Check yourself girl, where'd your pants go?

I have a complex about clothing. It probably began awhile ago but became much worse during the semester that I spent in Jordan. The title of this post "check yourself girl, where'd your pants go?" will become a remix to the song "Camel Toe" by the FannyPack. This song is about the "camel toe" which happens when women wear pants that are too tight in the front (something every woman needs to avoid). My version will highlight a new "growing epidemic that really ain't cool:" bitches not wearing pants. Leggings are not pants. It is perfectly acceptable to wear a long shirt/dress/skirt that covers your ass, and then wear leggings underneath it, if it would be too short. However, it needs to cover your ass. I understand that not wearing pants is way more comfortable than wearing pants, but it's not legit. (Disclaimer: I have not worn pants on occasion so this post admonishes my own behavior).

A lack of pants highlights a much bigger problem; a lack of overall clothing. In Jordan, most of the women wear hijab (head scarf) and wear clothing that only shows their hands and face. Yes, it's restrictive and way more complicated than solely related to Islam (another post) but in some ways, I think that it's better. After not seeing skin for so long, I have become ultra-sensitive to it, so anytime that I see an excessive amount of cleavage or almost butt cheeks, I stare. I know that most people will read this and say, well, then everyone should show more skin, and then you'd become used to it again.

But skin itself is not the issue. Our society has sexualized skin and body parts. People including my peers claim that having the ability to wear whatever they want (including no pants) gives them more power over their bodies and their sexuality. However, I don't know how much I buy this argument especially for younger girls. If you look around, very few women in their mid to late twenties show all of their (or even most) of their goodies on a daily basis. It's mostly teenagers. For me, my wardrobe has become a vehicle that I can use to express my sexuality or not and prevent others from sexualizing me. I honestly feel uncomfortable wearing a low-cut shirt or anything high above the knee in front of men that I do not know except at parties. The difference is that at a party, I want to be looked at in a sexual way b/c I am generally trying to get some (and I am usually successful, might I add). But in everyday life, I would prefer that men don't look at me and automatically think "wow, I want to bang her" or "nice boobs." I’ve shared this idea with a few friends and they usually say men aren’t that bad (about commenting on women) as I say. However, almost every time that I have hung out with only guys, they have commented on every single, remotely, attractive girls’ ass or boobs who walks by. I want to control when I am that girl. Maybe I am epically failing and over-analyzing everything, but I finally have found some comfortable pants, so I will wear them!

Lots of love,

Lady Lola

Guest Post: Sexist Slang

Often, the vernacular we apply in our daily conversations expresses much more than we realize. In fact, slang can be – subtle or not—quite sexist.

How would you typically describe the article of clothing pictured here?

Although there is a range of answers could suffice--- from basic to detailed (e.g. tank top, sleeveless tank, athletic shirt, ribbed cotton tank)-- it’s likely to hear the term “wife beater*”. So common, in fact, I noticed the Sheriff employing the phrase in one of her awesome posts (see “SHOTS… of douchebaggery”). Please note that I’m not trying to be a jerk by pointing my finger at some sort of gross hypocrisy: I’m merely making an observation about the unfortunate ease of saying “wife beater”.

Somehow the description of a simple white, cotton, ribbed tank has become synonymous with domestic abuse. People understand what you mean if you say, “he was wearing a wife beater.” It conjures up an image: usually of a lower-class, male chauvinist with anger issues.

The shirt, more typical for use as a undergarment or athletic ware, when worn in public seems to indicate some sort of problematic behavior. In the former Soviet Union, it was called “alkogolichka” due to its association with alcoholics (according to Russian Wikipedia). In America, it also gets a less-than-stellar connotation when used to sum up stereotypes of Italians.

Basically, let’s get the misogynistic terms out of our vocabulary. Think before you speak--- or if you say it, correct yourself-- and encourage others to do the same. Just as describing something negative as being “gay” or “retarded” has become rightful cause for advocacy, so should the use of terms which hint at, or are blatant about, their misogynistic origins.


With love,
Kiss My Ash

_______________________________
* Other spellings of this lovely term include compound words, both with our without a dash (wife-beater and wifebeater). For the sake of this entry, however, I will use two words. Hooray.

Shots...of DOUCHEBAGGERY

I've never really listened to the lyrics of "Shots" by LMFAO (yes, that is their actual name) until recently when I was once again hitting up the classy bars of West Chester, PA. In particular, these lines disturbed me.
The ladies love us
when we pour shots
they need an excuse
to suck our cocks

The women come around everytime I'm pourin' shots
Their panties hit the ground everytime I give em shots

The music video was also being broadcast on a huge, wall-size projection screen, putting the bodies of svelte, tiny women in bikinis (all of whom had more or less the same skin tone, despite being different ethnicities) being sprayed with super soakers and doing shots and fawning all over these heinously ugly men with no lyrical content.

What bothers me especially about these lines is the fact that it completely nullifies the fact that these women might have desires of their own. Hell, maybe they actually WANT to suck your cocks or to drop their panties. But attributing these actions solely to their consumption of shots makes the sexual wants and needs of these women arbitrary. It takes away their agency and replaces it with drunken mistakes as the only source of sexual experience.

On a similar topic of being in totally un-Smith places, I went to Point Pleasant Beach, NJ yesterday. I have some weird affinity for the Jersey Shore that developed long before the reality show; I grew up going to Wildwood every summer, and despite the fact that it's crowded and dirty and full of screaming kids, I love it. It also provides blog fodder!

The shore in particular showcases extreme ends of hetero-normative appearance and behavior. The majority of the women were super-tan, super-thin, scantily-clad with their hair did (huge and Jersey), nails on, and a full face of makeup despite the nigh-90 degree weather. They wore high gladiator style heels and extraordinarily tight pants, displaying an almost grotesque version of femininity with no regard to the discomfort they must've felt. And even as I somewhat pitied them, I felt severely under-dressed, with my bare face and cut offs and flip flops, which indicates only how strong the desire to blend in with the norm on display really is.

I can't speak to how the male appearance of how it makes one feel, being female bodied myself, but the (young) men were all jacked, tanned, and possibly juiced (Snooki, it is a land of plenty for you). Nearly all wore wife beaters or popped collars, had deep tans, and walked with the weight-room-jock swagger that screams "my arms are so large and buff I can't put them down by my sides."

One thing I can say to Point Pleasant's benefit was its multicultural air: white people were close to the minority, and I saw women in hijabi and saris, families speaking Spanish and Portuguese and Hindi. It was a nice contrast to the white-washed, only Irish atmosphere of, say, Sea Isle City.

Sorry if this post is a little scattered. My brain is fried from the Jersey.

Much love,
The Albright Sheriff

The South's Blind Side

I finally had time to sit down and watch “The Blind Side.” Just my mom and me- two southern women commenting intermittently throughout the movie about Sandra Bullock’s character, Mrs. Leigh Anne Tuohy, and the role of Southern women as the game-changers in our society. Yes- our: the South IS different. Not redneck different- Yankees can DEFINITELY be rednecks. I mean societally, culturally, systematically different. I’ve put on my traveling shoes and my sunglasses, and I've spent most of my life traveling all over this lovely nation and trust me, the South may have its issues, but it’s the best place on earth.

Back to the movie.

I’d had discussions with many people- including many women- over the course of the movie’s existence about the role of the white, college-educated interior decorator who takes it upon herself to help Michael Oher. Most notably, this discussion took place tonight with my mom. She instantly took the race card, chewed through it; white guilt- not even a question. She brushed away the doing-it-for-the-fame argument like a little gnat.

Did I mention mama’s a lawyer? She passes judgments like Justice Scalia shoots ducks- immediately, and on target (Oh wait, that's his hunting buddy, Cheney). Her judgment on Mrs. Tuohy was based on the woman’s desire to make sure the people in her life were cared for. In the South, this is what feminism looks like. Chanel and Mahnolos may be the armor, but what drives these married, traditional, family-values women is seeing their loved ones get everything they deserve and more. They are at every football game, they hire a tutor, since they work too, they make sure their daughters understand why they’re strong, and they make damn sure nobody puts them down on the way. They are in charge of their lives, their families’ lives, and they let their husbands pretend they have a say. But really, the Mrs. Tuohys in my life will always get their way. Because their way is the right way. And nobody puts them, their families, or their friends down along the way.

They fight bigger battles than most armies- they fight racism, classicism, gender inequality, disease, and loss along the way – but they do it for the people around them. They work tirelessly to better their communities at home and globally because it makes life better for everyone. And they’re polite doing it. They maintain the perception of being weak and helpless, but pack heat. Remember “Steel Magnolias”? It’s not a contradiction. It’s the fundamental underpinning of strong southern women.
They want everyone to think they are simply wives and mothers perpetuating stereotypes, because it makes getting things done right the first time a hell of a lot easier. They know the old boy’s club isn’t going anywhere as long as southern men need to feel they have something they’re in charge of besides the height of the grass on their lawns. So they get dolled up, go to lunch, go to games and practices, go to board meetings, go to work, clean the house, check homework, fix dinner, go shopping, etc. and get things done the way women have always gotten them done- by talking about the problem and actively doing something about it. Mr. Tuohy would have just kept driving that fall night and asked about Big Mike every once in a while, maybe he would have thrown some money at the problem. Mrs. Leigh Anne Tuohy, however, made sure the problem was addressed head on.

