Unity Through Differentiation: The Radical Sex Positivity of ‘Sense8’

The net effect, woven throughout the series, is a sex positivity that both embraces differentiation and recognizes the universal experiences that can work to close gaps of gender, orientation, and race that routinely stymie the discourse.

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This guest post by Emma Houxbois appears as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.


Sex positivity, as a movement and concept in general, is open to a great deal of interpretation and criticism because of the multitude of forms that it’s taken over the years. Nowhere is that more apparent than in the heated debates that formed what are alternately described as “the feminist sex wars” and “lesbian sex wars” in establishing where the boundaries between legitimate self expression and exploitation lie in areas like commercial pornography and BDSM lie.

Discussions of power, privilege, and control typically remain central to the topic of sex positivity, and they’re vitally important when considering film in particular, a medium where female expressions of desire are more often than not conceived of and executed by men. While these discussions are vital, they can also stand to be expanded into what sex positivity can look like when it moves beyond the idea of liberating self-expression to recognizing and understanding other people’s desires.

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Prior to the debut of Sense 8, Lana and Andy Wachowski were not typically considered to be filmmakers with a particularly sex positive agenda, but the roots of their broad and inclusive conceptions of sexuality in their Netflix series (co-created with J. Michael Straczynski) go all the way back to their debut Bound, a heist flick that starred Gina Gershon and Jennifer Tilly as lovers. At the time, the Wachowskis reached out to erotica writer and famed proponent of sex positive femininity Susie Bright to offer her a cameo in the film as thanks for her work’s influence in creating the film. Bright, who fell in love with the script, countered with a readily accepted offer to be their consultant on film and provide direction on how to film the sex scenes between Gershon and Tilly.

It’s an under-discussed part of the Wachowskis’ career that Bound, through arrangements made by Bright, had its debut at the San Francisco Gay and Lesbian Film Festival at the Castro theater, establishing a queer context to their work years before Lana came out as transgender. However it’s easy to see a recapturing of the spirit of their collaboration with Bright in Sense8, as they expand from the lesbian romance of Bound to expand into a multitude of simultaneous expressions of sexuality.

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Key to much of the conversation around the series and its depiction of sex is how central, and explicit, the relationship between Nomi, a trans woman, (played by Jamie Clayton) and her girlfriend Amanita (played by Freema Agyeman) is. In and of itself it’s a tremendous victory for trans representation that scores the unheard of trifecta of a trans woman character being played by an actual trans actress, recognizes that trans women experience same gender desire, and doesn’t construct her sexuality around deception of any kind. The Wachowskis clearly communicate their triumph in this with the close up shot of a well-lubricated rainbow dildo dropping to the floor at the close of their first sex scene together, but Sense8 sets out to accomplish far more than just a sex toy mic drop.

In addition to Nomi and Amanita’s relationship, the series develops the romance between closeted Mexican actor Lito Rodriguez (played by Miguel Angel Silvestre) who is among the seven other characters Nomi shares an empathic bond with, and his boyfriend Hernando, as well as blossoming heterosexual romances between other members of the group. Nomi and Lito’s relationships are given the bulk of the development as the series progresses, but the Wachowskis use that focus as an opportunity to build a conception of sex that celebrates differentiation while also tapping into the universal aspects of sex and intimacy that everyone experiences regardless of gender or orientation.

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This is primarily and most noticeably achieved in a sequence in the sixth episode where enough of the emotional energy of the sensates is focused on sex to trigger a full blown orgy between several of them, including Nomi, Lito, and two of the straight male characters. The focus and direction of the sequence, which was described by Silvestre as Lana Wachowski yelling directions from the sideline, which sounds much like what Bright believed her role in Bound’s production would be interpreted as. (“I think they imagined that meant I stood over Gina and Jennifer with a riding crop, snapping, “Deeper , Harder, A Little to the Left!”) But the scene does also communicate the same language and visuals that Bright intended for Bound:

“There were two main ideas on my mind. One, unlike most Hollywood lesbian scenarios, this movie shouldn’t insinuate oral sex– that’s not the kind of characters we were looking at. BOUND is about getting inside someone very fast, trusting them with everything-these women had to be fucking each other. Penetration was the act we wanted to imply. Yet obviously we weren’t going to get away with gynecological or hardcore shots in a movie that was headed for America’s shopping malls.”

