Reflexivity in the Research

“As qualitative researchers, we now accept that the researcher is a central figure who actively constructs the collection, selection, and interpretation of data. We appreciate that research is co-constituted – a joint product of the participants, researcher, and their relationship.

We realise that meanings are negotiated within particular social contexts so that another researcher will unfold a different story.”

(Finlay, 2003, p. 5).

The quote above highlights important issues around reflexivity in research. As researcher it was important to me to consider my own position, and reflect upon how this influenced my approach to the research. I was aware that the way I engaged with participants, the form of knowledge created and produced, and my interpretation of it, were shaped by my age, class position, my own attitudes towards sexuality, and my identity as a female, heterosexual researcher

(Manderson et al., 2006).

In many ways I can be understood as an ‘outsider’ to the men I interviewed; I do not have a shared experience in terms of gender or sexual identity. Filiault and Drummond (2009) emphasise the benefits and drawbacks of an ‘insider’ identity, arguing that assumptions of shared perspectives and experience can lead to over-identification with research participants. Indeed, they note that

participants may not share certain insights or information where they assume the interviewer has shared knowledge of the issue. Thus, Filiault and Drummond note that ‘insider’ or ‘outsider’ positions are not inherently ‘better’ or ‘worse’, rather researchers have an obligation to reflect on their own position within the research process.

I was particularly aware of the interaction between me as a female researcher talking to gay men about ‘sensitive’ topics (Lee, 1993). At the start of the project I had concerns around my legitimacy as a female researcher exploring the topic of sex with young gay men. I was very anxious not to be perceived as prurient or prying simply out of personal curiosity, rather as a researcher with a legitimate interest in sexual health. On reflection, I think my concern with this issue early in the research led me to try very hard to present myself as a

‘professional’ researcher. The desire to legitimise myself as a university researcher with a professional interest in sexual health played out in my

communication before interviews, for example in the way I presented myself in phone calls and emails, and in the way that I presented the study in the

recruitment materials. Given that I was quite close in age to many of the men recruited to the study, I felt it was especially important to present myself as professional researcher, and not a ‘peer’. However, during the course of

fieldwork I became consciously aware of the ways in which I attempted to shift position during interviews, (re)presenting myself as a non-expert, emphasising my role as a ‘student’ researcher, and foregrounding participants as the ‘expert’

on their own experiences. On reflection, I see this as my way of minimising potential power imbalances within the interview setting. Indeed, at least

initially, I was conscious of presenting myself as somewhat naive in terms of my understanding of gay men’s sexual lives, something which played out in an interesting way during some of the interviews. During some interviews I was struck by the sense that some of the men were trying to ‘protect’ me by not being overly explicit when discussing their own sexual practice. In addition, some told me that I should not look at online forums or gay socio-sexual media in case I was disturbed by what I saw. This reflection prompted me to adapt my approach to interviews, and introduce the ‘prompt’ cards described earlier. This enabled men to see that I was familiar with different sexual practices, and moreover, that I was open to discussion of these. Indeed, by the end of the interviews, men were often more open and comfortable talking about sex and other personal issues. For example, one of the first men I interviewed said that I looked like “butter wouldn’t melt”, and went on to say that although I looked somewhat naïve and innocent, I was not, and talking to me about sexual health had proved easier than he imagined. This participant’s comments suggest that other participants may also have assumed that I was naïve, sensitive, and

perhaps sexually conservative and/or moralistic. It is important to consider that as such, the young men may have adjusted their accounts accordingly.

Reflecting on, and analysing, my engagement with men over the course of the fieldwork, I think that my confidence in discussing sex and sexual health grew over time, changing my interactions with participants. I suspect that early in the fieldwork, some of the men may have sensed my concern about being seen to

‘probe’ too deeply about their experiences of sex, whereas later in the fieldwork I had greater confidence about broaching the topic sensitively, while continuing to ask for further explanation and clarification about their experiences. Thus, in

some respects, my engagement with, and analysis of, interview data collected in the latter half of fieldwork can be understood as deeper, reflecting both my greater insight into the topic, and the richness of the data.

As a female researcher, my personal knowledge and experience of gay culture has been shaped to a great extent by my relationships with, and to, my own gay male friends. Such relationships are also informed by my class position, as the majority of my close gay male friends are white, middle class, highly educated men. Thus, much of my understanding of gay culture comes from my

friendships, reading (academic literature, as well as fiction and non-fiction), and representations of gay men in both mainstream and gay specific media (TV, film, magazines etc.). Inevitably this influenced the way I ‘read’ men in the context of the research. At times there were clear disjoints between how I perceived the men, and how they perceived themselves, or more specifically how they

articulated their own understanding of their identify ‘performance’. For example, early on in fieldwork when I first met Ed, I read him as an energetic, attractive, slim, young man, who spoke in an effeminate manner. Indeed, my initial impression was that he conformed closely to my understanding of a

‘Twink’. However, it was interesting that during the interview he was highly critical of young men who conformed to stereotypical representations of a