As Rachel Maddow said at my commencement ceremony two weekends ago, go for the glory, not the fame. The Mrs. Tuohys definitely go for the glory, every time.

The glory is why the South is different. We southern women refuse to sit back and let the problem pass us by. We don’t ask for credit. We just make sure it’s fixed as best as we know how. It may not look like feminism to others, but its the way we know how to get things done most effectively. And since we're in charge, it doesn't really matter what it's called as long as this code of being continues to be upheld.

I watched this fabulous portrayal of a strong southern woman next to my own Mrs. Tuohy, feeling unbelievably honored to share a couch with her.

With admiration for all the Mrs. Tuohys in my life,

Texas

Scales Suck

As I've said before, I'm in Res Life at Smith (hence the pseudonym, Albright Sheriff). I have a fabulous house and I love them dearly (plus my room is ballin' outrageous). But Res Life is not all fun and games and bonding, and it does have some responsibilities, one of which is annual room inspections. Essentially, this consists of me and my Res Life co-hort poking our heads into peoples' rooms, making sure they have their recycling bins and no animals/guns/drugs laying out, and then we leave.

But during inspections, I couldn't help but notice one glaring thing that at least 40% of my residents had in their room: scales.

Smithies generally pretend to have a laissez-faire attitude toward their weight, likely because it's not considered very politically correct thing to worry about as a feminist and as a strong, independent woman. But seeing these scales in the rooms of women I never imagined would waste their time concerned over something so petty was a little disturbing to me. I've seen a lot of other evidence that it matters more than we'd like to pretend it does: I had to stop going to the gym at 6AM because there was always a clearly anorexic girl there, with visible tendons in her legs, running on the treadmill as if her life depended on it (I always wanted to reach out to her, but was scared. Of what? Making her worse? Humiliating her? I don't know. But it haunts me that I saw her everyday in that private hell and never said a word).

Even outside the gym and the dining halls and the bathrooms, I see at least a few Smithies with eating disorders in every class that have that look about their face that makes my heart sink with familiarity: they're never really there, never actually with you. They're counting calories, computing BMIs, thinking about work out plans and opportunities to binge in their minds, just to quiet that anxiety, that guilt, that hurt.

But. The majority of Smithies, based on my non-empirical, totally anecdotal evidence, are not eating disordered or disordered about their eating. They might not love their bodies, though, and that concerns me nearly as much.

I am not entirely on the bandwagon of fat as a feminist issue (in this country, it's really more of a public health issue). However, I don't think anyone should be made to hate themselves for their body type, and I think advertising and fat shaming and general attitudes in America absolutely encourage that (see: the recent controversy over Lane Bryant, a plus size retailer, showing an ad of a full-figured woman in her lingerie during prime time. Such controversy does not really arise when we all drool over the size 0 women of Victoria's Secret strut their stuff on CBS every holiday season....I wonder why?).

I also reject the notion that "real women have curves." Do my curvy hips, tits, and ass make me feel womanly? You bet they do. But are the slender and gorgeous La Femme or the tiny and toned Lady Lola any less of women than I am? Absolutely fuckin not. I understand the desire for a backlash against the skeletal ideal we've been sold for so long in the ads and the runways. But to demonize people for their natural body type or to imply that it makes them less feminine simply perpetuates the idea that there is one kind of woman that we should all strive for. Adding a few pounds to that archetype of ideal woman doesn't make the idea of having one standard any better, though it may make it more accessible. All women and all body types are beautiful, assuming they're nourishing their bodies.

So what should we do about this?

Ladies (and fellas): let's start by tossing our scales. Admit it: you have never once gotten off the scale and gone "damn, I feel so much better now that I know what I weigh!" Unless you have been medically advised to watch your weight or to diet, you don't need a number to define how you should feel about your body. Am I recommending throwing all moderation to the wind and eating everything in sight, all day everyday? No, because that also would be disordered. But I am suggesting that your life and overall happiness will greatly improve when you don't torture yourself with the knowledge your precise poundage.

It's a start, anyway.

Much love,
The Albright Sheriff

Why Ads Are Sexist, Part 2156132

Wow, Lynx body wash. Thanks for waking up the men in my life so they remember that petty thing of my name.

Much love (but not for Lynx),
The Albright Sheriff

A Special Message to Our Male Readers

Discussion got a lil heated on my post about the bar scene, so I wanted to say a few things to our male audience (and everyone, really).

First of all, thank you for being open minded enough to read an evolving body of work that usually criticizes your kind, or points out the privileges you have and don't even notice. I know sometimes it's probably uncomfortable when it feels like the finger is pointed at you. But those are the moments when you should pay the most attention. Did something we say trigger a nerve with you, or piss you off because you also participate in an act we've critiqued? Maybe it's worth it to examine that and see if your status as a male bodied person with privileges attached to that is integral to why you're pissed. I'm not asking you to always understand where we are coming from, but to give it thought, especially if something makes you angry or upset.

Being in Res Life at Smith, I've had a lot of training and conversations and roleplays around privilege and subordinate/dominant groups, and as a white person, have had to confront my fair share of unintended racism and privilege that I didn't even know I had. Men, this may shock you, but you are a dominant group, in this society and most around the world.

You have always held positions of power and now that women have made some advances through the ranks, winning the right to vote, to not be raped by our husbands, to adequate pay (oops, not yet ladies, let's keep working), sometimes we might point out dynamics that you see as "complaining" or "nitpicky." In social justice work, these things we notice are called "micro-aggressions" (though I'd say some of them, like widespread rape and sexual assault are MACRO-aggression). To you, it's things that we should be able to blow off, like advertising that portrays women as nearly climaxing over house cleaning supplies or half-naked broads selling beer or the fact that there's no male version of slut. But to us, day after day, these micro-aggressions add up to a very real force of oppression. And that, for me at least, is why I write this blog: to point out these things, to spread some awareness, and to share some sexual wisdom.

However. Sometimes, we might be wrong. Sometimes, we might misread someone's intentions and label them as sexist or oppressive or just a dick when they're not. And I encourage you to point that out, but please, do so respectfully. This blog is neither an academic journal nor an OpenDiary, so let's keep the comments clean (ish) and focused on critiquing the statements made, not the person making them.

Once again, thank you so much for reading, and refer us to your friends!

Much love,
The Albright Sheriff

so fresh and so clean?

I was mindlessly flipping through a magazine last night and came across an ad for Summer's Eve, a brand of "feminine cleansing products" (AKA douches and the like), that stated that "It's always a good idea to treat yourself to a mini-escape," and what better way to do that than a douche? Who wouldn't want to freshen up and have their vagina to smell like berry bliss, cotton breeze, or morning paradise?

Me, for one.

Douches are a bad idea. First of all, douching can cause irritation and inflammation of vaginal tissues, which make it easier for STIs and HIV to set up shop in our bodies. Secondly, douching can actually cause an infection by disrupting the natural balance of bacteria and yeast in the vagina. Thirdly, douching can complicate an existing infection, perhaps even to the point of serious health risk.

The trade off of a vagina that smells of lillies for a nasty infection complete with discharge that actually has a foul odor simply isn't worth it.

Ladies, your vaginas are lovely just as they are (assuming you shower regularly with soap and water). This whole idea of "not feeling fresh" and the ridiculous notion that using expensive products to rejuvenate yourself via your vaginal scent is crazy, and just propagated by large corporations preying on the insecurities of women.

Having smelled both vag and peen, female juices and jizz, I can say without a doubt that women are (on average) cleaner and that their stuff tastes like angel food cake compared with male cum. Furthermore, I have never in my life met a man (though admittedly, one may exist and I would love to meet him) who worried about the smell or taste of his penis/cum, or who would be willing to buy a product to improve his scent. It just doesn't cross their minds, and it shouldn't cross yours either.

And if your partner isn't willing to go down on you because they claim they hate the taste or smell, maybe it's time to find someone who actually deserves to taste you. Because unless you have an infection, there is nothing wrong with you.

Much love,
The Albright Sheriff

Where is she?

I started my internship today at the Margaret Sanger Papers Project (MSPP) in NYC and it got me thinking about identity. I will be researching footnote material for the fourth edition of the collected papers of Margaret Sanger. A huge part of my research will be tracking down various people (mostly women and fairly obscure) that Margaret Sanger had contact with and referenced in her letters. My intern supervisor was explaining how we should go about finding these women. She casually said that we should check under her ( the person in question) husband's name because a lot of sources (newspaper articles, lists etc) will list the woman as "Mrs. John Smith." Now, I have always had a problem with women being directly called by their husband's name, but today, it occurred to me that being called "Mrs. John Smith" basically wipes women from the historical record because it removes their name from primary source material. (very successfully I might add, given that historians of women's history have spent the past 30 years trying to "put women back in "). For example, if I am in the newspaper (a little blub) in high school, but then I get married and appear in the paper again for something else, how would someone know that was me? That person would have to check if I got married and then track down my maiden name. Whereas, men always stay the same throughout their lives.

