Monday, March 30, 2015

Fucking Feminist




Please note that this post contains my thoughts and opinions regarding consensual sex acts.

***
Everyone deserves to experience pleasure and everyone is entitled to a sexual experience that feels equal, empowered and unashamed. Where women, in particular, feel like equal partners as opposed to the secondary participant. Where participants have the safety and strength to explore their desires and to communicate what these desires are with their partners.

The above is my sexual conduct in a nutshell.
If it's yours too then you may just be a fucking feminist.

We need to broaden our definition of sex: The pumping penis-in-vagina is culturally still regarded as the main event and everything else outside of this gets referred to as ‘foreplay’, leaving out the gays, the lesbians, the transgender, and for the heteros, putting prominence on an act that isn't necessarily the favourite part of lovemaking for women, nor the surest route to climax. Very,very few women can orgasm from penetration alone and it's surprising how many people feel there is something wrong with them when climax doesn't happen from this activity. Human sexuality is extremely varied and defining "sex" as penetrative intercourse means leaving out the pleasurable acts and the categories of people which are vital to sexual liberation.


I know it seems unlikely that people could be expected to stay in a relationship which doesn't involve penetrative sex, after all, they have needs. People's needs may include receiving oral sex, but there are plenty of people who don’t view cunnilingus as the sex act. Plenty of people take certain acts completely for granted, probably because culturally we put intercourse on a pedestal. I run with people who share my "outside the box” fucking -- because let’s face it, most of us aren't fucking to make babies.

Historically women have been valued for their bodies and for the ability to improve the quality of life for men, not for being treated as whole people. A sexual encounter that caters only to the male's enjoyment is a throw-back to that time. As a single fucking feminist, I've had experiences that have felt like this relic of time still happens. Respecting women and being a feminist means both participants will care about her enjoyment. Of all the things that can strip away a woman's sense of worth it's being treated like a walking set of orifices.

When describing the act of intercourse with our children instead of saying "the man puts his penis in the woman's vagina" how about saying: "the woman takes the man's penis and puts it in her vagina."


Of course most feminist know that sex nowadays includes more than just penetration, but it’s hard to ignore the cultural imagery of sex in t.v./film and in the mainstream porn industry which is completely misogynistic, catered to male fantasies and not at all an accurate portrayal of female sexual pleasure. We still subscribe to an entertainment industry where consensual scenes of cunnilingus are considered inappropriate while extreme, murderous violence is not. Hollywood is utterly sexist and female sex-phobic. A male's orgasm gets a PG-13 rating, a woman's orgasm (unless of course it's a fake one), receives a rating of R.




Halle Barry's character receives mighty fine oral in Monster's Ball


The portrayal of women receiving oral sex in some Hollywood films such as Away we Go, Blue Valentine, Black Swan, Greenburg, Basic Instinct, Boys Don’t Cry, In the Cut, Monsters Ball actually nail, mind the pun, sex-positive feminism (am I missing any? Let’s all ponder this exquisite topic for a few minutes).

Sex-positive feminism in film is not just about accurate portrayal of female sexual pleasure but also showing examples of women calling the shots with their own sexual health and safety. But I’d like to think we all know that as individuals we are responsible for our self-disclosure, STD/STI prevention and birth control methods. If your partner doesn’t agree with your methods, don't fucking fuck them.


Vivian's a 'safety girl' and she says who, she says when, she says how much

A film buff I was having a summer fling with told me: "your vagina's amazing and you know it". I assumed he was referring to my confidence level. What he meant was: "You know your own vagina. That’s sexy”.

Taking the mystery out of your genitals is a big component of feminist fucking, show and/or telling, and expecting no one to be a mind-reader. Another big one is honouring the emotional side of your sexual relationships. It’s not being afraid to lose someone if they’re not on the same page as you. It’s speaking up and saying “Hey, this feels degrading”, or “Hey, I’m falling in love” or “I’m not into that” and surrendering to the intimate moments when you bring your whole selves into the act of sex and not just your genitals.

