RoleModel: Erika Lust

RoleModel is an interview series highlighting badass individuals.

When we think of game-changers, the name Erika Lust often comes to mind. Quite simply the most influential living female pornographer, her work has exploded the boundaries of the adult film industry. Tired of watching porn made for and by men, Lust took the camera into her own and began to create work guided by female viewpoints, feminism, and storytelling. Since entering the scene in 2004, her films (which she often conceives, writes, and directs) have won countless awards. She’s since launched her own production company which continues to make films that are as politically radical as they are sexy. Basically, she’s the Gloria Steinem of pornography.

I got the chance to pick the legend’s brain.

Do you remember the first time you saw porn?

Erika: The first time I saw porn I was at a friend’s house having a sleepover when we found an adult film that belonged to her dad. We were excited to watch it and to uncover the mysteries of sex, but we were so disappointed with what we saw. After that, I left [porn] alone for a long time until my college boyfriend suggested watching some together. I tried again… he liked it, I didn’t. I was bored of watching films where the woman’s role was to give pleasure to the man, yet her pleasure was completely ignored. I knew that there was so much more to sexuality than what was depicted in these films. Plus the cinephile in me couldn’t understand why all of the porn I saw lacked imagination, a story line, relatable characters and cinematic qualities. I understood that it was made with the sole purpose to arouse, but I didn’t understand why we had to forfeit the satisfaction of our other visual senses!

Can you tell us how you got started in the porn industry?

I first became interested in the adult industry when I was studying and read Linda Williams’ book Hard Core: Power, Pleasure, and the “Frenzy of the Visible.” It showed me that porn was its own genre, with its own history and it was a specific cinematic trend. Porn is part of a wider discourse on sexuality, Williams explains that porn always wants to be about sex, but on closer inspection — it’s always about gender.

This sparked my interest in porn, but it wasn’t until later that I acted upon it. My first film, The Good Girl, was a humorous take on the classic pizza delivery boy porn trope. I cringe a bit looking at it now, because it’s technically poor, but it was a start and it still somehow works! The film was really cute and completely different to what we were used to seeing in mainstream porn. I put it online and it ended up getting 2 million downloads!

That’s when I realised there were other people out there looking for alternatives to mainstream pornography, and so I decided to start making adult films that reflected my own ideas and values on sex and gender. I went on to direct four more adult features before starting XConfessions [one of Lust’s better known film series] in 2013. XConfessions is an audiovisual project where users send me their sexual fantasies and I turn them into explicit short films. At the beginning it was just me making the films, but two years ago I started a worldwide open call for guest directors, so now we have filmmakers all over the world turning confessions into films and showing us their take on sexuality. It’s a really beautiful crowd-sourced project.

Did you always know you’d end up working in adult film?

No, not at all! It wasn’t something I really contemplated until I was living in Barcelona. I moved here after my degree and was initially looking to work in international development, but I was in need of some money and took a job as a runner on a tv set. I worked hard and made my way up to production assistant. Then I suddenly had this restless feeling of wanting to make my own movies. So I took a few night courses to study film direction, and once I had saved enough money to make my own project I made The Good Girl.

Did you receive pushback from anyone in the industry in regards to your woman-centric approach?

Yes, definitely. People are still more annoyed by me being a feminist, rather than a pornographer. Certainly at the beginning of my career men in the industry did not want my feminist perspective coming in to change “their porn.” They refused to acknowledge the problems in mainstream porn — the complete disregard for female pleasure, the harmful categorization and othering, gender role stereotyping, the relentless male gaze… the list goes on! Anyway, I was making something that prioritised the female experience, and they didn’t like it.

We each approach feminism in our own way, and the movement is constantly growing and expanding, but it seems that our feminism is suddenly under intense scrutiny. There is a legion of judgemental people looking to police and find faults in other women’s actions. It is undeniable that, because I’m a woman who is vocal about what I dislike in the industry and because I’m pushing to have an impact, I will attract a lot of criticism. There is still some backlash against feminist pornographers because we live in a society that is often sex negative — especially towards women — and there is still a lot of confusion over exactly what “feminist porn” is. I don’t see half of the criticism I receive being given to male L.A. studio owners, who have done nothing to change the industry at all.

What upsets you most in the mainstream porn industry?

I am really concerned with the way certain fantasies are presented and categorized in mainstream porn and the “othering” involved using this criteria. There is a reduction of the performer to their primal feature (size, age, ethnicity, etc.). A lot of sites still put all people of color into exoticized genres, set apart from “regular” porn. Categorization is a really harmful issue for performers and racism in the porn industry is jaw-dropping. Not only are the films marketed with racialized language but the sexual content exclusively relies on racist stereotypes as a motive, which dehumanizes the performers. Interracial porn is not a thing for me for instance, it’s just people having sex.

Porn has never been known for its delicate treatment of marginalized groups — and that clearly includes older performers, too. When scenes are shot with MILFs, they don’t exactly set out to break down ageism so much as to exploit it. It’s also obviously not a true representation of older generation sex, some performers film their first MILF scenes in their early 20s. This is something I’ve wanted to address for a while, and I recently had the opportunity to make a film with a mature couple who wanted to showcase their sexuality and their version of slow, soulful sex. It’s a really beautiful, emotive sex documentary and it will be released on XConfessions next year, so stay tuned for more info!

How would you define feminist porn?

There is still a lot of confusion over exactly what “feminist porn” is. For me, it reclaims a genre that has traditionally been seen exclusively as the purview of men. It’s made by feminist directors who directly inject their feminist values into the films. Women have leading roles behind the camera as directors, producers, art directors, directors of photography, etc. making active decisions about how the film is produced and presented, and the stories are told through the female gaze.

Feminist porn creates a sex positive space for women to reclaim their sexuality, pleasure, and desires. Women are shown with sexual agency, owning their pleasure. Men and women are treated as sexual collaborators, not as objects or machines. The films promote role equality and there is no gender stereotyping, which is ultimately harmful for both men and women. In the films, the culture of consent is paramount. There is never any simulation of coercion, pedophilia, or abuse. There is no depiction of aggressive violent sex or rape scenes (not to be confused with BDSM practices). Diversity is key and the films push the representation of human sexuality and identity, showing the diverse ways of desiring and having sex. Marginalized groups are represented without being fetishized or categorized.

Feminist porn is so important because we need to show the world that female pleasure matters. Not because male pleasure doesn’t matter, but because we’ve been watching a type of porn that completely ignores women sexuality for too long. And it’s important to understand that porn has the power to liberate! It doesn’t have to be a negative part of our society. We can create porn where people can see themselves in those films, to see the sex they have, to be inspired, become educated, and receptive to the huge range of different sexualities out there. And most importantly they don’t need to be exposed to one version of porn that teaches them toxic values.

Does your work ever get pirated onto larger free sites such as PornHub?

Yes, all the time! Just recently I was in a battle with PornHub asking them to remove some of my XConfessions films but they were ignoring me. Until I called out their behavior on Twitter, they didn’t do anything — and the DMCA compliant notice forms my employee was sending were a waste of time. These sites are a huge problem for the industry, and they’ve put many filmmakers out of business.