As a history major, I have a tendency to think about stuff from a historical perspective. How will people 50 years from now interpret this event? What's missing when I try to understand something that happened in the past? Here's an example: Most people will tell you that the assassination of the Archduke Ferdinand of Austria started World War I. However, how many of them know that his wife, Sophia, was also assassinated alongside him? Now, I agree that it's a woman's choice to change her last name or not, and I won't even argue that tons of women define themselves through their last name today. But, I still want to ponder the effects on society ('cause it's what I do now that I'm not at school).

Lots of love,
Lady Lola

"broken"

Last night, Beefcake and I were talking and he mentioned how, in order to further irritate his roommate, Rogaine, who he hates passionately, he used to joke about how he'd like to fuck his younger sister. This tactic is pretty standard. But when Rogaine started to become upset as his sister was hooking up with people, Beefcake began ragging on him about how "broken" his sister was, indicating that she was horribly ugly.

At the time it didn't bother me much, but it stuck in my head, this "broken" word, as I cleaned houses with my mama all day. Somewhere between the 5th and 6th toilet I scrubbed, the word began to piss me off.

First of all, it's fine to describe someone's level of attractiveness and even to use it as a diss against someone's siblings (I've probably done it). But broken?

I doubt Beefcake invented this use of the word, though he is the first one I've heard use it (note: this is not an indictment of him, just the adjective). And the fact that he isn't the only one tossing this around makes me even more pissed.

Because to call a woman "broken" for being unattractive doesn't just imply, it blatantly states that without a set of features deemed good-looking by society, she is fractured, ruined, reduced somehow. She is less than, lacking in some way. She is reduced from a person into an object. It's a terribly effective way to begin seeing women as not deserving, less than a man, not able to have their own ideas or beliefs or wealth or rights or control over their bodies.

So please, menfolk, the next time you feel the need to put someone down on the basis of their appearance alone, find another word. Put your GRE vocab to use and find a more appropriate word. Or, better yet, maybe don't judge females on their looks at all. Crazy idea, eh? A feminist can dream.

Much love,
The Albright Sheriff

Man-up

I was watching tv this morning, and I saw a commercial that annoyed me a little bit. The commercial is for Miller Light (an awful, piss flavored beer but that's beside the point). A guy walks into a bar, orders " any light beer" from a female bartender who tells him that when he's ready to "take off his skirt," he should order a Miller Light. The guy walks away (he is wearing a skirt). Then it cuts to him and his friends, he's wearing pants and drinking a Miller Light. The voice man says something like "when you're ready to MAN-UP" drink a Miller Light.

It's the man-up that I have a problem with. First, the designation of "girlie" drinks vs. man-drinks (beer) always confused me b/c in my experience, "girlie drinks" get you a hell of a lot more wasted a hell of a lot faster. And yet, men take pride in their ability to consume multiple beers in a night (which I can't do b/c I'm a small person and only so much liquid fits inside me at any given moment.) Girls who "drink with the men" get automatic major cool points.

Second, the phrase "man-up" says that being a man (white and straight) should be our ultimate goal. No one ever says "woman-up" because only by maning-up do you take on the role of a man (so you are better, faster, stronger etc). Although I usually argue for Equal Opportunity, I don't think that we should start using the phrase "woman-up". Instead, we should stop establishing such rigid standards of perfection for gender. I shouldn't have to man-up and compare myself to a man nor should I woman-up and try to be a perfect woman.

Third, since this message comes from a commercial, the media continues to reinforce these ideas about gender. (see The Librarian's post about the influence of the media which I completely agree with)

As always, think about it ('cause clearly I think about things way to much).

Lots of love,
Lady Lola

BDSM and Consent

Since we're on the topic of consent anyway with General Lee's fucking AWESOME posts, I thought I'd write about something I've been milling over in my head for a while, and that's why we could all learn a few things from BDSM.

BDSM stands for bondage, discipline/dominance, submission/sadism, and masochism (quite a mouthful, pun intended). It encompasses a whole spectrum of sexual activities and a very distinct subculture, ranging from light bondage and pinching and dirty talk to outright torture and rape fantasy. BDSM is mainly characterized by its focus on power play between tops (dominants) and bottoms (submissives). I experimented briefly with BDSM for a while, but stopped short before ever actually having sexual contact with the person; he wanted to dictate other aspects of my life, down to my panty choice, and as a feminist, I found that infuriating, not sexy.

Other feminists give BDSM a lot of flack, criticizing it for replicating the same power dynamics that we see in the real world (men dominating women) in the erotic bedroom context. Also, how could a practice that allows for the exploration of possibly torturing women and playing out rape fantasies possibly be positive for women?

Personally, I find the focus on strict consent in BDSM admirable. There are usually negotiations of boundaries long before sexual interaction occurs to suss out each person's comfort level, and the use of a safeword to know when it's time to stop or take a break if someone feels unsafe or uncomfortable in any way.

I love the idea of a safeword, especially since "no" is sometimes misinterpreted as "try harder" or as a person being coy. Having a per-determined word that both parties agree to respect represents a way to have more agency in one's sex life, to know that one's boundaries will be respected. Failure to honor the safeword is considered the most serious misconduct in BDSM, since it essentially at that point becomes sexual assault or even rape, depending on what exactly is transpiring after the revoking of consent. Such clearly defined parameters won't necessarily ensure amazing sex, but they will ensure that no one feels traumatized or scared or hurt afterward.

Also, for many survivors of rape and assault, this ability to play with power and manipulate a sexual encounter within predetermined boundaries is an extraordinarily powerful way to reclaim a sense of agency. Add in an enhanced understanding of consent, and I think BDSM has some serious knowledge to impart on mainstream sex and sexuality.

Much love,
The Albright Sheriff

C-O-N-S-E-N-T (find out what it means to me)

As a gender non-normative person, I have had interesting experiences with consent. Let me note at the beginning of this that I often put those faults of consent both to myself for not communicating enough as well as to the other person for not asking enough, and a great deal to the general issue of what the media has taught us to believe about sex and consent.

Really, anything involving sex involves consent – and the question of sex, considering my last post, is a grey area. I don’t think you should worry whether holding hands counts as a sexual act to your partner (then again, lesbians do love hands…) but communication, as always, is key.

In the context of feminism (and life in general, I might argue), communication and consent are absolutely necessary. Yet, where do we find consent? How do we know it’s consent without just up and popping the awkward question “so, do you want to, uh…”
Well, kids, I have thought about this question long and hard (that’s what she said) and have come to conclusion that knowing you have full consent does, in fact, require you talk to the other person. I know, I know, it’s awkward. Talking about sex with someone you’re about to/planning to/would like to have sex with is never going to be the easiest thing, but it is so fucking essential.

Just think about the alternative. Nobody, and I mean nobody, wants to be a sex offender. No one wants to be that awful, traumatic experience you had. No one wants to have an awful experience. As far as I can tell, everyone who wants to be having sex would like to be having good (if not mindblowingly awesome) sex all the time. But in order to have that good sex, we need to communicate. There’s no other way around it. And although checking in mid or post act is a good practice to get into, it should not be your only tactic.

I had already had been sexually active for three (relatively active) years before a partner ever stopped to ask me “is this ok?” prior to performing an act. Now, granted, she was the first sexual partner I ever had with whom I directly disclosed my gender status, but she still gets a damn gold star for both effort and consideration.

Getting caught in the heat of the moment is a nice dream, but sex does not always happen that way, and I’d hope that even with the heat, you might have had a conversation previously or be able to stop the other person if things don’t feel right. All you need is a basic “hey, give me a second” before either changing tactics or saying “I actually don’t like being touched there” or “I don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet, what else can we do?”

Consent is a huge topic. You can’t just have a quick conversation that consists of
partner 1:“Wanna fuck?”
partner 2:“Sounds great!”
partner 1& partner 2 (unison): “Let’s go!”

But consent is also something that requires you to know yourself – not just your partner. I, myself, am a big supporter of masturbation. It’s a great way to explore your comfort levels and sexuality without the bother of communicating it to someone else, especially if you haven’t figured it out yet. If you can feel sexy all by yourself, awesome! If it requires some erotica, some vibrations, a little pictorial stimulation, go for it! Hell, if cyber sex is what you need (might I suggest chatroulette, if your turn on happens to be mutual masturbation with some random dude), then why not? My point here is that finding out how to stimulate yourself while physically alone, learning what you want out of sex, is just about essential to having good sex.

For some people, having good sex is just a loner activity. Food for thought: In lesbian culture, primarily, there is such a thing as a “stone butch”. The stone butch is a woman whose primary sexual goal is to get her partner off - this means that she receives pleasure from the pleasure of her partner. Some stone butches pleasure their partners and then pleasure themselves alone later. Some stone butches pleasure their partners and get pleasure from some indirect stimulation, from the partner, theirself, their environment, what-have-you.

The point of this short lesson is not to send you off rushing to be a stone butch (unless it’s who you are and then, hey, have a great time!), but instead to understand, again, how many kinds of sex there are, how many different sexual expressions people have, and that good sex can and should involve accommodation to all parties comforts, desires and needs.

