sex/porn/power

 I don't know how exactly, but last Friday I stumbled upon this article. And I was so angry at the whole thing that it took me the weekend and then some to process it enough to write something intelligible. Her basic premise is that the rise in hardcore pornography (some of which is truly wretched and demeaning to women) reveals so-called "eternal truths" about men and women in regards to their views of sex and how they treat the opposite gender. In particular, the following passage pissed me off:

Men, so the conventional wisdom goes, tend to desire more than women are willing to give them sexually. The granting of sex is the most powerful weapon women possess in their struggle with men. Yet in each new sexual negotiation a woman has with a man, she not only spends down that capital, she begins at a disadvantage, because the potential losses are always greater for her.

...WTF.

While I agree that biology makes for greater "potential losses" for women (you can't run away from an unwanted pregnancy if you're the one with the uterus), almost everything else she says in this particular passage is crap. The most powerful tool we have is the granting of sex? Not our minds, not our wit, not even our bodies in a general sense...nope, just the fact that we are the gatekeepers. Add to that the fact that with each new sexual encounter, you "spend down that capital." The capital of what, exactly? My bargaining power of withholding vagina? What if I don't want to? Doesn't that put me in an even more disadvantaged position, if I'm not even getting what I want (it might not be double anal, as she repeatedly discusses, but can't I want sex too)?

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What I hate about this piece is that she makes broad, sweeping generalizations about men and women based on the rise of porn (and while I do agree that the mainstreamed aspects of porn have changed some of our ideas about sex/sexuality, this lady just goes too far). She says, "A warring dynamic based on power and subjugation has always existed between men and women, and the egalitarian view of sex, with its utopian pretensions, offers little insight into the typical male psyche." War? Really? Sex (and I mean sex, consensual healthy sex, not rape or assault or anything undesired by one party) is not war.

She admits that porn gives only a partial view into the male psyche, but does it really even do that? Or does it just give a view into the fringe that has always been there, and now at least has a more healthy outlet for their (sometimes unsavory/exploitative) desires? She goes on to say that "removing pornography won’t alter the unlovely aspects of male sexuality that porn depicts and legitimizes. The history of civilization would seem to show that there’s no hope of eradicating those qualities; they can only be contained—and checked—by strenuously enforced norms." Can we please give men a little credit here? The vast majority of them are not brutes, trained merely to defile and debase the women they come across. Similarly, the vast majority of women are not helpless dames who have no interest in sex. Maybe if our culture approached sex with a healthier attitude and helped teens make informed decisions about it and to learn how to clearly identify and verbalize their boundaries to their partner(s), we wouldn't imagine it to be this game, this volleying back and forth and negotiating process that leaves one party invariably at a loss in the cultural narrative.

I don't know, I'm mostly just frustrated with what she says. What do you guys think? Does porn and its "legitimization" by the mainstream put women in a real disadvantage in normal, consensual sexual experiences? Are men just total vikings, ready to pillage at a moment's notice?

Much love,
The Sheriff

the strange power of the victoria's secret swimsuit catalog

Bra shopping is second only to jeans shopping in its ability to make you feel terrible about your body and convinced that you must be deformed to fit so badly into mass-manufactured clothes...which is why I order almost all of my bras online, from Victoria's Secret. Yes, I know they use sweatshops and abuse photoshop (BADLY OMG) and their PINK line is sometimes just damn ugly (though comfy), but I can rely on most of their bras to fit me pretty well and I can try them on in the comfort of my own room, instead of in a dressing room, being hounded by the overly helpful attendant. All this to say: I get an absurd amount of VS catalogs in my wee college mailbox.

how are you reallll?

And on Monday, their first swimsuit catalogue for the summer of 2011 arrived. Cue the temporarily plummeting of my self-esteem.

Even with the knowledge that these photos are ridiculously photoshopped (see above link, people), even knowing full well that these women are paid to look good and that's all (whereas I am paid to do things!), even given my personal battles with body image and knowing that by now I've fully earned the right to not give a damn what I look like in a bikini...the VS swimsuit catalog holds this strange power over me. 

I find myself scrutinizing the pictures, practically drooling over their abs, then turning to the mirror and wondering what the hell I'm doing wrong that I don't have that kind of definition, why I don't hit the gym harder, why I'm so fucking short, why I'm not that tan, why my stretch marks show, why why why.


To answer that, I turn to a silly forward email from one of my aunts (one of those forwards that references events that probably never happened, but I like the sentiment): 
Recently, in a large French city, a poster featuring a young, thin and tan woman appeared in the window of a gym. It said:

THIS SUMMER DO YOU WANT TO BE A MERMAID OR A WHALE?
A middle-aged woman, whose physical characteristics did not match those of the woman on the poster, responded publicly to the question posed by the gym.