Sites such as PornHub are not making their own material, they’re stealing it. They traditionally rely on “users” uploading content to the site who should declare that they have the rights to do so, but it’s clear that amid large quantities of fully licensed material, content exists on PornHub that is infringing copyright. But because they claim to be a completely user generated content site, they’re protected by the provision that they can’t monitor copyrights of every video uploaded.

When a filmmaker finds that their content has been illegally uploaded they can report it and the tube site is served with a DMCA takedown notice, upon which they remove the stolen content. However, the next day the same video is often re-uploaded by another (sometimes the same) user. Obviously small porn studios do not have the time to be trawling through tube sites looking for their content every day. Therefore content goes up faster than studios can issue demands for it to be taken down.

The pirating business model has completely decimated the industry and put many production studios and performers out of business. The industry is no longer as lucrative as it once was. When you shoot your own content as a performer or as a production company and the content is uploaded to the tube sites, it does not matter if it is watched one million times, you are not getting any money from those views. This has pushed many companies to closure and others have lost lots of money. For many of those that survived they’ve had to change how they work by making lower budget films.

Lower budget films can often means less money for the performers. When PornHub launched in the 2000s, performers’ wages dropped massively. Most of them now also do other forms of sex work to create further cash flow in order to create a brand around their name, gain fans, and become well known. This is the way for performers to gain financial security. When a performer has many different income revenues and treat their career as a business that has to be handled professionally and responsibly, then they can save for the future. It’s really hard work.

In my case, I have very loyal customers who know the importance of paying for porn, and they pay for the content I license and the short films I shoot. I’m not targeting the average porn consumer who is looking online for infinite amounts of free porn.

How do you think porn influences the young people who watch it — specifically, young men?

Porn can be particularly harmful towards young people when it teaches them to prioritize male pleasure, shows them harmful gender roles, ignores the importance of consent, shows particular body types as the norm, and presents hard-core sexual fantasies as the only way to have sex. For boys, they may learn that they’re supposed to “perform” a certain way — be very dominant, choke, and slap the female without asking for their consent, last for a certain length of time, cum all over her to signal the end of sex, etc. This can not only leave a lot of young men incredibly anxious about their performance, but also teach them very harmful behaviors for when they come to have sex.

The issue we have is that kids are curious and pretty much every time they type something sex related into a search engine, they’ll be greeted by something like PornHub where they’ll be bombarded with a lot of degrading, disrespectful sex which doesn’t always appear to be consensual. We can’t stop kids from finding these sites so instead of ignoring it or trying to ban it (which will never happen), let’s educate them. By acknowledging porn, it immediately becomes less shameful and opens up a dialogue, which leads to healthy, active learning! Parents who don’t talk to their kids about what’s online are leaving the porn industry to step in as their children’s sex educator.

Good, up-to-date, useful sex education is lacking pretty much everywhere. We know that a huge percentage of schools are not providing adequate sex education. At no point in a child’s education does anyone teach them about consent, which seems like a pretty crucial lesson to me. Our kids aren’t oblivious to sex. Porn is always going to exist, so giving kids the tools to be critical and aware of what they’re watching is unbelievably important! They should be able to differentiate between the types of porn and understand what respectful, equal sex between consenting adults is. When they are old enough, they will see that certain porn can promote gender equality, intimacy, diversity, affirmative consent, safety, pleasure and sexual freedom and exploration.

These concerns are exactly why my partner and I started the non-profit website The Porn Conversation, which offers tools for parents to talk to their children at home. By having open and honest conversations, they will develop much healthier attitudes towards sex and relationships. They will be able discuss their feelings, communicate their sexual desires, and be happier people for it!

I’ve read that you work primarily in Barcelona — is there something about Spanish culture that influences or permits your work to thrive?

After I finished my graduate degree in Sweden, I moved to Barcelona and immediately felt that the city was much more receptive to my vision. My ideas and values on sex began to take shape growing up and studying in Sweden, but it was in Barcelona that I started working as an adult filmmaker and created Erika Lust Films. When I first moved here I felt so liberated, I felt like I could be or do whatever I wanted. I had no eyes on me and I was away from the high standards in Sweden that required me to be more polished. Barcelona gave me the creative freedom to start making adult films. My friends were of all different sexualities and genders, and on the whole the people here are very open minded and sex positive. Sexuality is something to embrace and celebrate, and the people are creative, inspiring, and sexy. I continue to work mainly in and around Barcelona, but thanks to my guest directors program, we now have XConfessions films shot all around the world!

What are you hoping to change in the porn industry?

My mission has always been to show that women’s pleasure matters. I want to show that women have their own sex drive and desires, and are not passive objects exclusively focused on pleasuring the men. XConfessions is adult cinema that is smart, sex positive, and respectful to women. It offers a representation of women’s pleasure and sex on screen that challenges the unchecked misogynistic attitudes, racist categorizations, and degrading narratives of mass-produced porn. Gagging, slapping, and vomiting are presented as mainstream fantasies. Of course some women like these things, but they shouldn’t be presented as the alpha and omega of sex. With my films, I show women enjoying themselves while receiving and giving pleasure in relatable scenarios. Women have their own sexual agency and take ownership of their sexuality and their bodies. It doesn’t matter if the film is kinky, romantic or anything in between; what empowers women is to have a voice in the story and to seek their own desire. And in turn I can squash the belief that women aren’t as aroused by sex on screen as men!

When I first started out female pleasure was missing in a lot of the mainstream porn on the free tube sites. In recent years this has thankfully started to change, there are more female filmmakers in the industry with loud voices and who stand by their work. This includes brilliant filmmakers such as Shine Louise Houston, Jennifer Lyon Bell, Madison Young, Bree Mills, Jacky St. James, Jiz Lee and Holly Randall — to name a few! Plus, with my ongoing guest directors open call I also have that community of new filmmakers who want to show different sides of sexuality and other cinematic perspectives. It’s great to be able to get more voices, more depictions of sex and sexuality, and more people doing something different to a lot of the mass produced stereotypical porn on the free tube sites.

Another thing I really want to change in the industry is to show that adult films can have cinematic qualities. Most of the typical mainstream porn on the free tube sites is devoid of cinematic quality and beauty. We’ve lost the golden age when films were feature-length, released in theatres and reviewed by respected media. Now we have low costs, no filmmaking prowess and low-grade quality. On XConfessions, we invest around €17,000 in every short film. We pay a professional crew to work in styling, location, art direction, cinematography and we also invest in post-production, sound, color correction and take equal care of the arts and graphics that accompany the films.

What is the process of finding your actors like? Are their certain traits, physical or emotional, that you look for during casting?

In terms of the performers, we look to work with performers who share our philosophy and want to do cinema to ensure the best experience for everyone involved. Our casting process is long and thorough. We always make sure our performers are 18+, have had their own sexual experiences, are sex-positive and 100% happy and enthusiastic to be involved. We get to know them long before we start filming, and the performers get to know each other too, so that it feels natural for them. The people I work with are fantastic well-rounded individuals who have made clear choices to reach the decision to perform in adult cinema.

How do you ensure your cast and crew feel safe — can you walk us through what some of those conversations may look like?