Over and out,


General Lee

Consent, Agency and Feminism

One aspect of my view on feminism is the essential notion of Choice. Here, I am not discussing choice as related to abortion specifically, but instead Choice as a signifier of agency; the agency and choice to live in your own body as you see fit to inhabit it and interact.

Consent works a strong hand into this concept. The idea of living fully with agency and freedom over your own actions always draws the question: but what if you start killing people? Or stealing from them? IT WILL BE ANARCHY, AAAAAAAAAAAH - but let me cut you off there.

Here I see consent as a way to put a stopper on that chaos theory. Mutual consent, as a regulation, would suggest mindfulness and communication between people. Now, although I do not wish to become too philosophical and preachy, but think of the possibilities of a world wherein the violation of consent was the primary foundation of what we describe as wrong-doing.

Think of the vast possibility of interactions between people if the first question was “how do you feel about doing _____?” – I would argue that, to men and women and anyone in between, this would change lived experience drastically. I cannot call it the perfect plan, but it is definitely one that I'd like to apply more often.

Returning to the question of Choice, the reason I see feminism as the source in my concept of Choice is that, historically, a woman’s choice over how to inhabit and survive in her own body have been limited, especially in contrast to men’s choice and agency in that matter.

Now, one might argue biology as a basis to this historical fact – that if women were not supposed to be subordinate, then why do they have the burdens of childbirth and menstruation (etc, etc)? To that, I say biology will do whatever it pleases. Have you ever heard of intersex people? (If not, that is a subject of another post entirely) The general disregard to the humanity, choice and agency of the vast intersex population is not an issue of what biology has done to them – they can survive and work just as well as any other human being – but instead an issue of how society treats them. Therefore, what we discuss here is an issue of society, not biology.

It is society, social constructs, social and institutional inequalities and standards which maintain the issue of women lacking the agency to control their own bodies as they see fit. This lack of agency both maintains the intellectual barriers women (and other folks) have towards accessing their own agency, and it also upholds the more tangible, accessible barriers (such as access to birth control, poverty, sexual harassment, etc).

For fear of rambling on, I will wrap up the argument here. But I will leave you with this food for thought: what would your life be like if you were required to get consent for your strong interpersonal interactions? How would your life be if your agency and choice were not withheld, violated or unequal to others?

I do understand that these are extreme, utopian concepts, but every thought process needs a starting point, no?

Over and out,
General Lee

Elena Kagan: WTF America

There has been a lot of flack over Supreme Court nominee Elena Kagan, some of which is about the fact that she hasn't expressed a lot of views on many pressing legal issues we face today. But a big chunk of the talk surrounding her nomination is about her sexuality: is she gay?

First of all, homegirl's sexuality has NOTHING to do with her ability to perform as a Supreme Court justice. While I'm all for more diversity and less old white guys (and if she were out, I'd be pretty thrilled that America might be ready to accept an openly gay woman in a position of serious authority), her possible queer status has jack shit to do with her suitability for the position.

The fact that who she may or may not choose to sleep is being debated widely in the media indicates how, despite all of the advances of feminism and the women's movement, some things really haven't changed. An intelligent, accomplished woman in her fifties with short hair is not someone who just "didn't find The One;" she is either a lesbian, or undesirable. You're either Ellen Degeneres or Susan Boyle, with no gradations in between. Unmarried men in their fifties, of course, still have romantic options and possibilities, as they only grow "distinguished" with age as women grow old, haggard, dried up. Double standards, much?

Much love,
The Albright Sheriff

The (Real) Bar Scene

Although Northampton has a bit of a paucity of bars given that it's a college town, I must admit, the Sex Fairies are spoiled. Our bars are clean, well-lit, safe, and fun. Real college bars are NOT like this.

I got an education on this subject last night when I explored the West Chester bar scene for the first time. West Chester is a state college town in PA, and thus chock full of raucous bars. I spent most of the night staring at the chaos and drunk texting myself so I would remember all the lovely details.

The environment was so male-oriented and frat-like. The first bar we went to had five TVs, all of which were broadcasting sports, clearly pandering to the men of the bar scene. One of my companions, Beefcake, pointed out that sports are one of the few things that you can watch without sound and still understand, and while this is true, why do we need TVs at all? I don't go to bars to catch up on SportsCenter; I go to bars to get my drink on. This reminded me very much of the club at which I met Beefcake, where they broadcast episodes of Manswers (the show that answered pertinent inquiries such as "what does it take to make an implant explode?"), catering to a more male experience.

They also had $2 mixed drinks as a promotional special, something I very much appreciated, but which also seemed to unfairly target women: nearly all of the females at this bar were throwing back the mixed drinks, while the men sipped beers. It also reminded me of a frat's beer policy at WPI: men can get five beers free, women have unlimited (presumably in order to get them shitfaced and less able to discern who, if anyone, they'd like to go home with).

At this same bar, a very skinny, very scantily-clad woman was DJing. Before putting on the song "Crazy Bitch," she advocated to the other females in the place that they "treat their men right" later that night.

...female chauvinism, much?

The saving grace for this bar (for me, anyway) was the one lone gay female. With her short hair and flannel shirt, she made me feel at home. I wanted to buy her a shot out of solidarity of being the only folks there to understand the definition of "heteronormativity."

The second bar was much more crowded and college-scene than the first. By the end of the evening, the floor was coated in that familiar frat house beer sludge that comes from too many spilled drinks.

One man with a beer gut and early male-pattern baldness stood near the bar, criticizing the women who walked by him and blatantly looking them up and down. I wanted to storm over and lecture him on objectification (as well as questioning how a fat fuck like himself thought he deserved the attention of ANY of the females there), but knew a half-drunk five foot tall blonde yelling at him would not exactly be the pinnacle of conscious-raising, so I refrained.

And attention was clearly the currency of the realm here. For me, this was exemplified by the extent to which most of the women had dolled themselves up (I'm not sure I wore that much makeup to my prom), but even moreso by the faux-bisexuality on display (fuck you, Katy Perry!). Far be it from me to dictate a person's sexuality (I'm all for experimentation), but these two girls were making out for a man holding a camera. It was not only important that they attract attention to themselves by pandering to the male gaze directly in front of them, but also that they document it for later to prove just how fun and crazy they are. It didn't seem to be about enjoyment for them, as they stopped as soon as the picture was taken, but about attention. It made me sad.

While I'm sure I will probably drink in West Chester again, I couldn't help but be struck by the way the entire atmosphere replicated the male-dominated air of a frat house. It only made me more homesick for the safe, bourgie bars of Northampton, and made me see how sheltered we are from the outright chauvinism encouraged by so many bars and their patrons. We really do live in a pro-women bubble, and I love it.

Much love,
The Albright Sheriff

Questions I’m asked far too often: so how do lesbians have sex?

If you’re looking for this to be an instructional manual, I suggest you invest in some erotica or learn more about the position and function of the “clitoris”. As a queer female-bodied person, I get a lot of interesting questions – both on Smith campus and off. For instance, last summer while partying at a friend’s house in Virginia I had a long conversation with a boy (he may have been over 18, but this was certainly no man) who drunkenly persisted his view that “lesbians don’t exist”. Oh yeah? Look deeply into my queer fucking face and tell me so.

It has been a common misconception I’ve come up against that women just can’t do sex without a man. In fact, from my personal experience, women have lots of incredible sex together, and very often. For arguments like this, I am not wholly against The L Word because, hell, at least we see some women with sexual agency! (The L Word does have a lot of problematic things about it –that conversation is a whole other post).

A gay male friend in high school used to infuriate me with his invalidations, saying that all lesbian sex could ever amount to was “really good foreplay”. His assumption roots pretty directly out of phallocentrism, or the idea that without a penis, it can’t be sex. This might seem silly, but think about it – most socially accepted concepts of sex involve some form of penetration. Even despite the orgasmic possibilities (and frankly, pleasure based function) of the clitoris, if you walk into a sex shop – even a woman-friendly sex shop – you are most likely going to see a predominance of dildos and other phallic toys.

Yet women can, and often do, have sex often without the participation of some phallic or penetrative object. This is not to say that penetration is something unheard of in queer community, it is just that it is certainly not the only form that stimulation can take. Oral sex, nipple play, and fingering are just a few of the alternatives to penetrative sex. As a female bodied (but not entirely woman-identified) queer person, penetration is more emotionally charged for me than other forms of sex – it is good to know that in order to get off, get close to another body or have a nice relaxing moment with myself, I don’t have to always delve into significantly deeper realms of gender and trust than I might feel comfortable doing at the time.

With this blog post, I just want to make the point that sex is sex. When you look into sexual communities and sexual activities less regulated by popular media, you’ll find that the definition of sex is blurred and less obvious than if you are discussing heterosexual penetrative sex. This might be an issue of value systems being created around the procreative act, but whatever it is, I think it is important to note that any sexual interaction can be seen as sex. As it is usually defined in lesbian community, if you think you are having sex with someone, you are. This means that communication is something that absolutely cannot be overlooked.

I believe that communication is essential no matter what when it comes to sex, so let this post act as a reminder. Whoever your partner is, whatever you happen to be doing together, make sure it is an action of mutual respect and communication, so that they’ll know what you want, when you want it, and what you want from the experience. This mutual respect means accepting what sex is to different people and making sure that both you and your partner are comfortable with the sex you’re having, while also enjoying that sex.