Feminist fucking for women is about knowing your rights and your equality -- you don’t have to be sent to the proverbial red tent when you’re menstruating. If you like screwing around on your period, you have a right to tell your partner and ask if they're into it. If you need extra stimulation from your vibrator, let them know. Girls need to learn from a young age that they get to choose how the act of sex goes and that they have a voice.

So now I'm coining a simple formula for Feminist Fucking: 
CHOICE + VOICE 

Not the most feminist Sex & the City fuck scene - he's jack-rabbiting and Carrie has zero power

Feminist fucking is about confronting the conflicted and negative response that can arise in women should we enjoy kink, BDSM, submissive role-playing or my personal fave, surrender sex:
because feminine surrender and vulnerability have been so abused by men in the past. And when there is no equality between the sexes, it is a very unhealthy dynamic indeed.” (LadyBits@medium.com)

If you want to engage in this type of sex, my big sister advice is to choose a feminist partner, educate yourselves and fuck like a slut. And a slut by definition is:
“A person of any gender who has the courage to lead life according to the radical proposition that sex is nice and pleasure is good for you,” write Dossie Easton and Janet Hardy in The Ethical Slut: A guide to infinite sexual possibilities.


Blanche identified as a "slut' to strip the word of it's hurtful power, but still, names can hurt us


Experience sex acts that are journey-oriented and not destination-oriented -- that don't end with your partner asking: "Did you cum?".

Being a feminist doesn't mean there are strict codes of conduct or a board of feminist executives who judge your authenticity. You either are or you are not. It's whether you believe and practice that women are equal to men socially, politically, economically, and in my opinion, sexually.


If you've ever felt like a secondary participant, give yourselves permission to re-think the patriarchal definitions of sex. Ponder the ways you've felt limited, excluded, unsatisfied, voiceless and accommodating. Flip fucking on its side and I promise you will get all the pleasure and all the power when you choose to become a Fucking Feminist.




Monday, March 23, 2015

Tramps Like Us



Now I'm the Boss

I grew up on Springsteen, the man they call the Boss, and from an early age I wondered what made him the Boss.

...And why does HE get to be the Boss? I want to be the Boss.

And so I made myself the Boss. I mimed every word to Dancing in the Dark, impersonated every thrust, replicated every saunter. I slicked back my hair, squeezed my breasts flat into a tight sports bra, and put on my just-baggy-enough jeans. Then I stuffed my balled-up pink panties in those jeans, snapped my fingers high and low and strutted around my bedroom like I was the fucking Boss -- I knew if Hollywood came knocking they'd ask me to play him in his biopic.

Now I just needed a woman. An object to complete my proverbial package.

The women he sung about often fell into three categories: beautiful, pure, unattainable, making her a conquest like Mary, Wendy or Rosalita, Or reckless and living independent lives making shitty choices like Candy, Terry or Kitty. Or 'loyal ladies' he ends up being stuck with like Mary in "The River". The women are objects, voiceless accessories to his vagabond life.



But I wasn't a Mary or a Candy or a Rosalita. I was Bruce. And it was just natural and I did it well, in fact I did it better than he did it.

Yet he taught me that if I wanted to be the subject I better act like one. The album cover of Born in the USA -- his butt; it was the subject. Nothing was being done to his butt, it was his butt that was doing the action -- whatever that was. (I'm sure a homosexual man would disagree with me there as this photo was pretty iconic to the gay community). But there it was, a hard sturdy butt holding up two legs. 




But back to his music. His songs romanticize wild adventures with damsels in distress, wealthy femmes, virgins, prostitutes and girls who 'belonged to' someone else. And these women hold tight to his leather lapels as he breaks-through adolescence into independence and freedom. Springsteen is a true tramp, and those women, well, they're just tramps. And no one ever asks Candy what she dreams about becoming.