I think over time, from my position as a director, I have created a safe space on set and shown that an XConfessions film is a collaborative project, with both cast and crew. Everyone’s opinion is completely respected, heard and valid on my set. I also have an on-set talent manager who looks after the performers on the day of shooting to make sure they are taken care of and have everything they need. It is our responsibility to help performers feel comfortable speaking up and ensuring their boundaries are respected for their full comfort and consent.

From the start of Erika Lust Films, an ethical production process has been vital to me. This goes from small things such as feeding everyone on set, to performers being able to stop shooting anytime they feel uncomfortable. Of course, shooting an adult film is challenging and we do our best to make sure performers are looked after and feel comfortable throughout but sometimes mistakes happen. We are not perfect. Now that I have the guest directors program, there are more people than ever before making films for XConfessions, some of whom have never directed an adult film before. So, to ensure that my ethical production values are maintained across the board, we recently developed two documents; Performer’s Bill of Rights and Guidelines for Guest Directors to shoot with Erika Lust, which are a mandatory read for anyone making films for XConfessions.

How would you define a sexy porn scene?

The ingredients for a sexy film are creativity, cinematography, consent, realism, and equality. Sex should be shown as fun and full of passion — the performers should be able to laugh and have fun if they want to! Intimacy plays a huge role, the performers should be connected by the narrative in the story, through the direction and camera shots. If there is no intimacy it will feel cold and detached. The viewer should be able to answer the question, “Why are these people having sex?” to truly feel the eroticism and excitement of the film. And of course pleasure is important, obviously porn is fictional and I’m not saying the performers have to have a real orgasm in every film, but the viewer should be able to feel that they are having fun. I have a general rule that I don’t direct the sex at all, I let the performers do what feels natural and pleasurable to them. I think this is a good way to get good results on screen.

To keep up to date on Erika Lust’s latest projects, you can visit her website or follow her on Instagram and Twitter.

To read more about how parents can educate their children about online pornography, you can visit thepornconversation.org.

Photos (in order of appearance) by Erika Lust, Daniel Klaas, Vilgot Sjöman, and Erika Bowes.

I Kissed A Girl And I Loved It

PINK is a column that explores lesbian sexuality. This column is specifically about navigating the world as a girl who likes girls. It will celebrate the good, shed light on the bad, and revel in the sexy, lascivious, and laughable.

“I kissed a girl and literally felt nothing,” a friend once said to me.

“Yeah, same here,” I quickly responded. I was lying through my front two ffucking teeth. At the time, I was twelve or thirteen (or however old you are in the seventh grade), but I was nine when I saw two girls kiss on television for the first time and ten when I took my fifteenth “Am I a Lesbian?” quiz online. Often, middle school chats with my female friends during lunchtime closely mirrored this one, and the ending of these conversations always resulted in a conclusive, “Yeah, lesbians are weird” or “Boys are so hot!” or “I just could never date a girl” or “Ew, that is so gross.” My weekday conversations all marched to the beat of this homophobic drum and my weekends were not very different.

My mom, being the devout Christian that she was/is, made sure my Sundays were spent at Mt. Zion Baptist church in the rural town of Belton, South Carolina. Even though it says very explicitly in the bible that God loves everyone and we are all his children, I think it is safe to assume that the pastor of Mt. Zion forgot about this section, because those scriptures were never apart of his pulpit rhetoric. I spent Sunday after Sunday hearing my identity reduced to an unforgivable sin. This was one of the few sins that wasn’t socially acceptable. You could lie, fuck before marriage, gossip or even cheat on your spouse, but according to my pastor, being gay was one of those sins that would get you sent down to hell! Dancing with the devil was exactly what I was going to be doing if I kept watching “girls kissing” compilation videos on YouTube. Panic-stricken, I vowed to myself that I would be straight, no matter what. I’ve never been good at keeping promises, though. This promise to myself lasted roughly six hours before nightfall. My nightly ritual was back, soon I watching more girls kissing compilation videos and wondering when it was going to be my turn.

There were no out lesbians at my school or at my homophobic Baptist church. The only lesbians I ever saw were the lesbians on TV, so when I met my older cousin’s LESBIAN friend Stephanie*, I was obsessed! I remember this like it was yesterday. My older cousin was “babysitting” me while my mom went out with her sorority sisters for the day. We were watching music videos like we always did, and in walked Stephanie in all of her stem (term in the lesbian community for a woman who presents in both a masculine and feminine way) glory! I could hear the hallelujah chorus singing as she walked through the door and our eyes locked.

It felt like the floor beneath me had disappeared. I thought that lesbians only existed within TV and computer screens but here was one in the flesh. I had so many questions I was dying to ask her. She was dressed pretty masculine, and since she was the only lesbian I had ever seen in person, I thought that all lesbians were supposed to dress this way. I assumed that if I wanted to commit fully to my lesbian identity, I would also have to start playing around with androgyny. I had so many things I wanted to ask her, but somehow I couldn’t get close enough. My older cousin and aunt were in the room with us the entire time Stephanie was there, and they knew nothing about my lesbian identity — so I tried not to act too interested. I wasn’t until three years later that Stephanie and I would really get a chance to talk and she would end up being the first person I came out to.

My older cousin got married. I was in her wedding and so was Stephanie. This was an all weekend affair.

Thursday: the wedding party arrived in Belton.

Friday: the rehearsal dinner.

Saturday: the wedding.

Sunday: I told Stephanie I was a lesbian.

I told her the day after the wedding. She looked at me with gentle and reassuring eyes and even though she didn’t explicitly say it, I knew that she had been in my shoes before. She immediately responded, “How long have you felt this way?”

“My whole life.” I quickly told her not to say anything to anyone in my family, especially not my mom. I shared all of my feelings with her. I told her about the state of confusion I had spent the majority of my adolescent years in because all the things that my friends felt about boys — I felt about girls. It felt so nice to be heard without judgment. She had a calmness and serenity about her. When she hugged me at the end of our conversation, I was so grateful for Stephanie and am grateful for her to this day.

Three years after the wedding, I came out to my mom. I had just started dating a cute girl on the high school soccer team and I figured this was monumental enough for me to finally tell my mom about my sexuality. Her reaction was much different from Stephanie’s. There was no calm, no serenity, just tears. So many tears and anger and raised voices. “You’re going to hell,” she said before she slammed the door of her bedroom.

She wept the rest of the day, I could hear her from down the hall in my room. My parents were divorced and both my mom and I were always a united front, but that night I had dismantled the unit. She made that clear as I heard her screaming to my dad on the phone, “Come to get her! I don’t want her in this house, I don’t even want to look at her!” She couldn’t bear to look at her child anymore: the child she had created and brought into the world. It felt like someone had punched me in the gut and knocked the wind right out of me. My heart had been shattered. How could my mom be so cruel, I asked myself. It took two weeks for my mom to allow me to move back in, eight months to agree to let my high school girlfriend come over to our home, and finally, one year for her to apologize.

Five years later, I am now out to nearly everyone in my family. I no longer spend my time hiding my sexuality; these days, I live more authentically in Brooklyn with my amazing girlfriend. We have hosted both of my parents as guests in our home and my mom is fully loving and accepting of me and my identify. We are closer than ever. Last but not least, I have retired from watching “Girls Kissing Compilation” videos on Facebook, and have instead started kissing (and fucking) girls in real life.