Over and out,

General Lee

It takes two: Birth Control Bullshit

I'm back PA for a few weeks before I start my summer internship (which is thankfully back at Smith), and as usual, have a shit ton of doctors' appointments crammed into my time here. Weighing most on my mind is my gyno appointment tomorrow.Don't get me wrong: I love my gyno. She's hilarious, chill, and very professional. Pelvic exams don't bother me, and STD test don't make me bat an eye. But I am getting my Implanon removed tomorrow, and a new one inserted.

Implanon is a fabulous, long-term, and effective form of birth control. It's a matchstick size rod inserted into your upper arm just under the skin; it's hormonal (prevents the release of an egg/thickens your cervical mucus to prevent pregnancy); it lasts three years; and for me at least, was WAY cheaper than the Pill (also had the benefit of not having to remember to take a pill daily at the same time, and saved me the embarrassment of getting my prescription for birth control filled at the pharmacy by an old woman I'd known since the beginning of Girl Scouts). But I'm not here to plug my personal form of birth control (although their website has a nifty chart showing the effectiveness of various forms of birth control: http://www.implanon-usa.com/Consumer/index.asp?C=56846403179342708333).

This fear (cutting open my arm! needles! novacain!) has all got my little brain thinking: why is the onus for preventing unwanted pregnancy on the females? Why is this not something men have to consider, beyond perhaps carrying a condom, or pulling out (NOT EFFECTIVE AT ALL YOU FUCKTARDS)? A male birth control pill is in the works, but they haven't figured out how to make it effective without also causing prostate cancer (although the heightened risk for stroke and blood clots for women on the Pill doesn't seem to alarm the pharmaceutical companies as much). Why have I never been asked by a man before copulating if I was protecting myself from pregnancy somehow? Why is birth control often not covered or only partially funded, even by decent private insurance, but Viagra is covered under Medicaid? (my tax dollars are paying for poor old men to have boners? I'm sorry, I'd rather use that money to prevent an unwanted child from coming into this world).

The short answer: the patriarchy and sexism.

The more nuanced answer: We have built a culture around sex that inspires fear in women over pregnancy. While the Pill and other forms of birth control have given women incredible freedom to wait for financial solvency/pursuing their career or dreams before having kids, to space out their children better, or to be sexually active in a hetero way without ever worrying about an unwanted pregnancy, the medical establishment and our culture has also placed the sole responsibility for preventing unwanted pregnancy on females.

I don't think is entirely a bad thing: I don't mind being in control of my body. I do mind that no man I have ever had a relationship with has contributed to my birth control costs; why is this a burden I have to bear? I'm saving your ass from either abortion clinic anxiety or eighteen years of child support payments, not to mention sleepless nights with a crying infant and dealing with my fat pregnant ass, so why am I the only one to front the (sometimes considerable) money to prevent conception?

I reach the same conclusion: Patriarchy. Sexism. Boys will be boys, but that girl best be responsible. I myself have said of young mothers: "she got herself pregnant." But it takes two, fellas, and I'd love to see you step up to the plate, act like men, and split the costs until the male Pill is perfected.

Much love,
The Albright Sheriff

Who ARE these Albright Sex Fairies?: Lady Lola

Hey everybody! Now that I have posted a few times, I thought that I should introduce myself and my motives for writing on this blog.

Real name: Katie Davis
Smith College Class of 2011

Personal Philosophy about gender: Equal Opportunity Objectifier (as I've mentioned before). The patriarchy exists and yes, we live in a male-dominated society. To change this, I'm aiming for equality which dismantles the patriarchy without replacing it with a matriarchy. Therefore, I don't think that women should run the world while men live underground, used only for purposes of reproduction. Men and women need to mutually acknowledge each other's humanity and not accept situations in which that humanity is denied. I do not ask everyone to embrace my understanding of gender relations, but I do ask people (especially my peers) to think about their surroundings from a gendered perspective. Ask yourself: Why is this girl not wearing pants at a party? Does this wardrobe choice give her empowerment? Or is a tool that she uses to attract male attention that she needs to validate her own self worth?

Why Fornicating Feminists? I decided to write on this blog because I am a fornicating feminist. This semester, I experienced a variety of sexual encounters including a fling, one stands, dates etc. (All of this after ending a two-year relationship). Throughout all of these encounters, I struggled with labeling this sexual behavior. Am I a slut? Whore? Tease? Baller? "The Man?" I thought that people would look at me and think slut, but I don't think of myself as a slut, so why should I let society define me? What tools of society force me into this definition and how? So, I write to share my thoughts and frustrations. I hope that this blog with elicit some discussion and ask people to think.

Lots of Love,
Lady Lola

Let's Talk About Abortion!

I was reading a book last summer called May You Be the Mother of a Hundred Sons: A Journey Among the Women of India by Elisabeth Bumiller (yes, I know I'm an enormous nerd for reading this shit for fun) which was based on her journeys and research in India in the late 1980s. I don't know how much India has changed in recent years and haven't found a plethora of info on the subject on the Interwebz, but I found her discussions and findings on abortion in India particularly interesting.

Abortion in India was legalized in August 1971, a year and half before the U.S. got around to it, and passed with only two hours of debate in Parliament. A woman's right to safe, legal abortion hasn't really come under fire in India as it has in the U.S., and likely passed so easily because of the government's desperate need for another form of family planning in a country whose population was exploding.

Amniocentesis and chorionic villus sampling, prenatal tests used in the U.S. primarily to screen for possible genetic abnormalities, were commonly used in India in the 1980s only to determine the sex of an unborn child. It's estimated that between the years 1978-1982, approximately 78,000 female fetuses were aborted after the "sex test" was administered (the process has now been formally banned for the use of sex determination).

Some working-class Indians sought out the test because they feared that they would never be able to afford another daughter's dowry (disgustingly, some clinics took advanatage of this fear by offering amniocentesis at low prices and using slogans like "Better 500 rupees now than 500,000 later!"). Some mothers even said they did it because they didn't want to raise a daughter who would face the same hard life they did. Other couples who might've been able to afford another daughter cited the shame that mothers feel for not having a son, for the cultural push to produce that boy. As Bumiller points out, between the years of 1978-1982, a study of a hospital in Bombay by a women's group found that of 8000 women who came in for the sex test, 7999 wanted a son.

Let that sink in for a second.

While I won't impose my Western cultural views on a country I know admittedly little about, I want to address the intellectual mind fuck that this brings up for me.

On the one hand, I deeply believe that all women should be able to end a pregnancy they do not want for whatever reasons they may hold. On the other hand, I am disgusted as a feminist and as a woman and potential mother that doctors allow(ed) and even encourage(d) this practice of elimnating female fetuses based on gender alone. I think it's very telling that this first time I wrote that sentence, I wrote "this practice of killing off female fetuses." I do not usually conceive of abortion (especially in the early stages of pregnancy) as murder, but when it's done for the express reasons of wanting a son based on patriarchal demands, my knee-jerk reaction is that it's almost a slaughter.

Cognitive dissonance much?

A doctor Bumiller interviewed notes that it is better to abort a female fetus than for a couple to abandon their day-old baby girl, and I absolutely agree. But I still have trouble reconciling my feminist ideals of every woman's right to legal, safe abortion with the disturbing sexism in sex-based abortion.

Anyone out there having better luck reconciling these two opposing ideas?

Much love,
The Albright Sheriff

The Media.

This title has a scary, ultimate Dark Lord kind of connotation when talking about women’s sexuality and body image, but I’ve been thinking about it a lot in the context of our discussions on things like hip hop/rap lyrics and porn. How bad is it really, and how far-reaching its influences?

I’ve been babysitting an 8 year old girl a lot lately and receiving quite the education in pre-teen pop culture. And I’ve made some disturbing discoveries.

Pre-teen culture is often just teen/early 20s culture. The 8 year old knows the words to Carry Out by Timbaland feat. JT, Rude Boy by Rhianna, and who knows what else. Rude Boy was sung at the Nickelodeon Kid’s Choice Awards this year. I say “sung,” but it was mostly just the beat, since none of the words could actually be spoken in front of the target audience. (Rhianna and Justin Bieber were the featured artists… I leave you with that information.)

Still, this girl sings along to lyrics like “Is it full of myself to want you full of me” or “Come on rude boy, can you get it up .... is you big enough.” The grammar is not the biggest problem with this influence.

Maybe this is hilarious more than harmful, although it’s certainly not desirable. She probably doesn’t actually understand the thinly veiled entendre. The most illicit lyrics I can remember singing along to as a child were “I’m a bitch, I’m a lover,” which has the ultimate message that "you wouldn't want me any other way." Excellent. But perhaps I’m idealizing the influences of my childhood. This isn’t meant to be a “those kids today and their rap music” type of post.

What disturbs me more than the influence of hip hop lyrics produced for an older crowd is the stuff that’s actually supposed to be appropriate for children. For example, the show The Fairly Odd Parents. Anyone who has spent any time with a child in the last 6 years or so has probably seen this; a little boy has fairy god parents, partially to make up for his hilariously stupid biological parents, and wackiness and high jinks ensue.