There is no woman in the story of Dancing in the Dark but he needs one in order to truly exist and to feel alive. You need a woman to ignite that flame, otherwise you're just tired and bored with yourself. You need Love's Reaction. His stakes are high, he's itching to get out, pounding on the beat, trapped inside his dump of an apartment. Come on you schmuck, get it together. Grow a pair. If I had written that song, I would have changed the lyrics and made that gun get out and get hired.


Without a Mary, a Candy or a Wendy there is no song. There is no Springsteen. There is no man.

Springsteen taught me if I want to feel like a man, I better go out and feel a woman. 


But instead, as I grew further into adolescence, I became less of a subject like the Boss and learned like most girls do -- to be an object. Like Courtney Cox in that video. In fact I dance a pretty mean Courtney Cox.

And then when I was nineteen I met him. He rode a motorcycle, smoked way too much weed, could build a canoe with his bare hands and made apple pie from scratch. He was a tender cool rebel charged with lust, passion and faith. He too listened to Springsteen and I knew he wanted to be just like him. So if he was Bruce then I guess that made me Wendy -- and Baby, we were born to run. He let me in, he was my friend, and he guarded my dreams and visions, just like the Boss told him to.


***
As I go through life bouncing around from subject to object I've collected a roster of ways I express being a man, albeit secretly. 
  • When giving them directions, lean into the rolled down window, with one hand on your switchblade and one hand on your lipstick.
  • Pay for dinner 
  • Get your car washed before you pick them up. Wipe the crumbs and garbage off the passenger seat.
  • Let them give you directions.
  • Help them carry their baby.
  • Always drive them home and always wait for them to get safely inside.
  • Don't use your drill until you really, really have to and those screws just won't go in any further.
  • Take the garbage out, in the snow, without a coat.
  • On your first date take them to that dumpy pool hall, that one with the bad lighting and grab that table at the back. 
  • Help them reach something off the top shelf even if it means you have to use a foot stool.
  • Eat whatever they cook for you. Even if you've just eaten dinner. Scarf it down.
  • Strut through the doors of the subway car and always give your seat up for a child, a pregnant lady, any lady, or a man.
  • Buy them whatever they want from the concession stand at the cinema.
  • Use whichever bathroom you want, just to let everyone know you're the Boss.




Sunday, March 15, 2015

Dads in the 80's: Papa Don't Preach


My first cassette was presented to me by my mother in 1987 when I was six years old.  It was to be shared with my twin sister, of course, and we were still granted full access to my mum’s vinyl collection. This compact hard protective case housed mysterious black spools of tape and came in a paper jacket marked “Madonna True Blue”.


This album had been released for over a year already and it wasn't until my mum heard the song Papa Don’t Preach that she decided that this Madonna character was respectable, her newest single had “a good message” and that she could be a positive role model for her two young daughters -- and that we were old enough to handle it.

My mum cites “Well, she was singing about pregnancy and people just weren't addressing those sorts of things in those days”. My mum also reminded us that it was usually in the car that we had all our serious talks; politics, pregnancy, sex, and sexism -- provoked by the various songs that blasted out of the car radio. Music creates conversation. The proof is in the pudding, kids.

The controversy surrounding Papa Don’t Preach at the time was that Madonna was perceived to be encouraging girls to go out and get pregnant. Or that she was a saint for not getting an abortion. Or a slut for getting knocked up so young. Or naive for not using protection. Or a loud-mouth, (or was it a hero?) for singing about it. Madonna’s comment on the controversy is this:

"To me it's a celebration of life. It says, 'I love you, father, and I love this man and this child that is growing inside me'. Of course, who knows how it will end? But at least it starts off positive."

I wish this song evoked such a simple, celebratory message in me. The evocation of this song didn't hit me until much, much later -- very recently. I am a soccer mom, driving home with my two sons and it’s blasting from my car radio. I know every lyric, every note, but the pang and desperation in Madonna’s voice sounds different to me this time around. So here I am down this rabbit hole, triggered, and self-investigative.