To Whom It May Concern:
Whales are always surrounded by friends (dolphins, sea lions, curious humans).  They have an active sex life; they get pregnant and have adorable baby whales.  They have a wonderful time with dolphins stuffing themselves with shrimp.  They play and swim in the seas, seeing wonderful places like Patagonia, the Bering Sea and the coral reefs of Polynesia. Whales are wonderful singers and have even recorded CDs.  They are incredible creatures and virtually have no predators other than humans. They are loved, protected and admired by almost everyone in the world.

Mermaids don't exist.  If they did exist, they would be lining up outside the offices of Argentinean psychoanalysts due to identity crisis.  Fish or human?  They don't have a sex life because they kill men who get close to them not to mention how could they have sex?  Therefore, they do not have kids either. Not to mention, who wants to get close to a girl who smells like a fish store?

The choice is perfectly clear to me; I want to be a whale.

By no means do I consider myself (at least when I am being rational, and after I have put down the VS catalog) a whale or even overweight. I am pretty goddamn normal, and honestly, that's fantastic. I've got great boobs, a nice butt, thick thighs, fantastic hair, and (most importantly) a brain that is something not to be fucked with underneath that hair. A brain that allows me to reflect on all the things my body and heart and soul can do that have jack shit to do with how I look in a bikini. A brain that allows me to note that looking good in a bikini does not mean looking like Alessanda Ambrosio, it means looking healthy and happy and happy with yourself. A brain that recognizes that I never could look like Alessandra anyway, unless I grew half a foot and became Brazilian. A brain that reminds me I can construct my own beauty ideals. Sometimes. When I remove the bad influences and step away from the images of photoshopped models. Which we should probably all do.

Do you have anything that, despite its ridiculous nature, wrecks your confidence? How do you combat it?

Much love,
The Sheriff

PS-FF is cross-posted today on Beauty Schooled, which is a fantastic blog about the beauty industry and the price we pay for the products we use (both literally and in terms of the chemicals in them, the effects of ads, etc.). You should check it out!

targeted advertising=new exciting forms of sexist profiling!

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I am a pretty typical college student (aside from the college I attend, of course...and my sex blogging), which means I invariably waste an enormous amount of time on The Facebook. I can't really pinpoint what about this social networking site is so addicting and requires checking multiple times a day (ESPECIALLY when I've got shit to do) but I know I'm not alone with my problem.

One of my favorite things to do on facebook is to X it's little ads on the sidebar if I find them irritating. Facebook (and a lot of similar sites) use the information from your profile (your age, groups you're in, your gender, relationship status, etc.) to target you with ads that you might find appealing. Because obviously you're exactly like everyone else in your demographic group!

Until I realized I could change the ads, I had to deal with a barrage of ads about how to get a flat stomach, with pictures of tan taut abs of what must've been 17-year-olds with a genetic mutation that causes them to not have the ability to retain body fat. The best moment of Facebook irony was perhaps when one of these thin-obsessed ads appeared just below an ad for an eating disorder treatment clinic. Ahh, precious moments. I began telling The Facebook that I found these ads offensive, and eventually they stopped popping up.

But there are other moments of advertising loveliness that are clearly catered to what ad execs assume a 20-something female would want: everytime I visit my boyfriend Meatball's profile, there's an ad on the side for engagement rings or wedding venues or something similarly related to wedding planning. It's insulting that the ads are rarely for things like feminist orgs or nonprofits or anything even remotely empowering or useful. Nope, just stuff to make me feel bad about my body and to remind me that I should be working on gettin' that bling, even at the tender age of 21.

Has FB ever given you a ridiculous, sexist ad? Do you just ignore them, or do you tell them you'd rather not waste your time looking at that shit?

Much love,
The Sheriff

fri. day. links!

LOTS of reading material for ya'll this week...and since I know you Smithies aren't doing jackshit right now, read up.

Smith's Wellness Director's blog is usually pretty informative, but I love this post.  YOU ARE NORMAL.

Once you've been in a relationship for a while, and the sparkle rubs off and sometimes they annoy you...well, read this article for a reminder that they're not the partner in your head.

Stop Hating Your Body. Might submit something to this, and you should consider it too! 

The Business of Being Born is a fantastic documentary that explores what childbirth is like in the US today (and it's free to watch it here!).

I agree completely with this woman's thoughts about keeping one's last name upon marriage (god that sounded formal. You know that I mean).

Did everyone else know that there's a Snuggie Sutra?  Seriously. Also it's very heteronormative, with its pink and blue figures.

Have women been conditioned to not take risks, especially at work (answer: yes)? Then re-conditioning is yo' answer (as well as trying to overthrow sexism and the patriarchy, of course).

