not involved.

Human relationships don’t fit well into simple boxes. There’s a lot of gray area between friends and lovers and life partners. I enjoy being able to take each relationship for what it is, not needing to impose a structure on it.

 — K, polyamorous

My partner M. and I are life-entangled. We live together, have shared finances and investments, and expect to stay together for the long term. We are also poly, and we each have other relationships.

I have two other partners. My girlfriend J. and my partner D. are both not life-entangled, but emotionally important to me. J, D and I are also in a triad.

My life-entangled partner has two girlfriends and one occasional play partner. He also has roughly twice-a-month dates with each of his girlfriends, and “when they can schedule it in” dates with his play partner. Both of his girlfriends are currently only dating him, I believe. But they are open to other relationships, and have had other relationships in the past, while dating M.

This structure has been stable for a number of years. M and I have been together for almost 15 years. J, D and I have been together for over five years. M has been with one girlfriend for nearly six years. M’s other relationships have each lasted for approximately two years.

I feel more secure in my poly relationship since I have multiple people to go to for support. I’m also able to explore attractions to new people without fear of losing my life-entangled partner. I have the security of knowing that even though my partner may be interested in other people, they are actively choosing to stay with me as well.

The way we’re living is pretty damn awesome for us.

— Liz

I wish there was more understanding that all ties don’t have to be cut if a relationship changes. It is normal for relationships to change form — and not a sign of failure.

I need to start discussing with my friends the benefits of unconventional relationships. I need to get over my fear that this will be seen as proof that I am trying to excuse what others might see as my failure in relationships.

— Karen, polyamorous

There is a big potential disadvantage to how sexual friendships are commonly perceived. In mainstream culture, people often view friends with benefits arrangements as strictly casual. In turn, casual sex is commonly construed to mean no emotions involved, no strings attached, sex-only hookups. Hence, another common and sometimes derisive label: fuck buddies.

Friendships, whether they include sex or not, involve real people with real feelings — and ideally, some level of mutual appreciation, consideration and respect. Also, strictly recreational, no-commitment sex is fine, with mutual consent.

Solohood can be expressed in many ways that influence how intimate relationships work. For instance:

— Not living together (nesting) with intimate partners.

— Taking a fair amount of alone time, or at least time apart from intimate partners — without guilt, apology, justification or asking permission. The default becomes “me time,” not “we time.”

— Prioritizing oneself in key life decisions and commitments, such as whether to move to another state — rather than prioritizing a relationship or partner when making such choices.

— Socializing or going out alone, at least sometimes, by choice — rather than simply as a last resort if a partner or date is not available.

— Having and enforcing clear personal boundaries. Being sure about which kinds of relationships or situations one is not willing to engage in. Also, being willing to communicate one’s boundaries, and being able to withdraw or renegotiate should these be crossed.

— Presenting oneself primarily as an individual, rather than as part of a couple, family or other relational group. For instance, saying “I” more than “we,” even when discussing things that might be shared with an intimate partner.

— Exercising personal efficacy. Declining to enter or remain in relationships, or to make agreements, that would restrict or undermine one’s ability to make independent choices, or to negotiate effectively in a relationship. This can make relationship hierarchy a poor fit for many solos.

— Respecting the autonomy of others. Not limiting or controlling the choices made by others — including intimate partners or metamours — via rules, manipulation or ultimatums. Boundaries are rooted inpersonal autonomy; control can compromise it.

Independence can be a matter of identity: who you are, not just how you navigate situations.

People who consider themselves solo tend to prioritize personal autonomy: their own, and that of others. Typically they maintain a strong identity as an individual and eschew the merging with partners that the Relationship Escalator encourages. Solos usually prefer not to need anyone’s permission or approval to make their own life choices; and they accept that others are entitled to make their own life choices, as well.

If it is clear that you always have the opportunity to leave, you become much more aware of the reasons why you don’t want to. Also, consent is more obvious. Everyone pays more attention because they don’t assume they already know everything about the person they’re having sex with.