Of all the analysis done on this song & video over the years, to me this is a song that screams:

It’s NORMAL for girls to feel powerless.

The video starts off with Madonna, alone, on the day she discovers she is pregnant, walking home to finally, after days/weeks of speculation, tell her father about her “awful mess”.



Papa I know you're going to be upset
'Cause I was always your little girl
But you should know by now
I'm not a baby

Madonna is alone a lot in this video, she’s sporting a new look; the gamine androgynous short hair, a more toned muscular body. I’d walk around in flats and a leather jacket too if I had to feel just temporarily, that I was powerful enough to match an over-protective Italian father.


The video flashes back to her childhood, raised as an only-child by a single dad in a 1980’s New York neighborhood. In my imagination it’s Queens, in a district called Ozone Park, where the breezes from the Atlantic rustle through their working-class neighbourhood. Boys dream of growing up to be cops or firefighters and girls dream of marrying them. Grown-ups put “no radio” signs in their vehicles at night to stop the crackheads from breaking in and teenagers take at least two buses and two subway lines to get to high school everyday.

You always taught me right from wrong
I need your help, daddy please be strong
I may be young at heart
But I know what I'm saying

Her father teaches her how to do chores around the house and watches her while she sleeps. In every scene the two don't have conversations, he is depicted as her disciplinarian and teacher and Madonna plays the silent and dutiful daughter.



The one you warned me all about
The one you said I could do without
We're in an awful mess, and I don't mean maybe - please

(Not) Coincidentally, Madonna is sporting a shirt saying “Italians Do It Better” as she hangs with her girlfriends. Her hunky, beefy mechanic love-interest walks past. They stare at each other, wordless, her friends are ambivalent. So are his. They're not showing off. They’re not seeking approval from their gang. They’re into each other, truly. They’ve already “done it”. What we know from the lyrics is that Madonna’s father disapproves of this fella and we’re not sure why. Maybe he thinks his daughter should focus on her studies, maybe it’s because he’s from the wrong side of the tracks, maybe it’s because he doesn’t want her to get pregnant.

But herein lies the father complex:  Madonna wants her father’s approval, and by fighting for approval she goes for the archetype he disapproves of. We play out situations in our personal lives that get us closer to obtaining what we’ve been longing for from our fathers. But you don’t have to take my word for it, ask Freud.


Papa don't preach, I'm in trouble deep
Papa don't preach, I've been losing sleep
But I made up my mind, I'm keeping my baby, oh
I'm gonna keep my baby, mmm...

Juxtaposition-ed with a mid-tempo catchy hook, dancing in a cute outfit, she sings the chorus: the decision-making part of the song. Madonna is strong, self-compassionate and determined. I am sexual. I am a woman. Look at my breasts, my curves, can’t you see? I’m not a kid.

The only thing she has control over is her body. She has no control at home, and no control over her future.

Pleading out her plight, this is the only time in the whole damn video that her lips move.  And when she cries out, there’s no one there to hear her. I’m dying to ask the male directors of music videos about such symbolism: Was this stuff intentional or did it just look good?

In my humble opinion, you could switch out “baby” with anything in this song; she could be singing about her right to get a part-time job, or go to art college, or wear this shade of lipstick, or to put this poster up on her wall, it all feels the same to a girl.

He says that he's going to marry me
We can raise a little family
Maybe we'll be alright
It's a sacrifice

Now after many sleepless nights she tells us she’s got her ducks all in a row. There’s that anguish of feeling the pressure to always have a plan. God forbid we let someone down. She had better lock down that boyfriend of hers if she wants to survive -- going from her dad's care to her boyfriend's care.
“Maybe we'll be alright, it's a sacrifice” are the simple lyrics. Maybe? Doe-eyed optimistic, or perhaps her standards for what a girl can have are pretty low: there's nothing ambitious about her future and "sacrifice” sounds like something her father and the Catholic church has lead her to believe she deserves. She’s banking her entire life on the love of a guy who’s just had sex with her. How scary is that.