This has nothing to do with sex or feminsm, but DamnYouAutoCorrect.com is my new favorite time waster. This particular spell check error made me lol for a while.

Fresh starts for the new year? Yes please :)

Much love,
The Sheriff

i'm a bad motherfucker: in which the sheriff gets a brazilian

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I consider myself a pretty ballsy person: I've broken noses, been in my fair share of mosh pits, and I've got four tattoos and a VCH piercing as further evidence. But a Brazilian wax? Wax on my asshole? Could I handle it? I was perpetually curious. Having had my eyebrows waxed before and thinking it wasn't so painful, I balked at the Brazilian only because of the pricetag. And then for Christmas, Meatball offered to pay for one for me, if I still wanted it (for the record, he has never expressed any opinions about my pubic hair, and this is definitely not a subtly coercive present on his behalf). Economic barriers removed (68 bucks?!), I made an appointment and read about the procedure online, reminding myself that I am tough and I've got a genital piercing: how bad could this really be?

Well. The experience was certainly interesting.

The woman doing the waxing was very young (conversation later revealed she was turning 21 in June), and tattooed and pierced, which comforted me that she wouldn't be confused by how to wax around my VCH barbell (although it did wind up covered in wax anyway). I told her it was my first time, and she explained that I needed to strip from the waist and cover my lady bits with a hand towel, and that there was a piece of dark chocolate for me to eat if I liked. This particular detail was a cute but hilarious touch: chocolate and a Brazilian wax at a spa? Could there be any more of a stereotypically "feminine" combination? The aesthetician gave me an unusually long time to undress, which also struck me as funny: if you're going to have your hands and face all up in my genitals for half an hour, does it really matter if you walk in before I'm undressed fully? Though I suppose it's more for client comfort than anything else, as most people are probably not as lax about nudity as I am.

Anyway.

She jumped right to it, explaining how to best position my legs so she could get to my hairs with the wax, chatting away and asking me friendly questions to distract me as she smeared pink wax that looked like melted silly putty along my inner thighs. The first rip was absolutely the most painful, causing a little twitch and gasp on my behalf but she kept comforting me, saying I was doing great, that the reddening of skin and the little spots of blood are totally normal. Things got less awkward and painful as she continued, but each time she asked a question ("Where do you work?" "Do you like Smith?" "Where does your boyfriend plan to live after you graduate?") before ripping away another strip of wax, I had to pause so as to not shriek mid-sentence.

The most humorous moments were the ones where decorum and manners forced her to use euphemisms. To refer to my asshole, she said "under." I'm getting a Brazilian, lady: I know what I'm here for. For that part of the waxing (which was actually the least painful part, but perhaps the strangest sensation of my life), she had me lie on my side with one knee angled, and then asked me to "hold here," referring to my buttcheek. I had to try hard not to laugh at her delicacy in instructing me to spread my cheeks wide so she could get up in there. 

what the fuck..

I found it a little sad that she kept directing the conversation back to me: I'm sure this is a tactic used to make the client feel comfortable (who doesn't like talking about themselves?) and to engender a better "connection" for a better tip, but I felt like a jerk being the woman paying for something, knowing nothing about the provider of the service. By the end of the experience, she knew about my piercings and tats and their stories behind them, where I'm from, what my parents do, where my boyfriend goes to school, what he studies, that he wrestles and is in a frat, my major, my post-Smith plans, where I live, that I'm a head resident, the kind of car I drive....and I knew her name and that she grew up around here. And that's all.

It's also interesting that this somewhat mainstream procedure owes its popularity to porn. In porn, it serves a very practical function: hairless vaginas show more action. In real life, does a Brazilian wax serve any real purpose aside from aesthetics? I find it's more sensitive and somewhat easier to orgasm to without a full bush, but I also usually shave, rather than paying a stranger a lot of money to pour warm wax on my crotch. But it just doesn't have the same practical application to a non-porn star woman. In either scenario, it's largely something undertaken with an eye to the male gaze: porn is catered to men, who want hairless vaginas so they can more clearly see what's happening, and men who are over exposed to porn want their female partners to have hairless vaginas...for the same reason? I'm not really sure about the male POV.

Overall, I found the experience to be an odd one. Body hair is a deeply personal issue, and to bring in a second person to assist in its removal is inherently a strange process. But also to subject yourself to that kind of pain, every six weeks, VOLUNTARILY (and not just in the name of blogging/curiosity, as I did)? I couldn't imagine doing it. I love my vagina far too much to be a regular. Plus, let's face it, at around 80 bucks and up including tip, my measly stipend would never allow me to be the kind of lady who does this regularly anyway. It's very much a bourgie experience. And I don't know about it being "empowering," as I've heard it referred to. Empowerment, according to Wikipedia, "refers to increasing the spiritual, political, social, or economic strength of individuals and communities. It often involves the empowered developing confidence in their own capacities." Doesn't sound like a hairless crotch will do that for you, but maybe I'm wrong.