*name changed to protect the identity of the real person

Photos (in order of appearance) by unknown artist, Matthew Tammaro, Matt Jackson, and Chloe Sheppard.

The Politics Of My Body

I woke up relatively hungover in my hotel room and checked my phone to see more texts than I was expecting. Living halfway across the world, it’s not uncommon for people back home to check in on me during the hours when I’m usually asleep. Today was different though.

During the past two years since I started college and a certain racist, sexist pig took office, I have felt like every news alert, every oppressive tweet, and every disappointment has taken my body and thrown it against a building repeatedly. While it doesn’t show on the outside, my internal organs are bleeding and my heart is bruised. I was prepared for the news that a sexual assailant was joining the ranks of our oldest and whitest government court. I was prepared for the news, knowing full well that, despite hoping that the outcries of survivors would make an impact on the vote, the outcome would not change.

I received texts from friends, my older sister, former partners, people who love me from all walks of life offering their support. I have recently made myself more vulnerable by sharing the story of my assault on the internet and being more politically active on social media regarding the confirmation of Brett Kavanaugh. In particular, discussing the nuances of women and survivors in a society where politics have rarely regarded anyone except white males with respect. It’s also worth noting that reading the work of Brittney Cooper, bell hooks, Cleo Wade, and other intersectional feminist writers who I admire has been cathartic for me. It’s also put things into perspective for me, expanding the ways that I go about processing difficult information. I’m curious how the public viewed Dr. Christine Blasey Ford’s believability differently than that of Anita Hill in 1991?

The week that Dr. Ford came forward, I joined the survivors who publicly shared their experiences with sexual assault.

It has been two years and a few months, and I had previously just never found the right time to come forward. It also took quite a bit of learning and unlearning for me to understand the depth and weight of what happened to me. It took me a long time to realize that perhaps my assault could have been avoided if the survivors of my predator’s past indiscretions had come forward with their stories prior to that night. Maybe he wouldn’t have been invited. I don’t harbor any resentment, however, I do feel that it is my duty — as it was the duty of Dr. Ford — to out the individuals who have harmed us in an effort to make the world a safer place.

When I shared my experience, I don’t know what I expected. Learning that the process of due diligence meant that he needed to be notified about my assault accusations. This immediately made me panic. Part of me felt so heard and believed when I reported the incident, but I felt conflicted by the news that he would face consequences for his actions — or at least learn that he had this lasting impact on someone he’d probably forgotten about. While I figured this may be part of the process, I had discounted how much it would affect me that he would have my name spoken to him, my experience relayed to him.

I’m not pressing charges, so I’ll never have to sit in a courtroom opposite him and hear his voice, which will likely tell tales of assumed consent and blurred lines. But I was incapacitated and I blacked out during the event. I have felt unsafe for myself and others in sexual spaces ever since.

On that morning, I decided I was done carrying the invalidation I was placing on myself. I drafted an email to authorities. In sending that email I didn’t suddenly become free. I didn’t call for celebration and I didn’t even feel different on the inside at first. But what’s followed has been the daily reminder that I have survived and maybe even grown from my experience. An experience nobody should have to go through. Dr. Ford continues to be harassed daily, while I have been able to share my story in a much more quiet and discreet way.

For people who are struggling with whether or not to share their stories, and those who have been burdened by the social media streams of personal experiences of survivors and the reminder that so many people we know have been affected by sexual violence — I see you. I wish you peace. I know that even from my privileged position (I’m white with a liberal arts college education and had a upper-middle class upbringing), it still took me a very long time and lots of support to come to terms with my experience. I have been realizing more and more that the need for me to speak out came less from a place of personal redemption and more from the understanding that my experience, my sexual assault, was political in and of itself.

If we can’t hold men in our own communities accountable for their actions how can we expect justice to be reflected in politics? It’s complicated, but watching Dr. Ford come forward with bravery and conviction convinced me that I could do the same.

Photos (in order of appearance) by Camila Falcão, Sara Lorusso, Sharena Chindavong, Valentin Duciel, and Bungo Tsuchiya.

What Happens When The Beauty Standard Is White

Whenever I go to the south of France in summertime, I find myself surrounded by thousands of beach-goers who bask in some long-awaited sunlight far from the city gloom. Sitting on their towels, I see swimsuited women accentuate their bronzed skin with tanning products that would never be as popular in Asia; “美白 (mei bai),” which directly translates to “beautiful white,” is a key phrase I have often heard in Chinese skin-care commercials. There, pearly skin is held to be glamorous, a sign of cultural refinement.

This paradigm has been deeply rooted in Chinese history. Since the Han Dynasty (206 BC-220 AD), one’s social class can been defined by the tone of their skin: the peasantry is known to work long hours in agricultural fields under the blazing sun, giving them a tan that distinguishes them from higher-class citizens.

Elevation of pale skin is widespread on the Asian continent for reasons that often link back to Western colonialism. In Japan, the arrival of Commodore Perry and his American ships in 1853 was succeeded by the Meiji Restoration in which Japanese men and women began imitating Western fashion and appearances. Similarly, Korea was introduced to Western beauty standards after opening its ports to foreign powers in 1876.

Nowadays, white skin is so desirable in China that many invest in skin whitening products, never forget to carry umbrellas on sunny days, and use Asian photo-editing apps that are automated to lighten their complexions. Representation of the wide range of pigmentations that exist is scarce for a country with a population of more than 1.3 billion and 56 ethnic groups. Most famous actors and singers in the nation have light skin tones, and that is no coincidence.

Clearly, some major aspects of Chinese culture send a strong and hostile message in terms of what skin tones are desirable, and even acceptable. While this is bad enough, these prejudiced standards have also seeped into China’s perceptions of other cultures and, in turn, encourage anti-blackness. A recent example of this is the eruption of the discriminatory reactions in China to the release of Black Panther — a movie that was celebrated on other continents for its almost all-black cast. One online reviewer called it “almost a torture for the eyes” for the “dark color of the movie.” Another reproached the movie for its “political correctness” and blamed the “group of black shadows fighting” for his urge to leave the movie theater early.

The “beautiful white” that is so desperately sought after by the Chinese quickly and dangerously translates to a resentment of other skin colors. And yet, this sentiment is often vastly overlooked — normalized even. An example of the normalization of this hatred could be observed when Chinese actors were put in blackface to appear African on a television skit, and the government brushed off accusations that this was problematic, even after facing widespread criticism.

My French-Congolese friend has been one to experience the blurred lines of cultural discrimination and curiosity in Shanghai; his hair is shamelessly touched on the subway, parents pull their children away from him, and he’s even been subjected to tense confrontations where he’s been told to “go back to his country.” As Asian territories are globalizing, it has become evident that skin preference isn’t an issue that limits itself to mere beauty standards; it is becoming a cultural hurdle. While this kind of clash may be initially uncomfortable for everyone involved, I do believe that progress can and must come from it.

Studies have shown that media representation of different ethnic groups is essential for these communities’ social presence as well as for the education of viewers about their lived experiences. It’s also noteworthy to remember that these representations, if derogatory (such as the aforementioned Chinese blackface), can seriously impact and subsequently skew audiences’ perceptions of other ethnicities.