But my friends keep telling me to give it up
Saying I'm too young, I ought to live it up
What I need right now is some good advice, please

She turns her back on her community of females who aren't giving her the sage advice she seeks. They tell her to give the baby up. But it’s not just actual advice on what to do that she wants, despite what the lyrics say -- it’s for the trust and unconditional love of her male role model.

I have an engaged, loving, wonderful, supportive, feminist father. He didn’t shower me with loving words or praise and he didn’t have to -- the way he treated me I knew he loved me.  He never treated me like his little princess. He never babied me. If he scolded me, it was never harshly. In fact, I rarely recall him raising his voice. Yet for whatever reason, there was always a deep yearning for his approval:

That sense of “Am I doing this right? 

Now as a grown adult my mother is my contemporary, but my father's role remains the same from where I stand. Whether I'm buying my own car or building IKEA furniture, I catch my mind drifting to my father -- Am I doing this right?

I can’t say enough about the torture when girls feel they've let their parents down. Or when no one talks to them. I can’t speak for all girls but for me, all I wanted was to be seen, to be heard and to know that I was doing it right. What I wanted from my mother was something different, what my sister wanted was also probably different. What my brother wanted from them, again, something different.

The peaceful conclusion is that it’s not a “problem”, it doesn’t need to be “fixed”. It just is. Freud would conclude I have a positive father complex; seeking out the positive attributes in male archetypes that I attribute with my father. Plus I’d say both my parents taught me about goodwill, and being independent, and being beyond competent, so well done, folks.

Daddy, daddy if you could only see
Just how good he's been treating me
You'd give us your blessing right now
'Cause we are in love, we are in love, so please.

When she finally sits down to talk she tells him “Don’t Preach”, which is pretty powerful. It’s not a question. Plus to preach is to “judge or criticize” and lord knows she’s already been spending the last few weeks doing that to herself. Now help her feel she hasn't ruined her life and that you trust her decision.

This scene depicts the "normalized" view on father-daughter dynamics: A father’s role is to protect, that’s his job. That’s what makes a father “good”. He’s failed if she’s gotten pregnant. Who will look after him now if she’s gone off to start her own family? A girl will feel shame and guilt if she’s let down her father. Look, she’s covering her body with a cushion.


Papa don't preach, I'm in trouble deep
Papa don't preach, I've been losing sleep
Oh, I'm gonna keep my baby, 
Don't you stop loving me daddy
I know, I'm keeping my baby

He stands up, storms out of the room. She looks up, alone, afraid, unloved, unseen, uncared for, she’s a small cast-away. He says nothing to her, she says nothing to him. Over time she waits, saying nothing, not speaking. Hours go by, repeat. She has no power in this conversation. She must silently wait for him to come around and decide if she’s worthy enough to help, worthy enough to keep loving.
 
Finally at the end of the video he walks into her bedroom, takes her hand and holds her. The legacy of the father in this story is that HE gets to be "the hero".


***
I never knew what happened to Madonna and her little family, or whether the relationship with her father evolved into something more progressive. Chances are she'll play this out in her new relationship. But who knows -- maybe they’ll be alright?






Tuesday, March 10, 2015

Feminist Makeupping




I like wearing makeup. I love makeup products. People know when I'm wearing makeup. It's my choice to wear it or to not wear it. I don't do it to hide my flaws. I'm not wearing it to cover something up. I'm not wearing it to appeal to someone else's standard of beauty. I wear any makeup I want, when I want, where I want. 

To me, that's Feminist Makeupping in a nutshell.



Arabelle Sicardi, Fashion Pirate, who coined the term and is a solid contributor to the hashtag presents Feminist Makeupping this way:


"It's how we present our body and selves to the world, and how we engage with the beauty industry and patriarchy's ideals on gender presentation."