In one episode we watched, his parents were behaving with their usual obliviousness; his father was distracted by winning a hunk of cheese, while his mother was totally absorbed by the impractical purchasing of beauty items from a home shopping tv show…. On her husband’s company credit card.

Yes, the dad is dumb, but no really dangerous stereotypes are enforced, aside from maybe him being distant and unaware. Smelly cheese is funny. The end. Of course, the mother’s brand of comic folly is based on the obvious fact that women live only to make frivolous purchases with the hard-earned money of their spouses, often to buy products to make them more physically attractive, to have even greater powers of wheedling cash out of men.

We’re an equal or greater presence in the work force but still paid less…. Maybe that’s why we’re supposedly always after your money? I repeat: WE DO NOT ALL WANT YOU TO PUT A RING ON IT. Let’s go back to JLo… her love don’t cost a thing. Let’s run with that message.

This is one case, out of many to choose from (there are moments like this in almost every show she watches) which provides a striking example of the work feminists still have to do (despite the claims by some that the fight is over…. Yeah, just like there’s no more racism in the United States). Very little has changed about the idea that men just have to be rich to feed the material appetites of women, and they can have whomever they want, while women’s value lies entirely in their resemblance to the male ideal of physical femininity, exemplified by everyone from porn stars to “video hos” to actresses to the stars on the Disney Channel. This type of comedy, based on gender stereotypes (the ONLY representations of homosexuality in children’s programs are overly flamboyant gay men who groom dogs or work at the mall) composes one of the main focuses in children’s entertainment today. How are we going to progress if the foundations for misogyny are being fed to the next generation in their Saturday morning cartoons?

Much love,
The Librarian

Miss America?

So, I turned on the tv tonight to Donald Trump annoucing the beginning of the 2010 Miss America Pagent. Like watching a car accident (when you just can't look away), I sat for a few minutes glued to the tv, slightly digusted by what I saw. I have multiple problems with the beauty pagents, but what stuck out tonight was the fact that these women are supposed to represent all American women. Miss America is supposed to all American women and clearly, she does not. All of the women competing were tall, skinny, and looked the same even if they had different skin tones. I was not expecting anything else, but really, Miss America??? Most of my friends are not 5'10" and 120 pounds. Most American women are not that either. In fact, most of my friends are under 5' (which makes sharing clothes super easy!). But could any of us even be Miss America? Also, these women are completely judged on their looks. I bet that most of them are smart with intelligent things to say, but that is not the main focus of the pagent. They introduce each women like a head shot, would it be too much to say her major or some sort of information about her? Maybe they could wear dresses (or pants) that actually covered their ass if they needed to bend over.

I always tell people that I am an equal opportunity objectifier meaning that whatever women are judged on, so should men. There is no MR. AMERICA contest or any major equivalent to the Miss America beauty pagent. People will try and say that this does not affect society but it does. Not only do little girls see "Miss America" and think that they need to be like her but so do little BOYS. Men grow up expecting certain things from women that have been shown to them their entire lives (like sex in porn) and the reality is far from it. All of the various influences (songs, Miss America, magazines, movies, tv shows, school, parents, everything) create a society in which women are valued for their bodies and told that they need to look a certain way to fit in.

Of course, I am oversimplifying. I don't think that women must give up wearing makeup or dressing nice in order to destroy our patriarchal society. Nor are women who do wear makeup or compete in beauty pagents are necessarily ruining our chances to destroy the patriarchy. But as in everything (including my post about hip-hop), I want all of us to think about what these cultural practices are doing to our society; not necessarily to stop the practices, but just to think about them, and acknowledge that these things (hip-hop, beauty pagents, etc) have an effect on everyone.

Lots of love,
Lady Lola

Even More Porn

I had originally planned on just responding to The Librarian’s post on porn, but found that, as is my wont, I was getting a little long-winded and thought why not do a real post?
I watch porn, not a lot and not terribly often, but I’d wager more than most Smithies, and maybe even most women. I think the reason for this is that porn has for so long been relegated as being something for men, and it is obviously produced for men, and with their pleasure and desires in mind, but I think it’s important to realize that the kind of porn that most people are (first) exposed to: featuring overly-enhanced and made-up women who start to “orgasm” the minute a penis comes anywhere near them, and doing it in positions that not even a contortionist would have sex in, is not the only kind of porn out there. There are other kinds of porn that are readily available and cut very much against this mainstream porn ideal.

Amateur porn, for example, often features couples having real sex and real (or at least less fake) orgasms, in feasible positions, and features a much wider spectrum of people than other porn. For me, personally, it is way hotter to watch a video of two people who are real, with realistic proportions, having sex and enjoying it, or at the very least making me believe they’re enjoying it, than to watch some mainstream porn flick that makes me roll my eyes at the cheesy dialogue and the fact that the sex is mechanical and passionless. Unfortunately, finding this kind of porn takes some poking around on websites, which can be off-putting if you feel clueless as to where to look, or feel awkward about looking at porn at all.

I don’t think that anyone should feel as though they have to watch porn, and it’s certainly not the only way, or even the best way necessarily, to get off. But, by the same token, if women don’t watch or seek out porn that truly appeals to them because they are afraid of a stigma that might be attached to them for doing so, or because they don’t realize that there is more to porn than the mainstream stuff we’re often exposed to, how will porn ever change? Women need to become more vocal consumers if they want porn that is made with them in mind. Some studios have already started to do this, The Albright Sheriff mentioned Femme Productions, but until women are seeking out and promoting the kinds of porn and erotica that appeal to them, which for me, and many others, means not fake (the sex or the people), with real (or better acted) emotions and passions, and that are empowering and not degrading to the female performers, or any of the performers for that matter, this kind of porn will continue to be pushed to the side as the budgets are given to those movies made for a male audience. I don’t think the solution is in condemning mainstream porn completely, or saying that it should be banned entirely. I think the far better approach is to work to change the face of mainstream porn: to make women informed and vocal consumers of porn and erotica, and to demand the kind of porn that they like, whatever that may be, rather than simply take what is out there and think of it as unchangeable.

None of this is to say that I have no love for actual porn stars: I think Sasha Grey is awesome, and have a massive thing for Faye Reagan, both because I wish I were as gorgeous as her and because I seriously want to do her, but, again, neither of these women look at all like the bleach blond, DD-cup, orange-fake-tan porn stars that most people picture. I think the fact that both of these performers are becoming big names in the porn industry (well Sasha Grey has been for a while) shows that the face of mainstream porn is already changing, and that even if you don't like the first film you see, if you look around a bit you can find something that does appeal to you.

Anyway, that’s just my two cents on this topic. Other thoughts?
Love,
Molly St. Marks

A short aside...

CONGRATULATIONS to anyone graduating this month, especially the Albright House seniors!
And here's some lovely info on strippers to fill the gap until someone wrangles up a real post.

Via: Online Schools

Porn, cont'd.

Ok. I totally get all of the Albright Sheriff’s pros, and kids, whatever floats your boat is ok by me.

But what if porn is not what floats your boat, but what’s programming your boat to float?

THIS is what freaks me out, along with the wonderfully worded arguments in the comment on the Sheriff’s post. Personally, I have NO desire to have sex “like a porn star” or resemble a porn star in any way. It simultaneously amazes and terrifies me that plastic (literally), fake blonds with beach ball boobs that look like they might slip out of place at any second are determining what so many men (and some women) think a sexy woman looks like. Or make boys think they’re inadequate because they don’t have a 10 inch penis. (Most women wouldn’t want that if you did have it, dearies.) However, while women’s idea of “what is sexy” is pretty fluid throughout their lives, men’s turn-ons are pretty much set for life by age 15 or 16. If porn has had a more dominant influence on their sexual experience at that point than real girls, what does that mean for the rest of their lives? Men in the 16th century thought hairy legs, well-fed figures, and plucked foreheads were beautiful, because that’s what they were given to think was beautiful. Why has the media and the porn industry turned sexy into starvation victims with injections in all the “right” places?

Not to mention, the concept of sex was so limited and mechanical – what do you even need another person there for? There was no human connection whatsoever, which as I’ve said before, is the part of sex that appeals to me most and provides the most fun and pleasure. To not even have their bodies really connecting – except where a camera can view them slamming into each other – was bizarre and disconcerting. Is this really a normalized vision of what sex is?

I was surprised. I didn’t expect to love, or even like porn, but I also didn’t expect it to make me never want to have sex again. Probably that won’t last, but seeing porn for the first time was a HUGE turn off for me personally. All I could think (aside from, GROSS) was, "Is this really what guys are expecting? Is THAT what I’m supposed to do? And if so, I have probably been a huge disappointment to every partner I’ve ever had. I’m boring and not at all sexy and will never be able to be."