Undoing beliefs that have been instilled for centuries is an obvious challenge, but it is significant to remember that our society has never been more exposed than it is now to a media that is challenging the parameters of beauty worldwide. In the case of China, a place currently considered a job hotspot for expats, I believe that the positive media representation and physical growth of different ethnic groups will allow for a substantial increase in representation. However, this alone is not enough. Ensuring that this representation is both empowering and ethical is the crucial next step in order to achieve a world with not only tolerance, but admiration for the countless skin tones that do, in fact, exist under the sun.

Photos (in order of appearance) by Takeshi Takagi, @Rosey-Ballerina, Ren Hang, and Fumi Nagasaka.

Tips For Allies Of LGBTQI+ People

If you’re straight and cisgender, the daily difficulties of being LGBTQI+ are likely pretty alien to you.

Difficulties that can range from feeling afraid to reveal your sexuality or gender identity at work, to being aggressively abused walking down the street with your partner. It can be hard to know how to react or respond when an LGBTQI+ loved one confides in you about these situations and experiences; instinctively you’ll empathize and want to help them feel better, maybe you’ll jump in and give them advice or voice your opinion on the problem. Maybe you accidentally don’t respond, for fear of saying something wrong or upsetting them more… It’s tough to know the right way to be supportive of someone whose experience is so different from your own.

I’m here to tell you there is no one right way; everyone’s experiences and relationships are totally different, and people appreciate support in all kinds of forms. But there are some fundamental things that people can do to support their LGBTQI+ loved ones and be better allies in general.

1. It sounds obvious, but listen.

This is the single most important thing you can do. No one person is the same so, let your friend or family member tell you how you can be supportive and what would be meaningful for them, personally. Try not to be defensive or get offended if they try to tell you that you’re not understanding where they’re coming from. Hear them and then adapt. It may be your natural reaction to give advice if they tell you about a certain situation, incident, or feeling, but try to refrain from automatically doing this unless it’s been directly asked for. Sometimes, it’s a little uncomfortable to receive advice from someone acting as a voice of authority on a topic they don’t actually have to experience. The struggles and joys of being LGBTQI+ are very specific.

2. Educate yourself.

Don’t rely on your friend or family member to be the source of all your learning when it comes to LGBTQI+ related topics. A lot of the time they may already be burdened by their own troubles and those of their community. Have to explain yourself and educate others is often extra emotional labor, and your loved one may not have energy for it.

Google is a brilliant thing — use it.

It would be such a loving gesture to educate yourself on certain issues, to learn the correct language, stay up to date with LGBTQI+ news, follow LGBTQI+ activists and icons, watch films, understand our history, read articles and essays. All these things would indicate that you’re putting in the effort to learn and support their community and identity. Tune in to the heteronormativity of our society and find, fund, and fuel the projects and work that is seeking to undo this. Everyone should be doing their part to create better, more equal representation. Immersing yourself in this learning will likely allow you to feel more comfortable as a listener for your friend when it comes to LGBTQI+ topics, as they’ll become less alien to you.

3. Speak up.

Don’t let homophobic, biphobic, transphobic or any offensive rhetoric go unchallenged. If you hear or see something abusive, even if there are no LGBTQI+ people around — advocate for our community and shut down derogatory and disrespectful attitudes that perpetuate violence and stigma and pain. Silence in these moments is an act of solidarity with the abuse. Confidently destroy the attitudes and misconceptions that make it dangerous for us to exist and difficult for us to feel at peace. This is how you can tangibly be supportive of the LGBTQI+ community: by using your voice to silence aggressors and defend our existence and identities.

4. Unpack your own biases and prejudices, even if it’s uncomfortable.

From a young age, we’re taught to internalize a huge range of wrong and confusing ideas about the body, gender, sexuality, and sex. Undoubtedly, these misconceptions settle somewhere in the back of our minds, influencing the way we think and act — even if it’s subconscious.

It is important that we all, including people in the LGBTQI+ community, delve into these ideas, in order to reform them into more real, honest and accurate understandings of identity expression. There’s no problem in initially having a misguided idea of, for example, what pansexuality ‘is’ — as long as the time is subsequently taken to dismantle and replace this prejudice with the truth. However, be sure you’re drawing from preexisting content and research. There is so much already out there, therefore, you don’t need to request explanation from individuals unless it’s directly offered to you – reference tip two.

5. Know your privileges.

If you recognize how the hierarchy of social systems makes existing as an LGBTQI+ person beautifully different, but also, harder and occasionally painful, then you then will recognize how your privilege affects your experience of the world. Never forget and always acknowledge your privileges, especially when trying to comfort a LGBTQI+ identifying friend.

6. With that being said, don’t ‘other’ us or view LGBTQI+ people as mythical or different.

While elements of our identities are indeed different from the majority of our very cis-heteronormative world, we are still human and most likely way more similar to you than we are different. Being LGBTQI+ is only one piece of the identity puzzle. And yes, we are protective of our community because we need a safe space to share. However, each of us — you too, reader — is made up of several different puzzle pieces. This leads us to the 7th tip…

7. Consider the intersectional nature of people’s identities.

The way in which our identities filter our experiences is so deeply layered and nuanced and complex. Everyone will go through and react to things so differently; no one person is the same. Within the LGBTQI+ community, there’s an infinite array of different identities. For example, a black, straight, transgender man living in a liberal and diverse city most likely has a very different experience than a non-binary, bisexual, Muslim person living in a small conservative town… the point is, no one has the same life story. It’s important to know that just because we may share a label, it doesn’t mean we are all exactly the same.

If you find yourself struggling to understand the intricacies of gender and sexual identity, Stonewall’s glossary is a really great place to start: https://www.stonewall.org.uk/help-advice/glossary-terms

Photos (in order of appearance) by Brian Vu, Harley Weir, Lizzie Steimer, Petra Collins, Andreia + Nathalia Takeuchi, and Wong Kar Wai.

How To Cope With Post-Graduation Depression

Every college student fantasizes about graduation day. After countless hours of work and thousands in tuition, graduating should feel like an accomplishment — but I was terrified.

The moment when college ends and life begins can feel scary, especially for people like me. Not only did I not have a job lined up on graduation day, I had a summer course to complete before I could even officially receive my degree. But listening to my feelings through major life transitions has made me realize that my path is unconventional.

In high school, I was aware that I couldn’t afford to attend a four-year university immediately, and I didn’t want to. I knew people looked down at community college, but I didn’t let the stigma bother me and went anyway. Then I transferred to UCLA, where I spent two years finishing up my bachelor’s degree in communications. While there, I didn’t live on campus to save money and was one of the few who commuted. This choice allowed me to feel productive, scheduling class two days a week and working retail the other days. I managed to tackle three internships while in college, building up a good resume. To add to my already odd college experience, I studied abroad my last quarter, returning home just one week before commencement.

My college experience wasn’t typical, but I loved it. I subscribe to the notion that humans thrive with structure and set goals. I rode the high of graduation for a couple months until my summer course ended in August. My friends went back to school or started entry-level positions and a wave of stress crashed over me. Why don’t I have a job yet? Where do I apply? What do I even want to do? It was the first time in my life I had no plan. The structured Virgo in me didn’t know how to handle it.