— Finn, queer and nonmonogamous

I don’t like feeling “owned”.
— Kay, solo poly

Some people mentioned that it’s very important for them to feel valued as an individual by their intimate partners.

It took me a long time to become comfortable with the idea that you don’t need to constantly increase the level of life entanglement with a partner over the course of the relationship in order for it to be a ”real relationship”, or for it to remain emotionally fulfilling for everyone involved.

— Sarah, polyamorous

Within nesting relationships, these individuals may consciously strive to maintain autonomy in many aspects of life — for instance, whether or how to conduct other intimate relationships, or not assuming that each other’s free time is “we” time.

I feel that applying labels like “boyfriend”, “girlfriend”, “husband”, “wife”, “primary”, etc. just tends to pigeonhole things in a way I don’t feel comfortable with. We’re friends, that’s enough.
— Ety

Hierarchy is so broadly assumed in mainstream culture that people often don’t consciously acknowledge how they rank the people in their life. However, there are clues to this tendency, such as when people feel obliged to justify it when they prioritize a relationship in an unconventional way.

For instance, when a person has an Escalator partner, yet opts to bring a friend as their +1 guest to an important event, they’d probably volunteer an explanation for this deviation from expected behavior: “My spouse is away on business, but my friend wanted to come.” In contrast, few people might feel similarly obliged to justify bringing their spouse, rather than a friend, as a +1 guest.

When nonmonogamous people say “Relationship hierarchy works for us”, it’s important to consider who, exactly, is included in that “us”.

In polyamory, some people like to distinguish between descriptive hierarchy (which reflects how people’s existing responsibilities steer their decisions in intimate relationships) vs. prescriptive hierarchy (which is usually intended to ensure that certain relationships retain top ranking perpetually).
…
Some people will only agree to participate in hierarchy which is descriptive in nature.

In consensual nonmonogamy, relationship hierarchy concerns power imbalances that occur between overlapping intimate relationships — specifically, when an effectively primary relationship has the power to control or constrain relationships in the network that are effectively secondary.

Unlike rules, agreements apply only to the people who participate in these negotiations. Agreements are never presented to third parties as take-it-or-leave-it choices. All parties are empowered to renegotiate existing agreements that may no longer fit well.
...
A personal boundary is an individual opt-out decision. Any individual may set their own boundaries, regardless of relationship style or status. A boundary is set when someone clarifies which situations or activities they personally plan to avoid.

“Ethics” leans towards decisions based upon individual character, and the more subjective understanding of right and wrong by individuals. Whereas “morals” emphasizes the widely-shared communal or societal norms about right and wrong.

Put another way, ethics is a more individual assessment of values as relatively good or bad, while morality is a more intersubjective community assessment of what is good, right or just for all.

— Paul Walker and Terry Lovat, Newcastle University

Even when great effort has been made to consider your feelings, that is not the same as being part of the decision.
— Master So-n-So, solo poly

Consent is an ongoing process, not a one-time choice. As circumstances and feelings evolve, people may change their minds about what they want in their relationships, and what they are willing or able to consent to. “You signed up for this” is often used to silence partners who attempt to renegotiate rules — by implying that consent, once given, is irrevocable.
...
In the context of intimacy, full consent is an ongoing process, not a one-time decision. Partners remain free to ask questions, negotiate and renegotiate. Where choices are presented as irrevocable, unquestionable or take-it-or-leave-it, consent becomes doubtful — especially for relationships that have become established or emotionally invested.

Consent is considered valid only when it is informed.

Sneakyarchy happens when previously undisclosed or denied hierarchy impacts a relationship network. This can be a rude awakening, especially to partners who discover just how secondary they really are.

Egalitarian relationships are about partners having an equal ability to effectively advocate for themselves within their own relationships. Also, partners have a reasonable expectation that their self-advocacy will be met with consideration and negotiation, not “my way or the highway”. True empowerment typically involves more than a Hobson’s choice of the freedom to leave.