Now, I know this is not true. I don’t have any desire to be with someone who can’t appreciate my own individual type of appeal, and I was proud that the next thought to cross my mind was, “Damn, no wonder so few guys have managed to give me an orgasm, if this is their instruction manual. That would never work for me, and that’s their problem, not mine.” I’m glad that it cuts both ways, and didn’t only undermine my self-esteem. But I’m in the most empowering environment in the universe – how many girls think they need to turn themselves into something resembling the very limited conception of a porn star in order to please their partner, and put pleasing their partner above being comfortable and pleasing themselves? How many guys are programmed by the limited ideas of what “sexy” can be? Who knows what they would find appealing if the ultimate embodiment of sex propaganda was more open and realistic. Maybe the body hair phobia (a whole ‘nother post) would die down and women wouldn’t have to look like pre-pubescent girls. Maybe girls who develop late, or just have small breasts, wouldn’t spend as many hours hating their bodies. I don’t want to judge any one’s personal choices; go forth and fetish to your heart’s content, so long as you have a consenting partner. But don’t make me feel like I can’t be sexy, just because I’m not currently interested in that version of sex, and don’t want my personal life to resemble something that’s packaged in shrink wrap and comes in a box.

Other thoughts, anyone?

Lots of Love,
The Librarian

Porn: Pros & Cons

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Hilarious vintage sex ed movies

...just because. Check it out; they're mad short and totally worth your time!
http://www.feministing.com/archives/021170.html

Much love,
The Albright Sheriff

Albright Legend

I'm tired of all this intellectualizin' (not really, I just want an excuse to share this) so this is just going to be one of my favorite stories, classic Drunk Sheriff shit. It is the stuff of Albright House legend, and it even has to do with gender power dynamics (whadda ya know?).

The first time the lovely Albright Fairies went to WPI for a frat party, before I met Meatball, I was scouring the party, trying to find someone to get friendly with so I'd at least have a bed to crash in (if not maybe some satisfactory sex too). Some dude (we'll call him...Skeevy, because that's what he was) came up behind me and began grinding with me (in the typical creeper, swooping in from behind and grabbing the hips move...this is generally not preferable to ASKING a female if she wants to dance, fellas, as Lady Lola has pointed out). We had a bit of loud, "what's your name?" "Skeevy." "STEVIE?!" type conversation, and danced for a song or two before he became seriously aggressive with me. I'm talkin' vigorously rubbing my crotch through my clothes and trying to stick his hands down my shorts, despite me pushing his hands away EVERY SINGLE TIME.

I grew more and more annoyed with this kid, but could not physically escape him (he kept pulling me back). Skeevy asked me, in such a delicate manner, if I'd like to go upstairs and fuck in one of the bathrooms. It dawned on me that this was my moment to get back at him for being so pushy, for not understanding my very consistent nonverbal no, so I decided to play around with him.

I told Skeevy I wasn't sure, playing coy with it. He kept pressuring (drunkenly begging might be more accurate), and I finally said, "I'll go upstairs with you...if you whip out your cock here and now." Mind you, this was in the middle of a crowded frat party. He hesitated for a moment, took a deep breath, and did it.

I took one look at his cock, said "Sorry, you're too small," and walked away. The look on his face was truly priceless.

In retrospect, Sober Sheriff can now see that this was a risky move, because in insulting and humiliating him, he grew obviously was enraged and could've gotten violent. Luckily, I just deeply wounded his pride and earned him giving me the stinkeye for the rest of the night while I danced happily with Meatball.

But more than just hilarious, this was also about re-claiming a sense of agency. This man was much bigger than me. He was much stronger than me. He wasn't taking my nonverbal cues for an answer. I couldn't really do much, on my own, to remedy the situation without getting physical myself, which it didn't yet warrant (to me. Everyone's boundary is different). But by using my sexuality as a tool (men will do the stupidest things for the promise of pussy), I was able to wound his pride enough to give myself a chance to get away, flipping the power dynamic.

Also, it was just hilarious.

Much love,
The Albright Sheriff

Desire

First of all, thank you to all of our fabulous readers! I have received so many meaningful compliments about the content of this blog and I really appreciate each and every one of them. Please keep reading, and let me know if you have any suggestions for improvements, topics, or if you'd like to do a guest post! Second of all, props to the fabulous Albright Sex Fairies and out guest posters! With the end of the semester, the blog has been crazy active lately, and it's been amazing to see the range of posts and how eclectic the subject matter can be. Thank you ladies! Keep it up.

Now, onto fucking...

Lately, I've had the pleasure of seeing someone who compliments me all the time (please don't shoot me for bragging). It's a wonderful change and never gets old (seriously, what kind of asshole tires of hearing their lovely attributes listed day after day?...okay, I'll shut up). But when one is constantly being told that one is attractive/sexy/beautiful/hot, and one does not define herself as such (I am NEVER attracted to people who look like me, because that's creepy and incestuous-feeling and too much Aryan looks in a pairing makes me nervous), one (i.e., yours truly) got to thinking: what makes someone attractive? What defines that?

My gut instinct is to rant on about how society makes these impossible standards, along with advertising companies and evil corporations and probably Miley Cyrus just because she sucks. And they all do that (...okay, maybe not Miley). We all are inundated with these images, day after day, of people who are thinner than us, more muscular than us, paler than us, less ethnic than us, in the ads, on the runways, on our campuses (Smith, blessedly, is a haven for alternative beauties and standards of attraction: armpit hair can be hot, androgyny is gorgeous, and makeup free is the way to be...or you can doll yourself up for class and shave daily. There's an enormous spectrum of beauty here and I love it!).

And that's all true. BUT.

I think we internalize this less in our perceptions of other people than we think we do(the cruel standards we apply to ourselves, however, is another matter, which you can read more of in "Self Love"). Perhaps I'm optimistic because at Smith, really, every woman/person can be recognized as truly beautiful (I know, I live in fuckin utopia), and while I'm not ignorant to the fact that some assholes expect their partner to live up to crazy standards (anyone who tells their significant other/fuck buddy/whatever to lose weight/go to the gym/wear more makeup is probably from New York City or LA, but either way they can go fuck themselves), I've found that I (and most people I know) find a whole range of people desirable that are far from the box of standardized "hot" that we swallow hook, line and sinker.

Even though I drool over Robert Downey Jr.'s ripped body and I can get hot and bothered thinking about the flat stomach and gorgeous curves of Nicole Sherzinger (I've got a lot to say about the Pussycat Dolls another time, but for now, let's focus on objectifying her!), most of the people I've been attracted to and sexually engaged with in my own life resemble nothing of the standard concept of sexy. Beefcake looked like an athletic god but had abominable hair and ghetto fabulous style. Pablo was twice my weight (granted, easy to be since I was anorexic at the time, but the boy was a little...fluffy. Fuck it, let's be honest, the kid had moobs) and had a mohawk. Daisy had small boobs and stretch marks. But to me, all of them were hot in their own way.

I think people internalize standards of beauty and harshly apply them to themselves, but they don't to the people in their own lives. What makes someone hot is not their six pack or their long hair (though those things certainly can't hurt); it's their throaty laugh, it's the way they make eye contact with you, it's something intangible about them that wouldn't be sexy on anyone else. What we desire, in my experience, is not something we can standardize, and thank god for that! This world is enormous and full of gorgeously unique people. To try to give yourself a "type" or to reject someone because she's chunky and a "moped chick" (a REVOLTING term for a girl who's fun to be around but one you wouldn't want to be seen with in public because she doesn't look like a Pilates instructor) only limits your own pleasure and experiences. And why would you ever want to do that?

Across the board, though, I would say the greatest aphrodesiac and biggest turn on, for men, women, transgendered people, everybody, is being wanted. We all have this huge whiney human need deep inside to be recognized, to be seen, to be told we're special somehow, and the (consensual, respectful) expression from someone that they want to jump your bones can function in that way and be a HUGE turn on. Just sayin', it's working for me with Meatball.

Much love,
The Albright Sheriff

Guest Post: In Defense of Male Virgins

As an avid reader of Fornicating Feminists, I’ve enjoyed posts on sex, gender, self-love and even learned what a VHC piercing is (Here’s looking at you, Sheriff). And though previous posts have discussed virginity and its glorification, I felt a post on male virginity and its stigma could use a talking to.

Attending a fairly in your face liberal liberal arts college, though not Smith, I still end up in conversations with people talking shit about a guy and how he’s “still a virgin” and how WEIRD that is (or worse, his virginity is expressed as reason for his weirdness). I’ve watched girls recoil at the thought of “taking” a guy’s virginity, or giggle over how awful he would be. And truth be told, up until a couple months ago, I would have felt at least awkward about sleeping with a virgin.

Then I met The Magician (not a sexual reference, he does card tricks). He told me he was a virgin. Two days AFTER we had sex for the first time (I know, you’re thinking how could I not tell, but the boy’s got stamina). Why hadn’t he told me? Because he was ashamed, because he was scared I’d freak out and never talk to him again. And he wasn’t completely wrong to think so, because after he told me, I did freak out a bit. I thought, Oh God, this must be such a big deal to him, he’ll be so clingy now, I’m stuck with him, oh no, oh no. And then I realized I was being ridiculous. Thinking a guy is less “manly” for being a virgin is just as absurd as putting female virginity on a pedestal and calling it virtue. Just because you “take” a guy’s virginity doesn’t mean he’s going to go all velcro on you. It doesn’t mean he’s less cool, less interesting, or less worthwhile than the guy who’s had some experience. In my case, it didn’t even mean he was lame in bed (I hit the jackpot, what can I say?).