I felt a pressure to jump into a career immediately upon graduation. I think everyone does. Many of us have loans to pay, and with a degree, there shouldn’t be any barriers to a well-paying job, right? We deserve it.

But my struggle is, after five years of college, I’m still not sure what to do next. I’ve applied to countless jobs and received as many rejections. I’m overwhelmed by living so close to Los Angeles, where every imaginable opportunity exists, just miles away. But the prospect of endless opportunities somehow make job hunting feel even more daunting. I’ve broken down several times in this transition.

Some days are great — I apply to some jobs, go to the gym, list items on Depop for some extra cash. Other days feel hopeless; I wake up at 11 a.m., get lost in my DVR, and question everything.

I’m still coming to terms with the fact that everyone has their own path. I know that life is short, but I’ve only been done with school a couple months and already my mind is arrested with the idea that I’m a failure. I’ve convinced myself that living at home without a steady income shortly after graduating is an unacceptable position to be in, even though I’m not alone in this reality. Finding ways to cope with feeling lost after graduation is a personal journey, but I find them in the little things.

A key for me is making small improvements. I try my best to work out, enhance my job skills, spend time with my friends regularly, remain positive, and show gratitude. Some of this may sound hokey, but it effectively keeps my glass half full. Your mind can turn on you in a moment, taking you to deep and dark depths, but I’ve learned that actively working to stay positive keeps you from succumbing to post-grad depression.

Growing up I believed that your job should be your passion. And many of my peers are living examples of this belief, fulfilling their dreams at elite companies like Gucci and IBM. But now, at 23, not only am I finding it difficult to pinpoint my passion, sometimes I’m just hoping to become financially comfortable. Money can’t buy happiness, but in this economy, it can definitely help a whole lot.

As I’m writing this, I’m still unemployed, but I’m (somewhat) optimistic. My mind races every day when I look at jobs and reflect on how different life was a year ago. For now, I must remind myself of my victories thus far, big or small, and embrace comfort in the unknown.

Art Man

Save an Uber, Ride a Cowboy is a column exploring queer millennial sex culture. The stories presented here are based on true events. Identities have been changed to protect the privacy and reputations of those involved.

She met him on a Tuesday night — back when she could afford to eat a full meal only once a day — thanks to a “dating” app called Seeking Arrangement which you can no longer find in the App Store (I wonder why). Like every other [unsuccessful] conversation she’d had through said app, Amy was having a very straight-forward conversation, this time with a man named Andreas. She was a 20-year-old bisexual Latina who had just moved to Manhattan, and he was a 43-year-old man asking if she would go over to his house that same night for $400. Although the word “sex” was never mentioned, it was implied, and she didn’t really mind. So she took the 4 train to Barclays Center at 10:00 P.M.

It wasn’t a date. She’d been on exactly two dates in the city — once in Central Park with a dream-girl who always referred to her as Miss Yellow (since yellow was Amy’s favorite color) and once over dinner with a man she met spontaneously at Union Square. If only millennial dating culture wasn’t so nonchalant, Amy really thought Dream Girl and Mr. Union Square would’ve been perfect candidates for future lonely nights… then again, Mr. Andreas, who pays $400 a visit, a 34-year-old millionaire living in Uptown Manhattan, and a 42-year-old cop willing to pay $300 for a kiss, were also pretty good candidates (though, for different reasons).

These last three men were all Sugar Daddies, or men willing to pay young women hundreds (sometimes thousands) of dollars for either sex or just company. These men have so much money that they don’t mind “sponsoring” or “mentoring” girls like Amy.

She liked older men; she liked sex, and she obviously liked money. Getting paid by older men for doing anything related to sex seemed like the perfect part-time job.

At the time, Amy was crashing at her best friend’s apartment, who was currently vacationing in Puerto Rico along with Amy’s only other friend in the city. She was all alone in Manhattan, so in an effort to prepare herself for the worst case scenario, she texted her closest friends where she was going, even though they were a thousand miles away.

On her way over to Mr. Andreas’ apartment, as she was smoking her habitual calm-down cigarette, she passed a Police Precinct (and a shocking amount of drunk people). She thought to herself, Well, my friends are out of town, but there’s police and drunken witnesses. If anything goes wrong… at least I have that. She felt surprisingly calm. Soon enough, she was standing in front of one of those frosted glass doors, the shadow of a man approaching her from the opposite side.

Mr. Andreas was a little bigger than she had expected; he wasn’t ugly but he wasn’t incredibly handsome either — he was just fine. He had a beard and hair that reached his shoulders, with tattoos covering his arms almost completely. He looked like a wannabe rockstar turned family man. “Watch out for that bicycle,” he said as Amy made her way up the stairs and into his home.

And it was huge. I mean, reader, keep in mind how expensive rent can be in a city like New York, this man’s “apartment” consisted of three whole floors, each of which were bigger than the apartment Amy was living in. And every single wall was covered in artwork: paintings, a mural covering one wall from the top of the high ceiling to the hardwood floor, old musical instruments, DVDs, CDs… he was an Art Man, and as a fellow art lover, Amy was impressed.

Once inside, Amy sat down next to him on the sofa, and as they were “watching” some TV show about some comedian, they started talking about their lives. He was kind, respectful, and although perhaps he was anxious to get her into his bed — patient. After all, he knew this was, in a way, a “first time” for Amy. But then the wait was over, and he asked Amy if she’d like to go upstairs to his bedroom. She said okay, because what else was she meant to say?

Suddenly, she wasn’t so calm anymore. As Amy walked up the stairs, eventually sitting down on his bed, she realized she was actually expected to have sex with a man who was more than twice her age for money. The thought of actually going through with it made her feel dirty… Correction: she felt like she was supposed to feel dirty, and for a good reason. To this day, the [sexist] society we live in depicts sex workers like strippers, prostitutes, and Sugar Babies as a group of troubled, desperate women, who have sex with disgusting men for a miserable amount of money.

But he wasn’t disgusting, and she wasn’t troubled. Desperate for money? Only a little bit, but he was also desperate for something. And so Amy came clean, told Andreas about her newfound insecurities, to which he replied, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I would hate for you to feel uncomfortable.”

“I did crazy things for money when I was your age, too,” he continued, in an effort to help Amy wrap her head around her thoughts. That’s when it hit her: this is just a grown man who wanted to feel the warm touch of a younger woman, and was willing to pay for it. Amy just happened to be the younger woman. Once again, he let her know, “You’re free to go if you don’t want to do this,” and she was…

And so she stayed. She stayed because she wanted to, because she liked him; Andreas was interesting and smart and pretty sympathetic. Laying in bed, they started talking about other things; Amy noticed some drawings, hanging on his bedroom wall, that looked like they had been painted by little kids — that’s when he confessed he had children.

“I have a nine year-old and a thirteen year-old,” and that was the last piece of information he gave about his private life. After that they decided, without words, to take things slow.