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“My idea, stolen from the ‘Kathy’ footage, was that we show a woman’s legs, straining and squeezing, and that we see that her lover’s forearm between her thighs. We dwell on that arm for a moment, moving back and forth in a fucking rhythm, looking sure, steady and unrelenting. Then, instead of following her arm all the way up to her lover’s pussy, we would cut to her stomach, fluttering like a little butterfly in that spasm we all recognize as orgasm. I loved the idea of eroticizing a woman’s belly like that. A lot of men making sex movies try to show a woman’s sexual pleasure by focusing the lens on her cleavage. Maybe that’s what they’re looking at, but hey, there’s a lot more going on!

“The other key idea was to eroticize the women’s hands whenever they were flirting or making love with each other. ‘A lesbian’s hands are her cock, they’re the hard-on of the movie, that’s what you want to follow,’ I said, like some veteran pornographer. When I see Corky’s hands on screen, I want to imagine how they would feel inside me. They’re the metaphorical substitute for the genital shots that you won’t be showing.”

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Eroticizing the hands is the technique most keenly felt that follows through from Bound, but toward a somewhat different purpose in Sense8. Bright was looking for a way to get the idea of the kind of sex she imagined being most relevant to the plot and character beats of Bound across without being able to use explicit detail. She wanted to communicate genuine queer female desire to an audience who had never seen it presented in a manner equal to the depiction of straight sex in mainstream film. In Sense8, the first thing that focusing on eroticizing hands and grasping does is communicate the universality of desire across characters who identify as gay, lesbian, and straight. It depicts a physical element of sex that everyone, no matter their gender or orientation, can easily grasp and identify with. What it also does, just as Bright sought to evoke penetration in the sex scenes as part of the overall themes of Bound, is communicate how the individual sensates have been grasping toward each other in the series, trying to reach an understanding of their circumstances and who each other are.

Differentiation cannot be overlooked as being a major component of how the series presents and celebrates sexuality, despite the centrality of the “orgy” sequence that communicates a universality to human desire. Immediately following that sequence is a conversation in which Nomi tries to make sense of why she shares an empathic bond with the others, stating that it would seem more logical to her if the others were closer and not further from her identity and experiences. The response from Amanita’s mother is that she teaches the importance of differentiation through her classes on evolution. The implicit idea is that if differentiation is a key catalyst in biological evolution, it cannot be overlooked when considering the evolution of attitudes around sex that include queer and trans experiences.

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Elsewhere in the series we see the critical importance of differentiation outside of sex, most notably as Lito and Wolfgang trade places in each others’ lives at the climax of their individual storylines. Lito, having pushed the situation with his blackmailer as far as he can by acting, falls back on Wolfgang to literally finish the fight. Then Wolfgang, having reached the limits of his skills as a thief and fighter in dealing with his rival, allows Lito to step forward and ply his trade as an actor. Each facet of the characters’ lives and experiences are as vital to the others’ towards their shared survival whether it be Sun’s martial arts skills, Capheus’ driving abilities, Lito’s acting skills, or Nomi’s computer wizardry.

The net effect, woven throughout the series, is a sex positivity that both embraces differentiation and recognizes the universal experiences that can work to close gaps of gender, orientation, and race that routinely stymie the discourse.

 


See Also: “The American Lens on Global Unity in Sense8,” “Jupiter Ascending: Female Centered Fantasy That’s Not Quite Feminist

 


Emma Houxbois is a fiercely queer trans woman whose natural habitat is the Pacific Northwest. She is currently the Comics Editor for The Rainbow Hub and co-host of Fantheon, a weekly comics podcast.

 

‘The Fosters,’ Sexuality, and the Challenges of Parenting While Feminist

In Stef and Lena’s case, they face the much more complicated question of how to talk to their kids about sex in a way that balances their feminist ideals of sex positivity with their parental need protect and discipline their kids. Two scenes in particular stand out to me as exemplars of the ways in which Lena and Stef strive to make sure their kids are not ashamed of their sexuality while simultaneously conveying the importance of being safe, ready, and responsible.

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This guest post by Stephanie Brown appears as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.


In my frequent lectures to friends about why they should take time out of their busy television (and real life) schedules to watch ABC Family’s drama The Fosters (2013-present), I usually refer to an exchange from the season two episode “Mother Nature” in which Stef (Teri Polo) and Lena (Sherri Saum) have an argument born out of a season-long simmering tension over their respective parenting roles:

Stef: Please stop making me feel like I have to the disciplinarian dad in this family.

Lena: That’s awfully heteronormative thinking.

