I’m ‘That Slut’

The concept of slut is such a volatile thing. It’s usually said as a pejorative and offensively, yet there is no shortage of its casual usage in modern society. Popular among younger generations (but in no way exclusively millennial), it’s a quick and easy put-down for anyone perceived as sexually promiscuous. Ironically, it often has little to do with sex at all! Slut-shaming comes from the negative attitudes and presumptions people have about female sexuality.

So why does someone’s alleged sexuality make others uncomfortable? And how does brandishing that word affect us personally and emotionally? After all, slutty can mean so many different things. It can refer to a style of dress, a type of personality, even a sense of openness about one’s values. Have you ever seen one of those cliche movie scenes where the girl asks her friend if her outfit is too “slutty?” It’s ridiculous.

Honestly, I think when people use the word it says more about speaker than the subject.

Degrading a girl for being comfortable with herself suggests your own discomfort. I’d argue what you’re uncomfortable with is not women having sex, but rather women having sex for their own pleasure opposed to for the man’s. Slut-shaming was invented and normalized by men who want to make women feel small and powerless. What the S-word is really doing is creating an arbitrary hierarchy that pits woman against woman, girl against girl, so men can stay in control and continue to have their way. But it doesn’t have to be like this.

Is it possible to narrow down the definition of slut? There’s no point, it’s like trying to pick out a single star in a galaxy bursting with magnificent constellations. It’s an umbrella term for all the glorious possibilities that lie within the vast universe of female (and queer) sexuality. All that matters is what the word means to you.

My relationship with the word began when I was eighteen, when I learned that a girl should never be left alone in the patriarchy. She needs her mothers and sisters to equip her with strength and knowledge, to prepare her before she ventures out into a woman-hating world. Fortunately, thanks to social media, I was exposed to several women who helped revolutionize the meaning of the word for me.

Simply posting pictures of yourself online can be such a revolutionary act! Seeing female celebrities and Instagram personas like Eileen Kelly, Sarah Machan, and Elita Harkov relentlessly rejecting the norm by being unapologetically sexual online, showed me it’s okay to embrace human nature. These women encouraged me to honor my convictions, and live first and foremost for myself. I hope my story may inspire something similar within you. 

I was a shy, naive teenager who went through puberty later than most of my peers. As sex crept its way into my fifteen-year-old consciousness, suddenly I saw hints of it everywhere. I grew paranoid, convinced that everyone knew something I didn’t, and that they’d use it as leverage to hurt me somehow. I was only just maturing, and I had no idea what it meant to be a young woman or about how the world viewed me. I didn’t know what exactly I was afraid of, but I knew to be afraid. Don’t wear this, don’t say that, don’t draw attention to yourself. Fear and shame are two things girls are taught from the very beginning.

It was especially hard for me to understand this transition from child to sexualized object. Up until this point I had identified as a tomboy, preferring ponytails and contact sports to playing dress up and painting my nails. Not to say I wasn’t interested in having a feminine side, but I didn’t understand why it had to be one or the other: feminine or masculine, tough or delicate, weak or strong.

Around sixteen, I decided to explore my femininity. I wore a skirt one day, and both my mom and aunt immediately asked what boy I was trying to impress. I was embarrassed and taken aback, like I had accidentally signed up for the wrong narrative, one I hadn’t even known existed. During that time I was overwhelmed with uncertainty, terrified of the judgments people made of me.

I recall odd comments, like my mom asking one day if black tights “still meant what they used to” when I picked out a pair at the mall. When the kids at lunch criticized a girl for wearing “stripper heels,” I second-guessed my favorite pair of booties. Could a pair of shoes really make someone a slut? How could they tell? I didn’t understand how such minor details could imply so much about a person, and inspire vehemence toward a virtual stranger. Were my clothes sending a message I wasn’t aware of? Was my behavior bordering on inappropriate? I wasn’t comfortable asking my mom about sensitive issues, afraid she would get the wrong impression. So I kept quiet, not knowing what to believe anymore.

By the time I got to college I was still pretty unfamiliar with sex. Fortunately, my lacrosse teammates emboldened me to embrace my womanhood and my blossoming sexuality. Well, at least at first.