I still feel pretty badass now though for surviving (though I was sweating by the end). 

How do you feel about pubic hair removal? Ever tried a Brazilian?

Much love,
The Sheriff

long distance love

Long distance relationships are a particularly collegiate phenomenon. I know other people sometimes have to endur it but that's usually for a specific career (i.e, some form of military) or a very specific set of time (a fellowship). Legions of young folks go off to their first year of college, pledging to make it last forever with their high school sweethearts...only to break up come Thanksgiving.

this is pretty fuckin creepy

Having tried this myself and having had it go horribly (partially because he begged me to go to the less prestigious, less ME college that was 20 minutes from home instead of the AMAZING, MIND BLOWING Smith College that was 5 hours away), I've learned some lessons about long-distance. And although I'm bi and would have plenty of options at Smith for relationships, somehow I've always fallen for menfolk (slash it's just easier than explaining to people why I express myself so femme-y), which necessitates a distance of sorts (even if it's just a ride on the PVTA with the local crazies and drunk UMass kids).

For the first-year Thanksgiving Dump activity, it's less that long-distance is inherently flawed than it is that attempting to maintain a strong tie to someone who knew you pre-college (pre-the person you became when you stepped on campus, pre-your first frat party, pre-your mind-blowing classes, pre-your all-night discussions about love and god and sex and race and war with your housemates) and to remain unchanged to preserve image they have of you is flawed. People change and waver and grow organically and sometimes do regrettable ridiculous shit (especially in college), and it's difficult to fully experience that process when you're tied to someone "from home" in such an intimate way.

Furthermore, I think going off to college more viscerally forces you to choose who you want to be: as the first person in my family to go to college, I had to actually choose to step into and begin to transition into the middle class (let no one fool you: this is not an easy process. No matter how smart and sophisticated I felt in my hometown, Smithies leave me in the dust on the daily with their cultural capital, and there is no faking or cultivating that knowledge they naturally have), which also meant recognizing my hometown sweetie who worked at Burger King and had no plans was no longer It for me.

But can it work post-college? I'd like to think so. I'll (hopefully) wind up discovering that for myself. It's hard because there's times when the physicality of relationships (the snuggling on the couch, the lying your head on their chest, the feeling of their hot breath on your neck during sex, just smiling at them during a meal) is all you ache for. And the insecurity of having no idea what they're doing much of the time? It can be agonizing sometimes. But with a little work, regular Skype dates, masturbation, and phone sex, I think it can be accomplished....as long as you allow each other to change and grow naturally. Balancing act, for sure.

Your thoughts?
Much love,
The Sheriff

dear medical establishment

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Not gonna lie: thanks to bad genetics and an eating disorder that involved copious amounts of vomiting (and hence stomach acid bathing my teeth on the daily for a long time), my teeth are in pretty bad shape. I've got a lovely smile, but it hides many many cavities. I've spent hours of my life in dentist's chairs, getting fillings, and thanking god we had dental insurance to cover at least part of the procedure. And I've always been up front with dentists about my health history so that they know what they're dealing with. But today's experience left a nasty taste in my mouth with the medical community.

I went into my dentist this morning for a cleaning, fully prepared for The Look of Judgment when I tell the hygienist I've only been flossing twice a week, as if we're discussing my moral status as a human being instead of my plaque content. And I got all that, plus a painfully deep cleaning, and more. My dentist came in at the end to give my mouth the once over, and per usual, wrote up a few spots that need drilling. As she examined my teeth and made me bite down, she asked, "You had an eating disorder?" I nodded. "Throwing up?" Surprised by her bluntness, I nodded again. She sighed, looked me in the eyes, and said, "You really shouldn't have done that. It's very bad for you."

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Really? You think I didn't know that? You don't think that may have occurred to me before, prompting me to put myself through recovery and treatment centers twice? You think I'm that stupid? I really can't stand the holier-than-thou, thou-art-so-stupid act that doctors dose out to their patients, especially young, female, or fat ones. I've had doctors trivilize my eating disorder (including a psychologist who told me I should just eat bananas to replenish lost potassium from purging and then I'd be fine). I've heard horror stories of Smithies going to Health Services and facing The Judgment for their sexual activities. And I know larger people face it nearly everywhere they go, from doctors offices to restaurants where the waitress raises her eyebrows at their choice to order desert. It's bullshit. Being young and female (and even having had an eating disorder) does not make me stupid in regards to my health, believe it or not.

Much love,
The Sheriff