The first time I watched this episode, I actually paused the show to process my excitement over the fact that a TV show ostensibly for teenagers included a casual reference to the social construction gender roles. Can you name many other shows on basic cable in which you could hear the word “heteronormative” being thrown around? Though, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Over its first three seasons, I’ve been impressed many a time with the range of complex issues thoughtfully addressed by The Fosters, from societal issues of racism, the broken foster system, addiction, and religion to familiar teenage issues like friendship, school, and rival dance teams.

The Fosters, if you aren’t familiar, centers around Stef and Lena and their brood of biological, adopted, and foster children. I will admit that the title of the series is a little (OK, very) on the nose, but I’m willing to forgive it a series that, as you may have gathered, features characters and stories that we don’t usually get to see on TV. The inciting incident for the pilot is that Stef, a cop, and her wife Lena, a high school principal, decide to foster Callie (Maia Mitchell) and her younger brother Jude (Hayden Byerly) after they have been through a series of abusive foster homes. The Adams-Foster family also includes Brandon (David Lambert), Stef’s son from her previous marriage to her police partner Mike (Danny Nucci), and twins Mariana (Cierra Ramirez) and Jesus (Jake T. Austin and Noah Centineo due to a Roseanne-like recasting situation) who were adopted by the family when they were toddlers.

The Foster-Adams family is a big, loving, messy group, which fits well into the network’s “A New Kind of Family” brand. Since ABC Family rebranded in 2006 with this new slogan, they have produced several engaging, interesting, underappreciated dramas. From Greek (which Entertainment Weekly once referred to as “better than it has any right to be”) to Switched At Birth, a show in which scenes are frequently shot completely in sign language, the network frequently spotlights characters and storylines you won’t find anywhere else on television. Of course, as with most pop culture associated with teenage girls, the network’s innovative storytelling is often banished to the world of non-serious TV (a fate that befell the WB, UPN and now the CW as well).

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Of course, as you might expect from a show that centers on a family with five teenagers, sexuality is a prevalent theme in The Fosters. Not only do the teenagers on the show deal with issues like having sex for the first time, sexual assault, the questioning of their sexuality, and love triangles, but refreshingly, Stef and Lena also deal with their own adult sex life. While same-sex couples are often desexualized (see Modern Family), Stef and Lena are given storylines that revolve around sex. In one such episode. Lena and Stef have frank discussions about the effect their busy lives and big family is having on their physical relationship and Lena’s fear of succumbing to “lesbian bed death” (2. 16). Stef and Lena not only talk about sex, they’re also shown cuddling post-sex, kissing, and generally showing physical affection for each other. Not only does the series treat sex as a multifaceted an integral aspect of adult relationships, it of course, also normalizes lesbian sex, which has historically either been ignored or relegated to the realm of the salacious male gaze.

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The other notably refreshing aspect of Stef and Lena’s on-screen parenting is the way in which they often have to navigate their dual roles as feminists and parents of teenagers. As a woman who doesn’t have kids, I can’t identify with complexities of parenting while feminist, but as a feminist I can absolutely identify with the complexities of living in the world while feminist. To this point, the series raises important questions about the often challenging task of applying our deeply held feminist ideals our messy, everyday lives. I know, for instance, that the unholy alliance between advertisers, the beauty industry, and patriarchal constructions of gender and beauty have combined to make me think twice before leaving the house without putting on mascara. And yet.

In Stef and Lena’s case, they face the much more complicated question of how to talk to their kids about sex in a way that balances their feminist ideals of sex positivity with their parental need protect and discipline their kids. Two scenes in particular stand out to me as exemplars of the ways in which Lena and Stef strive to make sure their kids are not ashamed of their sexuality while simultaneously conveying the importance of being safe, ready, and responsible.

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In the season two finale, “The End of the Beginning” (2.21), 13- year-old Jude confides in Lena that he and his friend Connor had made out in their tent on a school camping trip. When he breaks down crying out of a mix what is likely fear, relief, and guilt at having lied to his parents about what happened, Lena makes sure he understands that he has nothing to be ashamed for acting on his attraction to Connor, while reminding him that school-sanctioned trips are not the place to fool around. Similarly, in the summer finale of season 3, “Lucky” (3.10), Lena and Jude have the sex talk after Connor’s dad finds him and Jude making out in Connor’s room:

Jude: So, I’m not in trouble?

Lena: No. No, but you’re probably going to wish you were. I think it’s time we had the talk. I’m really happy that you found someone as wonderful and as kind as Connor. I really am. And when sex is shared between two people…

Jude: OK, OK. Connor and I are not having sex.