And hey, another pro, he’s not so convinced of his own divine bedroom abilities that he won’t pay attention to what you like in bed (I’m thinking of an ex who thought nothing was sexier than sticking his tongue in my ear, no matter how many times I said it disgusted me. Ugh).

Not gonna lie, it really took the pressure off to be an awesome kinky sex goddess to be with someone who’s new at it all. I’ve been seeing him for almost three months now, and sex with The Magician has made me WAY more confident, more capable of articulating my desires, and more adventurous in bed. Though that might have to do with the fact that he’s really sweet and doesn’t try to guilt me into sex (I had a knack for picking guys that don’t understand no as well as they should).

Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure a lot of people, especially intelligent sexy ladies like the Albright Sex Fairies, wouldn’t judge a man for being a virgin and wouldn’t turn him down for it. But I thought sharing my story might help reach those poor unconvinced souls who could be missing out on some serious opportunities.
Bisous & bisous,
-The Queen of Spades

Monogamous sex is exciting too OR Why My Relationship is Awesome!

Before I start on my own rant, I just want to acknowledge the writers who have already contributed to this awesome, empowering blog. I especially want to commend the Sheriff, who I believe has done an amazing job keeping it active, lively and playful (necessary qualities in both blogs and healthy sex lives). I want to write a blog post about monogamous sex and being in love. Hmm. Kind of boring after some of the previous posts discussing sexist attitudes toward female sexuality, VCH piercings and the like, no? Maybe not, when you consider that some of the best sex I’ve had has been quite recent, and with my long distance boyfriend, with whom I’ve been having sporadic but wonderful sex (when we’re in the same place at the same time) since November.

I want to preface this post with the disclaimer that I am not a serial monogamist by any means. I’ve been sexually active for about four years plus a bit and only on the bookends was the sex I was having encompassed within a monogamous relationship. I’ve had one night stands I regret, one night stands that turned into two or three night stands that I fully enjoyed, a two-week-long no-strings-attached booty call, random sex with people I’ve known a really long time that I never expected would happen, sex with women and group sex with a gay man (another post for another day). And, perhaps surprisingly, I have still managed to come through all of these encounters feeling like I still have a lot to learn about sex and my sexuality.

This leads me to discussing my current situation, a situation that I have never found myself in before: I’m with someone right now that I love so deeply that I can’t really imagine wanting to have sex with anyone else. That doesn’t mean I’m never sexually attracted to other men (it happened once a couple of months ago and it kind of freaked me out), it just means that I am emotionally and physically fulfilled enough by the relationship I’m in right now to forego any kind of panic or anxiety about being devoted to one person indefinitely. This situation has resulted in a number of sexual and emotional revelations for me, as I grow, change and develop into my adult sexual self.

1.Being in a relationship, and specifically a long distance relationship, puts my mind at ease and allows me to focus on my own individual growth, while formulating an understanding of what that personal development means in terms of my relationship. Because I don’t get to be with him all the time, I have to find other things to fulfill me in my day-to-day life, but knowing we both love each other and that I will see him soon puts my mind and sexual consciousness at ease. In other words, I’m not constantly distracted by the hunt for casual sexual satisfaction or male attention.

2.Sexually speaking, I feel like I can take my time. When in the middle of a one night stand, there is a pressure for me (not necessarily put on me by my partner, more likely by myself) to make sexual progress, to do something exciting, and, ok I’ll say it, to come out of the evening having achieved (at least one) female orgasm. When I’m with my current lover, I don’t feel that same pressure to get everything done in one go. The shortness of our visits does help me appreciate every moment we spend together, and of course, every moment we spend in bed together, but the knowledge that this isn’t the last time helps me relax and enjoy sex, regardless of the outcome. Rather than being product-oriented, my sexual relationship with Ginger is process-oriented; I don’t necessarily have to have an orgasm to feel physically satisfied (and then, sometimes, I have three in a row, which is good too).

3.Communication between Ginger and me is a risk free endeavor. Because I am confident that my needs, both sexual and emotional, are important to my partner, and that he will hear them and respond to them without judgment, I don’t ever have to calculate the way I express them. Clarity and honesty are key here. In casual situations, when trying to express that all a girl wants (see Librarian’s post) is casual sex and stimulating (sex) and conversation, it can feel necessary to go to ridiculous lengths not to sound needy, clingy, stalker-y etc… when at the end of the day what it comes down to is craving a good shag! With Ginger, saying exactly what I want, when I want it, whether it’s sexual or not, garners results, usually pretty immediately. Also, feeling like I can trust the person I’m asking, and not having to be embarrassed for wanting anything, allows me to ask straight up and get what I want right away, no games, which I love.

Now that I’ve written this post, it’s feeling a bit like Fornicating Feminists has just provided me a vehicle for bragging about how great my relationship is. That’s not really what I’m trying to do. Despite the immense satisfaction and happiness being with Ginger gives me, things aren’t perfect. There are always ups and downs, insecurities, sexual malfunctions that result in embarrassing conversations or impromptu field-trips to London’s free health clinic, etc… but those are the things that for me, within the context of a committed relationship, make it so easy to feel good about continual excitement and endless potential in our future sexual interactions. There is no limit to what we can do with (and to) each other, and that freedom is refreshing. For me, being in a committed relationship has helped me realize that I’m allowed to make mistakes, to be awkward, and to blatantly ask to be spanked every once in a while without fear of judgment or discomfort.

More on the sexual adventures I embark on in the future and enlightening trysts of the past, to come! Onward, Albright sex fairies, and congratulations on a cheeky, sexy, informed, fun and entertaining blog!

Love,
Venus de Milo

On the subject of misconceptions, self-love, and all the rest of it…

Hi all,

I’m a new poster, but not a new contributor to the conversation that all women (and men!) do and should have, with themselves and with each other, on the subject of sex, body image, and personal relationships in general.

I’ve been rocked about on the rough seas of romance, more than some and much less than others. More importantly, I’ve been lucky enough to have a lot of great support from kind, intelligent people. Some advice has been more valuable than others – for instance, I think if I actually made a “Vision Board” to help me accomplish my goal of sleeping with Robert Downey Jr. or Gael García Bernal, I would not be empowered, I would just be a stalker.

The less stalker-y version of this I do appreciate, and this blog post is going to be my first public, “balls to the wall” (what up, Albright Sheriff”) effort to put it out there and hold myself accountable for believing that I deserve it, with the hope that it will encourage other people to do the same. It’s fun. Also, I don’t really know how to talk about it without just saying what I want, because I have NO interest in telling other people what they should want (that would go against my philosophy of Choice with a capital C… more on that later).

A very wise, kind person recently told me to make a list of all the things I look for in a potential partner – no matter how small or nit-picky it seems, if it’s important to me, it goes on the list, because as the Albright Sheriff says, we have this pesky tendency to settle… and then what we settle for, to “see how it goes,” sticks around for two years and even more emotional trauma.

Here’s my set of “standards,” pre-this semester. I fondly and somewhat irreligiously refer to them as the Five Pillars.

- Not abusive
- Not a drug addict
- Has a home
- Is in school and/or has a job
- Calls you back

You wouldn’t think this would be a difficult combination to come across, and yet….


Now, I am thoroughly enjoying my independence in every sense of the word, and don’t even feel the need to formulate what I would like in an actual life partner, because I have no interest in finding that right now. Here is what I do want right now, and I’m much happier to take nothing if I can’t have it. Here it is… and it might be a revelation to some guys, because it absolutely does not fit into the Madonna/Whore standard. Newsflash: we do not all want you to put a ring on it. And that doesn’t make us sluts.


I would be open to a relationship if the right person were to come along, but I am absolutely not seeking one. I tried the one-night-stand thing once or twice, and have no regrets, but for me, sex has a lot to do with the personal connection. Unlike many other people, I think, I like to talk a lot with my partner, even if they are only my partner for one night, and I’m not talking about discussing my sexual preferences. I’m interested in human connection, however brief, and for me sex is a culmination of the fact that I have passed a nice evening with someone and gotten to know something about them, and we seem compatible in some way – not marriage material, just something in common, something that “clicks” for the evening. This isn’t dangerous so long as it’s clear that it is one night only. Dangerous territory opens up when they imply that they want to see you again; you get excited about meeting someone half-way decent, and then they, too, turn out to have been feeding you lines.

The moral of this story is that one night isn’t ideal; it isn’t very satisfying for me. Right now, I want someone who wants to spend time with me on a relatively consistent basis. Likes me, doesn’t need to be in love with me. Likes the fact that I’m quirky and a little awkward and talk too much when I’m nervous (or just all the time, as evidenced by this post). Someone to text to break up the tedium of the day with a little flirtatious banter, and that doesn’t think this means I’m trying to trap them into a full-blown relationship. I want good, fun sex, and good conversation. I like to cuddle.

Strangely, this has been singularly difficult to come across, but as I said before, I’d rather have nothing if I can’t have it. Nothing means no drama, no heartache, no anxiety. Maybe a little loneliness or self-doubt, and certainly some sexual frustration, but I have my friends to cuddle with me and tell me I’m beautiful, and the negatives of unhealthy sex or sex with someone I’m not comfortable with vastly outweigh the benefits.

Lots of love,
The Librarian