Andreas started by massaging her legs, her feet, eventually massaging her whole body. What he didn’t know was that a good massage was Amy’s biggest weakness. So she let him kiss her, and he wasn’t bad at it, which lead to…

In an episode of Sex and the City, Samantha Jones said, “… money is power. Sex is power. Therefore, getting money for sex is simply an exchange of power.” And she’s right. When you’re a sex worker (whether you’re sleeping with your client or not), you know you have power. If the client offers you one thing, but you think you deserve something more, you can speak up. Just because they’re paying for sexual services doesn’t make it okay for them to abuse of their power. Sex is power. Money is power. Getting money for sex should be an exchange of power, not an abuse of it.

Suddenly, it was 11:40 P.M. and Amy was dressed again. She didn’t feel gross or bad about herself afterwards. She hadn’t been forced to do anything — she knew she had done what she wanted to do for money, not what she had to do.

Once finished, they went back downstairs and Amy played with his cats and started tuning the ukulele he had lying around.

“You play the ukulele?”

“Yes,” she replied.

With that, she realized the strange thing about an exchange of power: you might spend hours talking, but you never really know each other. The things she let him know about her life were not the same as the ones she would reveal to a person on a regular date (and vice versa). Let’s bring back Mr. Union Square and Dream Girl from the second paragraph for a quick comparison. Amy’s dates with these two individuals were actual dates meant to get to know each other better. The purpose behind a date with a Sugar Daddy, essentially, is not that. It’s just an equally beneficial business deal disguised as a date.

And so she got on a Lyft (which he paid for) and went back home, $400 richer, looking for a place where she could do her nails the following day.

Diary of a Sidechick

Withholding information has always been a vice of mine. As a child I loved to learn the secrets of others; keep them close to my chest. What I never considered, though, was that I too may be a secret kept from others.

Some notions of love are based on satiating a personal desire, indulging in a fantasy conjured to fill an emotional void. That being said, I still can never understand how people cheat. It’s natural to want to put a face to the “cheating type,” but the notion of a type is one dimensional, whereas a cheater is a multifaceted individual. Often, cheating serves as an attempt to manage emotional trauma or satiate a hidden desire. In a couple instances, I’ve observed the act of cheating from an alternate perspective, inhabiting the role of the “side chick.” In both cases, lines were crossed and circumstances skewed by my attempts to ‘have my cake and eat it too.”

* * *

Ricky and I went to the same high school. He had a long term relationship, one that seemed destined for a young marriage. We met at a stop light after graduation. He pulled up next to me at the red light and waved. In a state of confusion I rolled up my window and continued on my way, thinking little of the matter; after all, we were strangers. However, later that week I was checking my DMs and spotted a message from Ricky containing a red location pin. I responded with a cloud emoji, possibly to avoid conversation, possibly because I recognized his endgame. We began texting regularly, establishing a strange, yet intimate relationship. It was the kind of surreal internet relationship in which you get to know each other’s daily schedules and create fake plans to meet up in person; entertaining each of your personal fantasies without following through. That was, until we ended up actually meeting about a week later. Our encounters were restricted to secluded areas and the cover of night — we had created a secret life for ourselves.

I began to fall for him just as his true nature began to reveal itself. Despite insisting that he was in fact single, he was clearly still implicated in a relationship which never fully ended, and which came with its own set of emotional baggage. His manipulation continued for close to a year.

In the process, I grew depressed and desperate for attention. I cried all day, feeling as though I wasn’t apart of his reality, only revealing myself to the people in his life through fragmented photos on the internet, while his girlfriend remained his main concern. In the meantime I gained a false sense of accomplishment from attracting and maintaining his attention throughout the course of his previously established relationship. In calling it quits, I felt like I was letting the “other girl” win. We both wanted his attention, and would do anything to get it. In reality, he was the only one benefiting from our arrangement, while his girlfriend and I both suffered from his half-truths and blocked calls.

* * *

I see a guy around around school, by early June we’re hanging out. We spend the night together and I can tell that the connection is real. My body is on fire when he kisses me. I take this shit way too seriously.

Leaving the next morning, I couldn’t feel better. Sleeping together felt right; he’s so attractive. He texts me right when I get home and we keep in contact throughout the week, chatting constantly and indulging in our own personal fantasies. He tells me he wants to hang out, he misses me, he wants to go to the beach, he wants to talk about everything and nothing.

We follow each other on Instagram. I notice a pretty face in his past feed and think nothing of it – after all, some people never delete pictures of exes. I decide that I may as well ask him directly: “Do you have a girlfriend.” Two days later he responds, “I don’t have a GF,” so I take him at his word. Two weeks ago I find myself asking him to hang out more and more, only to be met with dry responses or a lack-thereof. I figure he must be ghosting me, and think that I’ll get over it soon enough; five days at the most.

He texts me on Monday asking me not to take things so seriously, to just enjoy having fun. I’m left confused. He finally grabs my attention, only to ask me to ease up? At this point I begin to see a pretty face all over his feed. It’s hard not to speculate. After all, this person is completely curbing me, better find out why and for whom. Questions begin to swarm my brain: Why does she get to be seen and admired as his significant other? Why not me? Why would he keep me around when all his time and affection are focused elsewhere? How could someone who can’t even text me back expect my loving attention? I begin to spiral.

A week later I text him telling him to never speak to me again, not to call out of boredom when “she’s” not around. A week after that I see him in a restaurant. He smiles and shakes his head as I sit and eat. It’s easy to hide behind false promises, but seeing him in person, his eyes look sad and dull.

* * *

At first, being pursued by a cheater seems mysterious or even thrilling. The idea of being coveted at face value is extremely flattering. However, soon enough it becomes evident that, to the cheater, you are simply a secret to be kept from all those they hold most dear. As a “side-chick,” I wasn’t receiving any face-time with my pursuer, despite knowing that my face definitely deserves to be loved and admired in public. In the hopes of filling an emotional void, I lost sight of the bigger picture: the cheater’s previously established relationship, in which I simply played a minor role. Gleaning that my pursuer considered me to be the “less significant-other,” I began to lose sight of myself. Self-analyzing morphed into self-critique, as I surveyed body and mind for the attributes which had demoted me to “second best.” The result was confusion and emotional exhaustion; the depletion of self-worth without any consolatory results.

In the months that followed I began to reflect on the implications of this experience, becoming increasingly concerned with the effects of side-chick culture. While I am sympathetic to the complexities of intimacy and relationships, I am also concerned that people (men in particular) are not being held accountable for their actions in the face of this culturally accepted phenomenon. At the end of the day, it is what someone does to show you their loyalty and respect for you that matters. It is hard to not get caught up in things that could be, and everyday I need to remind myself to practice what I preach.

If they don’t want to truly know you and display their love for your to the world, forget them.

The Sisterhood Of Sluts

Last week, I hooked up with a stranger for the very first time. He was an Ivy League hotshot with a French background. I definitely wanted to see his baguette, if you know what I mean. I met him through Instagram, and yes — I slid into his DMs. We decided to hang out in person with mutual intention to hook-up. When we met, we talked for thirty minutes and then… we had sex. It wasn’t until after I had gotten home that a fearful question began to sneak into my head: Am I a slut?