Lena: Oh, OK, good. Good. Um, so. When any kind of physical intimacy is shared between two people who care about it each other. It’s a beautiful thing. I mean, OK look, if I’m being honest, I don’t really know a whole lot about the logistics of two men being together, but I definitely want you know how to take care of yourself, and to be safe when the time comes. Which hopefully won’t be for quite some time.

Again, Lena walks the line between reassuring Jude that sex is wonderful and normal, while at the same time making it clear that she hopes that he waits until he is mature enough emotionally, physically, and mentally.

In Mariana’s case, the conversation with her parents happens after she has already had sex for the first time, though under less-than-ideal circumstances. Mariana had planned to have sex with her boyfriend, but when he asks her to wait until he gets back from his band’s tour, she takes his delay as a rejection and ends up hastily having sex with Callie’s ex-boyfriend (“Wreckage,” 3.1).

After harboring a guilty conscience for several episodes, Mariana finally comes clean to her moms in “Going South” (3.5). Throughout the initial conversation, Mariana is defensive of her choice as her moms struggle not to shame her while simultaneously trying to understand her decision.

Stef: Losing your virginity at 15 is a big deal, Mariana.

Mariana: I thought you guys were feminists

Lena: Don’t play that card. We said the exact same thing to your brothers.

Stef: I don’t understand why you think that this is some kind of race.

Mariana: Well I did, OK? And I’m not a virgin anymore, so.

Lena: Honey, I think what your mother’s trying to say is that we love you and we just want to understand your choices.

There is tension not only between Mariana and her moms, but also between Stef and Lena as they negotiate how to handle the situation as parents and feminists. Mariana, knowing her moms well, goes so far as to play the “feminism” card, seemingly daring them to make her feel ashamed of her decision so she can claim the moral high ground by calling out their hypocrisy. In a follow-up conversation, the issue is resolved as Stef and Lena reassure Mariana that she should not be ashamed of having sex or of making a mistake.

Stef: I wasn’t trying to shame you, Mariana. I wasn’t.

Lena: But sex is a big deal. Every time you have sex it’s a big deal. You’re sharing a vulnerable and precious part of yourself. You should always make sure you feel good about it.

Similar to Lena’s conversation with Jude, the goal of the “sex talk” isn’t to scare or shame their kids away from sex, but rather to encourage them to take sex seriously and wait until they’re ready. Stef and Lena also want to assure Mariana that they love her unconditionally, and that our mistakes don’t make us bad people, they make us human:

Stef: My love you know what. We all do things we wish we hadn’t. But we learn from them. And if we manage not to repeat them, man, it feels really, really good.

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The talks that Stef and Lena have with Mariana and Jude about sex are emblematic of the way the series treats a range of sensitive subjects with care, warmth, and complexity. As with every situation, Stef and Lena strive to ensure that their kids feel, above all else, unashamed, supported and loved. Of course, The Fosters is by no means a perfect show. It can veer into sentimentality and overwrought melodrama, but I will happily take being manipulated into tears (I was a fan of Parenthood, after all) when it comes with a side of progressive storylines about family, sexuality, and gender. As one of the few shows my mom, my sister and I all watch, The Fosters is a series I hope families across the country are also watching and enjoying together.

 


Stephanie Brown is a television, comedy, and podcast enthusiast working on her doctorate in media studies at the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign. You can follow her on Twitter or Medium @stephbrown.

 

‘Starlet’ and ‘Tangerine’: A Look At the Sex Work Industry Through the Lens of Chris Bergoch and Sean Baker

Sean Baker and Chris Bergoch are spreading an important truth with their films: that sex does not have to be definitive. ‘Tangerine’ and ‘Starlet’ are two monumentally groundbreaking films, and they should be required viewing for all.

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This guest post by BJ Colangelo appears as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.


When I was 19 years old, I was living in a shoddy dorm room in the middle of nowhere and absolutely desperate for cash. There were enough strangers on the Internet sending me requests for “topless video blogs” about horror films already, and so began my short-lived stint as a personal session cam girl. What I did or didn’t do is frankly, no one else’s business but my own, but this “dirty little secret” of mine is still something I struggle with every day regarding whether or not I tell people how I managed to pay for all of my books despite being a broke college student. Had I not written this paragraph, there would be plenty of people I know that would have never guessed this is something I had done in the past. Unfortunately, there are those that have known me for years but will see this short-lived moment in my life, this minute aspect of my personality, and choose to solely define me for it. Sex workers, porn stars, and cam girls are often defined exclusively by their professions.