Of course makeup is a political issue. Some women feel they need to wear it to look professional and to belong. Men can get fired from their jobs for wearing it.




Makeup is about CHOICE.  Once you take away my choice, limit my options, or force it -- that makes me feel oppressed and limited and, well, second-class.

Those who don't feel comfortable wearing makeup feel the pressure to wear it to work, to job interviews or on dates. My non-makeup wearing female friend calls it "the lady tax", yet for me, nothing says I'm in charge like wearing a bold lip colour.

I realize some women don't think this way, and that's cool too.



At-work-wear: silver highlighting all over my skin, nude lips, blue eyeshadow, electric blue eyeliner (on top and bottom), blue mascara, pink blush.


More at-work-wear: without much sleep the night before, I paint my lips burgundy, wear pearl eyeshadow, very white eyeliner on top and bottom, loads of thick black mascara and purple blush.



We've stumbled on a society where women are supposed to look "pretty" without looking like we're "trying too hard", and also, glamorous without washing away when it starts to rain. Ugh, the pressure can be so taxing.

And don't even get me started on the rules and boundaries of makeupping.


Magazines, blogs, and Youtube makeup tutorials teach women that you can only wear certain makeup during the day, certain makeup at night and that women over a certain age, ethnicity or gender can't wear certain styles or products.

"Black girls are taught they can't wear red lipstick or who can't find eyeshadows pigmented enough so that really show up. Foundation for people of colour is usually named after some pastry or chocolate like people of colour are candies to be consumed and fetishised. They're also hard to find in stores and are consistently located in the back of stores or only in specific communities of poverty, or only found online, for more money than white shades"
- Arrabelle Sicardi  




Contouring, if you're unfamiliar, is a makeup fad popularized by celebrity Kim Kardashian. The purpose is to slim the nose, remove appearance of jowls, and highlight cheekbones. All to appear more Caucasian or Western and also to make you appear slimmer which is the modern standard of beauty according to the fashion industry and society at large.




That being said, makeup is NOT deception. If Kim K wants to wear her fucking makeup this way, then go KIM!

My first experience with makeup as a preteen was pretty driven by deception: I smeared foundation all over my face to cover my adolescent zits. I considered makeup a tool to mask my teenage ugliness, and many people use makeup this way. The truth is I've been a babe all along, and chances are, so are you.



As a thirty-something I still break-out but my attitude has much evolved. When I have break-outs, I leave my skin bare allowing it to heal and colourize my life with bright purple eyeshadow, blue mascara and pink lips. Now I celebrate my beauty.  

These days I wake up, look at myself in the mirror, think "You are one hot bitch", slap my hands together and with a smile, dive into my collection of colour. My friend has called this so very whimsical and that is exactly how I would describe my relationship with makeup.

My makeup collection is the finest in all the land

Hey, wanna party?

Girls and boys, your body, your face, your hair are all yours to change, adorn, or style - or not - in any way you please. 

Parents, if you feel that anxiety of what if she wears too much, or not enough, or she doesn't wear it right, ask yourself what exactly are you afraid of? 

Are your judgments about her makeup helping PROGRESS -- or are you just subscribing to the patriarchy-pleasing view of how women should appear?

Don't worry players, none of it makes you a whore (unless you ARE a whore, in which case, go you -- work it!).

George's eyes aren't naturally lined blue nor are his lips naturally purple, and that's the point.

I have a reputation for wearing makeup well, in fact parents have asked me to come by and "teach" their daughters how to wear makeup.  I'd love to, thank you, but I won't teach them anything other than to be fierce and creative, oh, and if you don't want to fuck around, go with M.A.C. 

Makeup is temporary, and that's the beauty of it. You can play, wash it away, and change your look as you saunter through your days.  

....And I'd attach these hashtags:

#herchoice
#uptoher
#letherdecide
#itsherface
#beautifulnomatterwhat
#letherfigureitout
#hermakeupisnoneofyourbusiness

Hey Kids! Here's some colour! Do what you want!