Of course, egalitarianism doesn’t mean that every partner always gets everything they want, or that every conflict must be resolved through compromise, or that no one is allowed to have priorities or hard limits. It just means that all partners are equally empowered to speak up, that they can expect to be heard and considered, and that third parties cannot override the decisions partners make about their relationship.

Much like making a new friend or having a new child, in egalitarian relationship networks, newer or less-entwined relationships are honored as having intrinsic value and a right to exist and grow. No person or relationship trumps or precludes others by default. Each relationship gets to discover its own natural level and rhythm. Networks adapt to accommodate evolving, emerging and waning relationships.

I’ve learned about how to have difficult conversations. I used to fear these so much, not wanting to “rock the boat”. But that would make me so anxious. Now, I bring things up when they bother me, and the results have been fantastic. It dulls my fear of the worst happening.

— Ray, solo poly

Egalitarian relationships tend to rely on trust and accountability, rather than rules and roles, to keep relationships strong and healthy.

Some people don’t find it useful to sort their relationships into categories. Rather, they prefer to focus on the unique, emerging and evolving nature of their connection with each person who matters to them. They treat each relationship as a special case, with its own intrinsic value. And they consciously and explicitly collaborate to design how each relationship works.

There’s a relatively new and not-yet-commonplace term for this ultimate do-it-yourself approach to relationships: relationship anarchy.

More a philosophy than a specific relationship style, relationship anarchists do not gauge the importance of a relationship based on whether it involves sex, romance, life entwinement, or ties of blood or marriage. Rather, they prize autonomy, accept that people are in constant flux, and believe in negotiating and adapting relationships to suit the people in them.

Relationship anarchy (and anarchy in general) strongly encourages taking personal responsibility for consideration, communication, negotiation and collaboration.

Relationships which do include sex generally are presumed to be more important, or at least more intimate, than those which do not. Relationships where sex either does not happen or is not an important part of the partners’ bond often get discounted being neither real nor important.

The relationship can take any form, as long as it has intimacy.
— Nola, asexual

There are many ways to feel, and express, love and intimacy; sex and romance are not always required.

The default relationship hierarchy of mainstream culture typically ranks friendship as a lower priority than an Escalator partnership. Therefore, friendships that involve significant shared time, logistical entwinement that is not purely for convenience, or other substantial commitments are, in a way, unconventional intimate relationships. That is, they might be perceived as “stealing” time, attention, energy and resources that “should” be devoted to one’s current or potential Escalator relationship.

Despite the fact that we are no longer married, and not sexual at all, I still feel very attached to her. I am glad to have her house key and am glad that she has called me in the past during an emergency etc. I still pay the phone bill for her parents.
— John William, solo poly

I am sexually involved with one of my best friends. We both have agreed that if our relationships with others become more significant, we will stop and stay as  “normal” friends.
— Katarina, nonmonogamous

Riding the Relationship Escalator is a one-way, continuous trip; permanence, continuity, and consistency are key Escalator hallmarks. Once two partners ride a fair way up the Escalator together (usually to the point where they claim and define their couplehood), they are not supposed to step back toward less entwinement, to pause for “too long” at a certain level of involvement, or to revise the structure or terms of their relationship.

Rather, the only socially acceptable options are:

— Keep riding the Escalator until you reach the top. Then, stay there until someone dies.

— Break up. End the relationship. Traditionally, this has meant that former Escalator partners drop out of each other’s lives altogether, or at least as much as possible — although that norm is changing. A definitive breakup clears the way to find a new Escalator partner and start riding again. 

A comet is someone who passes through your life repeatedly, who is intense and awesome. And when they are gone, you are still in contact with that person in some way — but they are not a continuous partner.

Consensually nonmonogamous people noted that their breakups hurt just as much as anyone’s. However, they may receive less compassion or sympathy for this pain.
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When a relationship ends, traditional or otherwise, it can really hurt. However, since unconventional relationships tend to be automatically devalued, people often don’t receive much support after these breakups.

It’s widely assumed that a lifelong Escalator relationship must be everyone’s goal. So, if someone falls or jumps off the Escalator, typically they’re expected to seek a new Escalator partner — eventually, if not immediately.