This is where Chris Bergoch and Sean Baker’s stunning films Starlet and Tangerine come into play.

Tangerine has been generating quite the buzz around the indie circuit. The film follows Sin-Dee Rella (Kitana Kiki Rodriguez) and Alexandra (Mya Taylor), two transgender female prostitutes in Los Angeles on the day of Sin-Dee’s release from prison as she discovers their pimp (and Sin-Dee’s boyfriend) Chester (James Ransome) has been cheating on her with a cis-gender prostitute named Dinah. The majority of the characters featured in this film are either sex workers or consumers, and never once is the audience meant to see them as anything less than people. A married cab driver with a desire for pleasuring transgender prostitutes is never meant to be seen as a monster, and the women who provide him his pleasure are always seen as women just doing their job. There is no shame in the game for anyone rolling the dice, and if anything, the people we are to see as villainous are simply those that refuse to accept that they’ve already lost the game before ever trying to play.

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We are given access to see an authentic look at the world of sex workers, one that isn’t littered with Showgirl glitter or Taxi Driver moral dilemma. It’s an honest and sincere look at people who work in the sex industry for reasons other than rehashed storylines from Law & Order: SVU. Tangerine is centered on sex workers, but this isn’t a movie about sex working. Sure, we see our actresses turn a few tricks, but that’s like saying Clerks is about the convenience store industry. Just because we’re watching these women do their job, does not mean that they are their job. Being a sex worker doesn’t define their characters, it just happens to be what they hold for a job. Sin-Dee is shown as an excellent negotiator and furiously funny, and Alexandra is presented as levelheaded and a gifted vocalist. Being a sex worker is something they do, but it isn’t everything they are.

Before Tangerine, Bergoch and Baker made another indie flick called Starlet, a tale of a young girl named Jane (she also answers to Tess) who finds an unlikely friendship with an elderly woman named Sadie. For nearly an hour of the film, we watch this non-traditional friendship blossom between the young, vibrant, and leggy Jane (played by Dree Hemingway) and the bitter old Sadie (first-time actress Besedka Johnson), before we are made aware of what Jane does for a living, and why she also answers to “Tess.” Jane, as well as her roommates Melissa and Mikey, all work in the porn industry. There’s no emotionally depressing reveal and it’s never used a shock tactic. In fact, the porn industry is presented as any other business one could work within.

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Jane’s work in pornography is such a non-vital aspect of her personality, she could have easily been a waitress and this film would have still had the same effect. This isn’t a story of a “whore with a heart of gold” nor is it a film showing a redemption arc for a “troubled girl who made poor choices.” No. Jane works in pornography, and she’s also befriending an older woman simply because she enjoys her company. Yes, Jane works in the porn industry, but she’s also an avid garage sale enthusiast. Starlet isn’t trying to make a “porn stars are people too!” sort of film, it’s a genuinely interesting film about the way we relate with other people, and one of the characters just happens to work in pornography. Jane is not defined by her profession, and she isn’t demonized for it either.

Sean Baker and Chris Bergoch are spreading an important truth with their films: that sex does not have to be definitive. Tangerine and Starlet are two monumentally groundbreaking films, and they should be required viewing for all.

 


BJ Colangelo is the woman behind the keyboard for Day of the Woman: A blog for the feminine side of fear and a contributing writer for Icons of Fright. She’s been published in books, magazines, numerous online publications, all while frantically applying for day jobs. She’s a recovering former child beauty queen and a die-hard horror fanatic. You can follow her on Twitter at @BJColangelo.

 

“I Want to Slap His Hideous, Beautiful Face”: Sexual Awakenings and First Crushes in ‘Bob’s Burgers’

Honestly, Tina Belcher is the role model young girls have been waiting for, and I’m so glad she’s finally arrived. However, “Boys 4 Now” – the episode that made me really believe ‘Bob’s Burgers’ is *probably* the best show I’ve ever watched – deals with Louise getting her first crush. Rage-filled, insane, absolute genius Louise gets a crush on a boy. Unsurprisingly, she does not take this news well.

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This guest post by Becky Kukla appears as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.


Society, education, media and film all contribute to the shame that young girls feel as they approach their teenage years. The shame of sexuality, the humiliation and disgust that goes hand in hand with newfound desires and feelings – most of which teenage girls are not equipped to handle due to the constant stigmatizing of female desire. Whilst this shaming is apparent within schooling (especially religious influenced education), it is also reinforced in countless forms of media which children are reading, watching, or reacting to on a day to day basis. Young girls are subtly, and sometimes not so subtly, reminded that their sexuality is a sin and should be silenced.