I was stunned. The whole experience was exciting, totally entertaining, and really fun. Why did something that felt so silly and random have to be hexed with this negative connotation? Was I entering the Sisterhood of Sluts? The sorority that I had never rushed but was shoved into anyway by the countless years of demoralizing sexually active women. The truth is I don’t feel gross or dirty for sleeping with some random guy. So what does slut even mean and why does being a slut have to be a bad thing? Guys get praised all the time for sleeping with random girls. Yet, I don’t see anyone giving me a high-five — and not to brag, but I’m really good at high-fiving.

This double standard shit is hard to escape from, even intrinsically. Before having sex with Baguette Boy, I said to myself, “Don’t worry, don’t worry. I’m not a slut.” What the fuck! I sort of betrayed myself with that exclamation (realizing it only afterwards when I was lying in bed alone). Bottom line: I felt deep down that I had to justify my sexual behavior and he didn’t. Even though I still don’t know how many sexual partners he’s had, somewhere inside of me, I felt like I had to prove to him that I was not a “used-up woman.” I felt like I had to prove my purity, which technically, by this socially constructed standard, I had lost long ago. And why is that? What made me the one who had to assure him I was clean enough to touch, to fuck? And what will happen the next time I sleep with someone new? Will that feeling come again? And again?

In all honesty this whole thing is rather confusing.

Society seems obsessed with defining women’s sexuality for them, and has come up with this negative concept of sex that almost feels like a scare tactic. Isn’t that what the word does? It makes women feel derogatory for enjoying something so basic. Why should tiny glitches in my life, tiny moments spent with other humans, short intervals of random sex come to define me as an individual? I know I’m more than how many guys I’ve slept with; whether that’s one or fifty. Screw the world for making me think I’m no more than a number. The truth is, sex with my Baguette Boy won’t be on my mind in five months, let alone five years. If sex is the most natural thing humans do, then isn’t it unnatural for us to categorize each other by how much we do it? Couldn’t we do the same with how much we eat or drink? Isn’t it all in our biology? Yes. Yes, it fucking is.

First, I’d like to address that this double standard is a clearly defined differently depending on the gender that’s having the (too much) sex in question. But I’d also like to address that this issue, at its core, is about our overarching need to categorize people. We think if we can categorize people as “sluts” and “non-sluts” that there’s a “better” side. Not to say there isn’t value in drawing a personal line for yourself, but it seems that that line is being drawn for women rather than by women.

So how do we contend with this idea of female promiscuity? It’s been so ingrained in our heads that this is a negative thing, that it becomes almost impossible to ignore. Hard to push away the thought that you’ve “done something wrong as a woman.” It’s hard to ignore that you’ve, “let society down.” And what’s all this guilt and shaming for? For twenty minutes of your life that a dick was inside of you? Is that what your whole self-worth is going to come down to?

Yes, sex is important in a lot of different ways, but the amount of sex we have is not who we are. Why would anyone want to be defined by who they’re sleeping with in a given week?

Nonetheless, women are constantly defined by their sexuality.

I wish I knew how to make this problem go away. I wish I could show you the male equivalent of slut in the dictionary. (There isn’t one by the way. Manwhore doesn’t count because whore is still defined as a promiscuous woman. Fuckboy doesn’t count because it’s not in the dictionary — yet.) I wish I could say there are no consequences for having as much as sex as you want as a woman. But sadly, in today’s world, people are likely to talk about you differently, look at you differently, and treat you differently.

I think all I can do to help is just be honest. Maybe, if I can show you that it’s okay to do whatever the fuck you want sexually, you won’t feel so alone out there. The reality is that women like sex and want to have sex. If it’s impossible to shed ourselves of the slut title, let’s choose to own it. Let’s make those judgmental bastards cry! Instead of being unknowingly inducted through whispers and shit-talk, I cordially invite you to the Sisterhood of Sluts: a new sorority.

If you want to join great, and if you don’t — that’s great too. Don’t let someone else push you to join. Open the door yourself, if that’s what you choose to do.

Are We Really All Queer?

LGBTQIAPK. Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender/Transexual, Questioning, Intersex, Asexual, Pansexual/Polyamorous, and Kinky.

That’s right. There are new letters. It’s an expanded acronym designed to be even more inclusive of gender identities and sexual orientations. It takes up two lines on my page, and it does some heavy lifting. The beauty of that acronym is that it’s shared. It binds us together into a community that’s big enough to speak up and be heard.

That function saved many of our lives in the 80s when the willful silence of Reagan’s administration during the AIDS crisis would have exterminated our community if not for loud protests from well-networked and organized groups like ACT-UP (AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power).

Our acronym works because when one is in trouble, there are many to help. But we’re losing sight of its significance.

People in and out of the LGBTQIAPK community are using the term “queer” as shorthand for our diverse community. “Queer” instead of non-binary. “Queer” instead of trans. “Queer” instead of asexual. “Queer” instead of gay, even. You get the point. The motivation there is questionable. It might be laziness. Or it might be something more positive; a drive to feel closer to one another, for all to sit at one table. On an individual level, it might be a means to avoid discussing our identities with curious strangers.

I sat next to Roxy at Twist, Seattle’s Queer Film Festival. She’s a 56-year-old, self-described “butch lesbian.” We went into that term, “butch.”

“I’m actually non-binary,” she said. Roxy only just discovered the term and began using she/they pronouns a year ago. When she wants to avoid a conversation about intersectionality, she often just says she’s queer. “My partner usually tells people she’s gender-queer,” she confided, “which doesn’t avoid much.”

Yet, the term “queer” can be homogenizing. When it’s used for a collective (i.e. “the queer community”), it doesn’t give us much room to be different — and we are different. Our experiences vary greatly. It’s important to recognize that, because our need for the network of support we developed in the 80s is the same.

According to Human Rights Campaign, last year 29 trans people were murdered; this year, the tally is already at 22 — and these are only confirmed homicides, and do not take into account trans individuals who are currently missing. To call us all “queer” is to equate the trans experience to, for example, the gay experience. The problem with that is that gay people aren’t being murdered at the rate trans people are. Saying “queer” instead of trans erases the specificity our community relies on to rally behind a group that needs support.

We did and do not come together because we are all the same. It’s important to remember that our sameness is not our point of commonality. Our point of commonality, the genesis of our alliance, is fighting to survive a strong and deadly heteronormative current. The symbol of that alliance? Our acronym. Thanks to our acronym, not a single sentence is written without each of us present. Thanks to LGBTQIAPK, we all sit at one table in full appreciation and recognition of our diversity in sexual orientation and gender identity. “Queer,” on the other hand, forces us to share a seat. It imagines a sameness in experience that, frankly, doesn’t exist. It behaves like the trans or non-binary or intersex experience can be likened to the gay experience when the they are each unique.

The acronym is better. But it’s also true that we seldom have a conversation with a heterosexual person without them bringing up how long the acronym is getting. The skeptic will wonder: By adding more letters, are we forgetting that we need to be understood when we speak up? Are we making indigestible alphabet soup? They’ll think it’s the last thing we need.

But “queer” muddies the water. In fact, it’s “queer” that makes us hard to understand. It isn’t a show of solidarity as much as it is a disservice to our mission of equal rights and equal treatment.

In ditching LGBTQIAPK for “queer,” we are silencing a minority of important experiences and turning our backs on the letters of our acronym which most need our support. When did we forget that, for us, silence = death?