As an impressionable freshman, I eagerly bought into their progressive paradigm: have as much sex as you want with as many people as you want, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise! While I didn’t know if I really bought into the concept of virginity, I was inexperienced and starting to get curious. Soon I realized virginity wasn’t the mental prison I thought it was — there was no mystical aura emanating out of my genitals, no aspect of my disposition that could betray my value as a human being. This understanding empowered me to experience pleasure and desire, to embrace a newfound passion in life. But it turned out not everyone was as supportive as they seemed.

As a result of my open nature, I discovered what this word had to do with me. I had been cast as “the slut” among my peers, and I wasn’t sure if I liked it. My girlfriends were excited to hear about my sexcapades, and at first I thought they were being supportive. But I later found out they were retelling my stories in a negative light, and the longer it went on, the worse it became.

In places like high schools and small communities, even ones considered liberal or accepting, someone is bound to receive this stigma. The so-called “slut” doesn’t usually have a say in it, but still, some choose to embrace the title rather than let it control them. When it happened to me, my trust was betrayed and my faith was a little shaken. But, like any life lesson, in time I was able to see the positive side, recognizing the true friends who stood by me no matter what. Who, at their own pace, also did whatever they wanted with their bodies. I realized that I didn’t have to be the victim — none of us were suffering by having awesome sex lives or by sharing with each other. We were defining our own version of feminism, and we were proud no matter what anyone said about us. 

But it’s not always that simple. Criticism can hurt, especially when it’s coming from those close to you. Without reclaiming the word, occupying the slut stature can ruin a real friendship, can poke holes in a family, can sever the strongest bonds. And sometimes, it can sabotage a person’s identity like it did mine.

Towards the end of college I came to renounce my reputation. I longed for the purity and innocence of childhood, a place where sex had never existed, and so I thought, neither had sin. I came to view sex as a dirty act, could not recall wherein lied its virtue.

Upon entering a serious relationship following a long period of isolation, I yearned to connect with my partner, as well as reconnect with my own sensuality. But in the midst of intimacy, I found myself confessing I didn’t deserve to feel good. I didn’t even want to. Deep down, my body still desired pleasure, but my mind would not have it. I felt so ashamed, I convinced myself I needed to earn the right to enjoy sex again. I viewed my past sexual experiences as wrongful and degrading, even though I hadn’t felt wronged or degraded in the moment. In actuality, it had been exactly what I wanted, yet for that ridiculous reason, I somehow felt guilty. What I was taught, and what I had sworn I would never fall victim to was suddenly my reality. 

So you see, slut-shaming is not so much about what a woman is or isn’t doing; it’s misogyny, sexism, jealousy, fear, and insecurity. Those who stay true to themselves are easy targets for haters and cynics; people are often jealous and frustrated so they project onto others. Because men want us as property, they attempt to convince women that they don’t deserve agency. That they should only exist in the ways men want them to. Navigating life as a non-male is difficult enough without creating divisions within the margins. To make our own decisions is to reclaim the power that has been stolen from us. We must advocate for each other as human beings, sluts, virgins, asexuals, and everything in between. 

It took a lot of self-love for me to unlearn that societal hatred. I was unaware how strong of a hold it had on my psyche. I had to work to feel worthy of fun once again. Sex is innocent, I realized. It is not dirty, it is not a sin. Safe, consensual, gratifying sex is healthy and natural. 

Girls are taught to be quiet, meek, and agreeable at all costs, but self-sacrifice is a mighty high price to pay. Individuals are too diverse to be confined to strict societal standards. Be who you are, sexually and otherwise. Do what you want with your body, mind, and soul. Let the gossipers set the example of what not not be, and free yourself from self-restraint. You don’t have to fall into the victim mindset perpetuated by the patriarchy. You don’t have to live by anyone’s rules but your own. You are the one who knows yourself best.

So if you choose to use the word slut, be conscious of how you use it. Who benefits from it? Are you building someone up, praising their choices? Or are you contributing to a harmful pattern, continuing to treat women as lesser?

I know who I am, and I’m living my truth. I am a slut! Well, sometimes. I’m also a writer, language enthusiast, Netflix aficionado, agent provocateur, sister and daughter, along with many other things. But most importantly, I am honest with myself. I try to be as loving in all parts of life as I am in the bedroom, and I try to pass on what I have learned. Anyone who discourages my truth is missing out on theirs. But hey, that’s their problem.