If someone hopes to attract an Escalator partner, it might appear suspicious or threatening, or at least unhealthy, if they maintain strong, positive connections with former partners — even if sex and/or romance are currently out of that picture.

Positive afterships are commonly viewed as signs that perhaps someone “hasn’t really moved on,” or that they might even be hoping to “rekindle an old flame.” That might seem to limit the chances for a new Escalator to take root and to eventually take over as the unquestioned top priority.

The assumption of post-intimacy division of social ties is why, when people hear that former partners are maintaining an active, genuine friendship, they often remark, “Oh, it’s so nice that you and your ex are still on good terms!” While well intended, this begs the question: why should not hating or ostracizing a former partner be at all remarkable?

Some people are genuinely happy for their exes. It’s allowed.
— Veronica, nonmonogamous but in a monogamous relationship

Sometimes potential lovers think that since you’re already in a relationship, you can’t (or won’t) have a deep relationship with them. Or that they don’t need to treat you with the respect they’d give someone they were dating monogamously.
— Sabrina, nonmonogamous

We should stop seeing relationship issues in terms of failure and success.
— Tahni, in a long distance monogamous relationship

It’s not that normative relationships are the problem. The fact that they are considered normal is the problem.
— Shannon, currently monogamous

Ultimately, I want the old-fashioned husband, wife, kids. But as a society, we need to start accepting that not everyone wants (or ends up with) the old-fashioned way of marriage.
— Betty, monogamous

Escalator relationships are so embedded and assumed that the path is there without you even realizing it.
— Kate, divorcing from an open marriage

I could find no definition for success without succumbing to Escalator-esque values.
— Michelle, polyamorous

Once, a man I’d loved and been dating for a year suddenly broke up with me and cut off all communication, in order to pursue a monogamous relationship. The lack of support I experienced was really difficult. If this had been a traditional relationship, I would have had space to process it fully — and I would have gotten over it a lot faster.

As it was, I couldn’t turn to friends for support after this breakup without getting the inevitable response, “Well, you’ve still got your primary partner, so how is this so bad?” Meanwhile, I couldn’t talk to my primary partner about it without him feeling like he wasn’t good enough.

I felt like someone had died — but since I still had living people around me, I wasn’t allowed to grieve. I felt that the living took my sadness personally. That was really hard. I still have nightmares about it today.

— Sabrina, polyamorous

For some people, the flexibility of stepping off the Escalator is what allows them to maintain relationships — contrary to the trope that consensual nonmonogamy is a way to avoid commitment.

I have found it quite easy to deal with significant changes in relationships when Escalator-ness is off the table — but almost impossible when the Escalator is assumed.
— Karen, transitioning from partnership to friendship

Some people do prefer more clarity about the status of their unconventional intimate relationships. They might acknowledge the end of a chapter, even if the story of their relationship is continuing in a new direction.

Emotional attachment can be a feature, not a bug.

For instance, emotional attachment can support empathy — as well as motivation to work through difficulties, offer support in hard times, or commit to shared projects or goals. These things can become especially important off the Escalator, where emotional attachment can be what primarily sustains relationships which have little or no external reinforcement, such as legal marriage, a shared household or logistical or financial entanglement.

I now believe it’s crucial to periodically have a conversation just to take the pulse of how everybody in the relationship feels. How does it feel to be monogamous or polyamorous? How does it feel to be having sex, or not? How does it feel to live together or apart? How do we feel now about having children, or about how we are parenting? Do we want to be married or not? Do we want to be public or private about our relationship? This stuff does not stay static.

Having these conversations, practicing this skill, has helped me accept that it’s completely normal to feel different things at different times, or to want things that are unconventional.

— Addie

Most people who have unconventional relationships are not claiming that traditional relationships have no value. I think they’re just advocating choice. They’re advocating close examination of relationship traditions and seeing which ones resonate.

It would help to have more relationship templates out there, as viable and widely known options.
— Indigo, asexual and aromantic