A man and a woman’s very own biology is the undeniably constant reminder that they could never be one another.

When thinking about interracial relationships it is important to wonder what “race” really means, both to the couple’s psyche and to the social environment they inhabit.

Psychologically, it may be utopian — or, at least, naive — to think of people who date outside their race as simply color-blind, non-judging social nymphs. The emotional motives for interracial dating might be hidden in more profound places (i.e. the good old unconscious).

Someone’s desires, according to psychoanalytical theory at least, are more socially constructed than unchanging biological truths. So all the plasticity of human sexual desire must invariably inherit the socio-historical baggage relating to race.

Besides the animalistic carnal attraction to bodies, it takes very little Freudian knowledge to know that we don’t love people per se, but rather the idea we have of them. And the idea of people is built around their behavior, their identity and also the inevitable representations that we associate with them, or “people like them.”

Denying the fact that Suzy is with Shawn because of much more than the immediate qualities she can list would be the ultimate defense mechanism. Suzy is with Shawn (or LaShawn) because of every thing she can see about him — and everything that she cannot (consciously see), but is ultimately there.

The immediate recognition of Suzy’s partner’s race may signify certain things for her: “I think black men are hot” or “I like the way he treats me.” But there are plenty of other mechanisms playing around the issue that escapes Suzy’s rationale.

Perversions, for instance. Not “perversion” in the popular sense of the word, but “perversion” in the “normalized,” Freudian understanding of it: a generic term for sexual acts not involving status quo variables. Freud used “perversion” in an entirely non-judgmental manner, without inferring sickness or immorality. He knew every healthy person’s sexuality had its perversions. And, in a sense, sexuality is inherently perverse in the first place.

So, perhaps, there is a degree of social perversion functioning in certain interracial relationships that we may be naturally resistant to admit, or simply incapable of recognizing.

Contrary to the neurotic, the pervert knows what he desires. His or her relation to the other’s desire must be a relation of knowing, not of question. And what is more tangible than color, if not race?

It is impossible to think of race without thinking of color, culture and, mostly, class. So the phantasm of dating someone who is so completely outside of your world may seem alluring for unconscious reasons. If sexual relationships are ultimately about power, wouldn’t it make sense to think of race as playing a defining role as to who has it, who doesn’t and who is reclaiming it within the couple?

In plain English: the fascination behind a Latino man, for instance — historically subjugated within an American context — being with a white woman, may mean much more than him just “thinking she’s hot.” But a salvaging revenge of sorts, perhaps. Not only is he overpowering the “other,” he is overpowering the one who has traditionally overpowered himself: two for the price of one.

And the girl, whose desires may be the mirror image of his socio-erotic “perversion,” gets off just as well. It may function as a reiteration of her bourgeois status, a reminder of the superiority of her social capital, an accenting of her whiteness. Or not. Every sexuality is different, but one can, and should, look for connections, even if they entail generalizations.

In David Lynch’s “Wild at Heart,” the scene when William Dafoe physically threatens Laura Dern, which prompts her to say “fuck me,” says much about the underlying motives (and reward system) in a sexual relationship. Except, in that case, he doesn’t comply. (“Some day, honey, I will. But I gotta get going. Sing, don’t cry.”)

If we think of sexual relationships as a reiterating mechanism of the self, and of its masculinity or femininity, it is easy to see that race can be a major player in the lovers getting what they want out of it. Because it defines who the other is, socially, without the shadow of a doubt, even if we know, consciously, that the associations we make about someone’s race may have absolutely nothing to do with the actual person.

It doesn’t matter; it is in the unconscious that our sexual drives reside. And we have no control over them. The unconscious is not politically correct.

Being in a relationship, sharing the burden of existence with another human, helps us be sure of the idiosyncrasies of our own selves. It helps us better define our own limits and sculpt our identities. The otherness of the other guarantees the selfness of the self. So if he is definitely he (for instance, a different color than me!), then I am definitely me.

From experience, I am able to recognize some of these theories in my own life. My current boyfriend couldn’t be more “other” than me. We couldn’t inhabit two more completely different skins.

He is a surface warfare specialist in the Navy (whatever that means), I am a filmmaker. He is Asian, I am definitely not. He watches “Smallville,” I don’t watch TV. I read the New York Times, he doesn’t read, period. I love Simone de Beauvoir, he has never heard of her. He likes outside sports, I hate nature. He eats Burger King for lunch, I eat organic. He likes clubbing, I like reading about club culture. He is good at math, I can barely add. He is giving, I am selfish. He is literal, I am metaphorical. He came from the rice fields of Thailand, I came from the socialist bourgeoisie of Brazil.

But because the roles — in both private and public spheres — are so well-defined, we rarely fight. He doesn’t threaten my existence; he reassures it as being valid and unique because his is so different than mine.

And there have been other guys in my life from different races before. Like Carlos, who was Cuban, in the Air Force and had 14 tattoos. But he liked experimental cinema too, so that didn’t work out. And there was Carl, a black guy from Suriname. He was so different than me (he did crossword puzzles) that every time I looked at him, I clearly saw “the other,” not me (a sexuality’s worse nightmare: doing your own self!).

There was Ali, an Arabic boxer from Algeria. Yeah, with him there was no doubt. He liked to beat people up for fun. I was increasingly more “me” the more distant he proved he was from being “like me.” Which in a heterosexual context, it doesn’t take much to do: a man and a woman’s very own biology is the undeniably constant reminder that they could never be one another.

But, sometimes I ask myself if dating outside one’s race might mean being stuck in some teenage phase, which makes me go out with all these non-white men just to piss my parents off.

And what happens to Oedipus’ complex? If your dad isn’t black, why would you be chasing around black men? Perhaps so you can date someone with the same qualities as him and it would never occur to you that he is “like your dad.”

The never-ending, awfully savvy defense mechanisms of the psyche. Gotta give ’em kudos. They always beat “us” to it.

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