‘Twink’ and felt aggrieved by people’s assumptions that he could be identified in such a way, as this suggested to him that he was perceived as shallow and

superficial. This experience, and other similar experiences during data

collection, reminded me not to rely on, or place too much trust in, my initial impressions. Indeed, for me it highlighted the need to be attuned to the different ways in which men understood their own identity, and performed it during interviews. Both during interviews and the process of analysis I repeatedly reminded myself that making judgements on the basis of an assumed identity (such as assuming a participant was a ‘Twink’ or perhaps nascent ‘Bear’) would affect my interpretation of the data. Thus, I attempted to stay focussed on the men’s emic interpretation (and ‘imagining’) of themselves in the context of gay culture, rather than my etic perspective. I would argue that this strengthened my analysis, in that I challenged myself to be attuned to such nuances, and think through the implications of this in my presentation of the findings.

I have spent much time reflecting on the ways in which my identity as a female academic is likely to have made discussions of sex ‘strange’ for participants. By that I mean that talking about sex in the context of a relatively formal interview meant that participants were ‘forced’ to talk about sex using terms that they may not typically have used in other settings, for example when talking with friends or partners. In one sense this can be understood as a limitation of the research, in that our discussions of the men’s sexual experiences were somewhat

‘unnatural’, certainly not a spontaneous or naturally occurring conversation.

However, this can also be understood as a strength of the research in that the

‘strangeness’ of the interview setting, and our lack of shared gendered and sexual identity, opened up the possibility of jointly discussing, and at times interrogating, what specific terms meant to the men. Rather than taking for granted specific words or terms I was, as fieldwork progressed, able to probe more deeply around the men’s understandings and interpretations. As a woman whose primary experience of discussing sex with gay men was restricted to my conversations with my friends, discussing sex in this way, and not assuming that I understood what men meant, really helped me to be attuned to differences in the ways in which men described their understandings of different sexual practices. During analysis, the collection of such data which problematised terms was valuable in interpreting the ways in which risk was framed in relation to specific sexual practices.

In his recent work focusing on his reflections as a gay man interviewing

heterosexual women about sex and sexual problems , Bellamy suggests that his identity as a gay man may have removed any element of sexual attraction, thereby facilitating women’s disclosure (Bellamy et al., 2011). To some extent my experiences resonate with Bellamy’s perspective. Despite my initial concerns that my 'outsider' status would be a hindrance in collecting rich data around sexual practice, on reflection, my identity as a woman, and one who was sexually uninterested in my participants, meant that for some men I proved an ideal ‘recipient’ of their accounts of their sexual practice. I suspect that my lack of sexual interest in the men, and indeed their lack of interest in me, was

facilitative in that the men were willing to share details of their sexual lives with me precisely because they thought I would not ‘judge’ in the same way that another gay man might. Some men spoke explicitly about being less concerned

that I would judge them through the ‘lens’ of gay male culture and ‘community’

sexual norms. For example, Caleb described how he felt that he was judged by other gay men on the basis of how many partners he had, or indeed had not, had sex with. He described talking to me about sex and his sexual partners as being easier because he thought I was less likely to judge him in this way. In this sense my gender and sexual orientation helped facilitate disclosure with some of the men.

Gough (2003) discusses how he as a researcher shifted position during

interviews. The different positions he adopted (the researcher as comedian, critic, professional, defensive) played out with different participants in multiple ways. I too am aware that my way of interacting and ‘being’ with participants differed across interviews. I seemed to build rapport with some men more easily than with others. Indeed, with some men, we found common interests before the interview began, and this enabled an easy ‘flow’ to our interaction during interview. At times, I found that some men used the interview in ways more similar to a counselling session, disclosing feelings and experiences, and seeking reassurance that these were normal, or ‘ok’. Having previously worked as a counsellor before starting my PhD, I was conscious that my ‘way of being’ in interviews was necessarily shaped by my past experiences, and that I may have facilitated such disclosures by the way in which I framed questions and

responded to the men during the interview. For example, I found myself

reflecting back and paraphrasing what participants told me, not only in terms of content, but also the emotions or feelings the men expressed. Although this was not necessarily a negative, at times it appeared to facilitate further emotional disclosure, moving the ‘talk’ away from the topic being discussed. Such

experiences prompted me to reflect on my style of interviewing and my

‘researcher’ identity, thinking carefully about how to phrase questions in the interview. The ‘emotional work’ of the interview (Rubin and Rubin, 2012) was sometimes reflected in my engagement with the data during analysis. Listening to, and re-reading, transcripts at times ‘stirred up’ some of the emotion which I had tried to ‘shelve’ during interviews, particularly where participants described difficult personal experiences. I attempted to pay attention to this, particularly as this evoked a sense of connection with some participants. Nevertheless, I was conscious of the importance of not assuming their ‘story’ was somehow more

important than those men with whom I felt less connection. Indeed, during analysis I attempted to be attuned to my own recollections and feelings, while consciously focusing on the meaning of the accounts as the men themselves framed them.