We see this trend in many television shows. My Wife & Kids, Fresh Prince, 8 Simple Rules, and even the “progressive” Modern Family use the tired old protective father trope. The teenage daughter of the family is portrayed as promiscuous and/or less than intelligent, and protecting her virginity becomes another day to day task for her father. Any sign of her sexuality is alarming to her family, especially the male relations. Shows like American Dad and Family Guy go the other way, and depend on routine jokes centered around ridiculing their teenage girls. Meg Griffith, for example, is constantly the butt of every joke in her family and this is only worsened as she gets older and becomes interested in boys. The “Meg Griffin” problem, as we’ve come to know it, is more symptomatic of writers being too lazy or uncomfortable with writing half-decent storylines for teenage girls. Especially as it means they may have to write about sexuality, sexual fantasies or just a silly little crush from the perspective of a fourteen year old girl. Scary stuff, right?

So many television shows, animated or otherwise, like to poke fun or ridicule their young teenage girls, especially when those girls start that painful and mostly awkward transition into “womanhood.” It’s an outdated concept, and one that seems to apply exclusively to women. Teenage girls must not show any sign of outward sexuality, they mustn’t be open about their sexual awakening, and the boy must make the first move. If you break any of these rules, you’re a slut.

This is where Bob’s Burgers comes into its own. I’m sure you are all aware that the character of Tina Belcher was originally intended to be a teenage boy, until the writers realised that it was much more exciting and interesting to have a young girl who is so confident of herself, her sexuality and her fantasies. We rarely see this in films or on television, especially as Tina receives full support from her parents in everything she does; from writing erotic friend fiction to dating two boys at once. Honestly, Tina Belcher is the role model young girls have been waiting for, and I’m so glad she’s finally arrived. However, “Boys 4 Now” – the episode that made me really believe Bob’s Burgers is *probably* the best show I’ve ever watched – deals with Louise getting her first crush. Rage-filled, insane, absolute genius Louise gets a crush on a boy. Unsurprisingly, she does not take this news well.

A brief synopsis of the episode: Linda and Bob have to take Gene to the Table Laying Finals (yes, it’s exactly what it sounds like), so Louise is stuck tagging along to a Boys 4 Now concert with Tina. At first Louise is distinctly disinterested, perplexed and annoyed by all the pubescent girls who are crying and screaming at the boy-band onstage. That is until Louise lays eyes on Boo Boo – the band’s youngest member. She is transfixed–partly consumed by love, partly horrified at herself. She can’t help but look at him, enchanted by his singing and his youthful face. “Who the frick am I!?” she exclaims to herself in the toilets, trying to force the crush out of her system. It’s no good. Louise has been bitten by the love-bug.

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Louise, as a character, largely regards Tina with both disinterest and derision. Louise doesn’t understand her sister’s obsession with boys and butts, and often the two of them have very little in common. However, in “Boyz 4 Now,” Louise confronts her crush head on by revealing it to Tina, as she already has an acute awareness that Tina has been through these feelings before. There is no judgement, no mockery – just the simple understanding that this is perfectly normal, and that Louise has got it bad. Louise turning to Tina is a sign of respect, showing that Louise sees Tina’s own crushes as legitimate issues and that Tina is the expert to be consulted. It’s a moment of bonding between the two sisters who, before this moment, never really had anything to connect over.

Frequently, in other television shows, our young female character will change beyond recognition as they start to become sexually aware, or to have sexual desires. Physically, and in their personality, girls are expected to become “a woman” as opposed to “a girl.” There are many phrases associated with this phase–brink of womanhood, blossoming, flowering… I could go on. What they all serve to mean, is that our young girl is now becoming a woman, and will change completely and forever. But in Bob’s Burgers, Louise manages to retain her own personality, despite having gone through an apparently life changing transition. She is still full of rage (“I want to slap his hideous face!”) and she still overreacts to the given situation (“I’m infected, pull it out!”). Louise proves that girls and women simply do not change as a result of becoming sexually aware and actually the experience of your first crush/losing your virginity doesn’t make any difference to who you are as a person. Despite popular culture claiming otherwise. Also, Louise is pretty on the money about how having a crush feels!

The affirmation of “Boyz 4 Now,” however, has got to be at the very end, after the girls have been kicked off the tour bus and Louise has succeeded in slapping Boo Boo in the face. Louise tells Tina that she is a strong woman, and questions how Tina can be alive if her life is just one long string of crushes. As Louise says, “It’s exhausting.” There is a clear moment of understanding between the two of them. Tina is a departure from the stereotypical female daughter on television. She’s a geek who masters her own sexuality and refuses to change for anyone. This context allows us to see how hard it is for Louise to express her own sexual desire, but that this expression is made so much easier by having Tina as an older sister. An unapologetic girl who wants to date the entire softball team and doesn’t see anything wrong with that. Why should she? Louise, when battling her next crush as is inevitable, will be in safe hands.

Whilst most TV shows try and shame young girls for having completely natural and human desires, Bob’s Burgers positively adores them for it. Praises them, relishes them and above all reminds them that it’s normal. The feelings, the sexy feelings, are all normal. And awesome. Tina and Louise’s crushes are never portrayed as gross or indecent. They are never downplayed, and the girls do not end up as the butt of some joke about how stupid teenage girls are or how funny it is that they obsess over a boy-and. It preaches that girls should never be ashamed of their fantasies or of that awkward phase that sits uncomfortably between girl and woman. It’s hard to negotiate, and mainstream TV often makes it even harder. Thankfully Bob’s Burgers is here to put it right.

 


Becky Kukla is a 20-something living in London, working in the TV industry (mostly making excellent cups of tea). She spends her spare time watching everything Netflix has to offer and then ranting about it on her blog.

 

 

How the CW’s ‘The 100’ Is Getting Sex Positivity Right

In fact, it’s the aspect of love and intimacy, rather than lust and sexuality, which makes Clarke’s part in Finn’s demise so difficult–the show plays with the idea that human connection, whether it’s through friendship, family, alliance or romance, is painful because it matters, not because it is fundamentally wrong.


This guest post by Rowan Ellis appears as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.


This article contains spoilers for the first two seasons of The 100 … be warned!

On the surface, it might seem like we live in a sex positive society already, I mean, I just wrote an article about Channing Tatum’s intimidatingly chilled torso for this very website. We hear things like “sex sells” all the time, meaning it’s clearly viewed as positive for our economy if nothing else. But the tiniest scratch below that oiled up muscly surface shows something more complex and gendered. Women’s sexualities and sex lives are viewed in turn as both precious fortresses and exploitable commodities, by a world which can’t quite make up its mind whether it wants to protect us or fuck us. But then men and boys are being taught not to respect either a “weak” woman who needs protecting, or a “slutty” woman who wants to be fucked. So it came as a ridiculously pleasant surprise to see the portrayal of sex and sexuality in the CW’s teen dystopian show The 100.

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The 100 is one of those shows that snuck up on me; I watched the pilot when it first came out, and promptly dismissed it as an OK series that I might try again if I got bored and it ended up on Netflix. It’s the story of obligatory-CW-beautiful Clarke (Eliza Taylor) and 99 other teenage prisoners who lived on “The Ark,” a collection of space stations which houses all that is left of the human race, floating above the Earth. I say “lived,” past tense, because pretty much as soon as the show opens all 100 of them are blasted down onto the surface of our messed up planet to see if it’s survivable. One-hundred delinquent teenagers alone on a potentially deadly planet. What could go wrong? Honestly, I only gave the show a real chance after Tumblr excitedly informed me that the lead character wasn’t entirely straight, and it came under the radar as a show with increasingly great representation. So I gave it another chance, and by the time half a season had gone by, it was clear they were building a series that wasn’t afraid to give the middle finger to easy outs and happy endings. And yet, none of those difficult choices or moral and physical suffering were linked to the characters’ sex lives.

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Although we like to talk about characters as if they were independent entities, it is the writers who choose character’s choices and the consequences of their actions; traditionally morality plays and novels had marriages to reward the good and death to reward the bad. Sometimes the only way to tell that an otherwise progressive woman was meant to be perceived as good was the fact she was allowed to marry at the end (Jane Eyre, anyone?). And so it is the consequences of sex on screen, not just the having of sex itself, which can truly show an audience how sex positive a show is. Meta-fictional films like Scream and Cabin in the Woods draw attention to this idea when they comment on the absurdity and sexism inherent in the horror trope “The Final Girl” and the importance placed on virginity, where “pure” women are allowed to survive, and having sex carries a death sentence on screen. Although in a show like The 100 the Venn diagram of “characters who have had sex” and “characters who suffer” has a lot of overlap, this is vitally not a causal relationship; the death of Finn and the horrific struggles that Clarke faces as a leader, are not because of their sexual relationship. In fact, it’s the aspect of love and intimacy, rather than lust and sexuality, which makes Clarke’s part in Finn’s demise so difficult–the show plays with the idea that human connection, whether it’s through friendship, family, alliance or romance, is painful because it matters, not because it is fundamentally wrong.

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Teen shows have in the past been guilty of using sex to drive melodrama, or of using it only sparingly in “very special episodes” to give a warning. But The 100 uses its post-apocalyptic future setting to frame a version of the sexual worldview as a non-issue, suggesting that we as a collective species get the fuck over it when we have stuff to worry about like the end of the world. Is this realistic? Meh, who cares, I don’t watch sci-fi for realism, I apparently watch it for bisexual lead characters and complex moral decision-making with psychological consequences… but we’ll get on to that in a second. This lack of realism, I think, also extends into what makes the show an enjoyable watch for all its tragedy; there are some things that are safe, namely the sex. As a teenage girl being abandoned on an inhospitable planet with a number of teenage guys who all seem pretty invested in violence, gaining control, and hedonism, rape would be an immediate threat in my mind. Yet the CW set up of the show, and the storylines so far, seem to be completely removed from this fear, which gives me as a viewer a sense of security in a lot of ways. Similarly, the way the show pushes back against stereotypical or soap-like storylines, means as a viewer I am also not that concerned with the seeming lack of condoms or birth control going on, because I feel pretty secure that they won’t include “warning” storylines around safe sex with pregnancy and disease based on the tone of the show. At first, I was worried that the relative sexual freedom which the teenagers had found on the Earth’s surface would become a problem once the parents were reintroduced, with apologies and stern looks. But, again, they had more pressing matters to deal with.

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A negativity around women and sex is not just doled out from those in positions of power, the “I’m not like other girls” phenomenon between female peers is rooted in ideas around sexual promiscuity and femininity being lesser. This negativity towards sex is a tool used to pit women, and girls, against each other, rather than being a tool for raising up fellow men or boys because of their perceived sexual prowess. The double standard is hardly new and can be seen in real life as well as being played out on screen in films like Gone Girl, where Flynn criticises the idea of the “cool girl” aesthetic as creating a personality and way or acting based on your desirability to men. This is why it was so refreshing to see the treatment of Clarke and Raven’s relationship, as two women who were interested in the same guy, be secondary to their other connections. There is no passive aggressive MeanGirl-esque in fighting fraught with jealousy; Clarke can’t turn off her feelings for Finn, but immediately understands she can’t be with him, and gets on with what needs to be done. This decision is completely in line with her nature as someone who sees things as they are as far as she can, who is practically minded, who corrects Finn even as he is trying to be romantic when seeing that Raven falling to Earth isn’t a shooting star at all. Clarke is the first person to see Raven on Earth and witnesses her essential rebirth on the planet, they share an interesting relationship in their different ties to Abby, Clarke’s mother, and their friendship is of vital importance based on their respect for each other. The show ultimately rejects the jealous ex paradigm which it seemed to be setting up, and identifies itself as unexpectedly progressive in its portrayal of female friendship.

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The portrayal of bisexual women in society at large, is one of “greedy” girls showing off for the attention of men. They are often viewed as more likely to be unfaithful or “slutty,” and both the straight majority and gay community seem to be wracked with worry that their bisexual partners are secretly monosexual. The portrayal of Clarke (the clear lead of the show) being attracted to and forming relationships with, both men and women, plays away from these shallow stereotypes, while not denying her an active sex life. The tragedy in the storylines with both her partners is not caused by her sexuality, although her very real feelings for them heighten the pain for both her and us as an audience. Killing Finn and having to watch as Lexa betrayed their political alliance, took a huge psychological toll on the teen, but ultimately her hardest decision- to kill the population of Mount Weather- was connected to familial and friendship based bonds that created the community of the 100. However, historically the b-word has been conspicuously missing from the screen, even in forcefully progressive shows like Orange is the New Black, and so it is too for The 100. This can be explained away with the idea that the future is as liberated about sexual orientation as it is about sex, and that labels are no longer used or required. But that reduces the real need for bisexual viewers right now to have representation on screen and arguably contributes to the bi-erasure which it could so easily be combatting.

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Ultimately, this is a show that features some really beautiful humans having sex, and in that way it isn’t unusual. What The 100 is getting right is creating a narrative where the usual toxic cliches are subverted, and the characters are all the better for it, rather than ignoring sex and praising characters for that instead. There are of course ways to improve: I hope that next season we have Clarke voice her sexuality specifically, because that explicit labeling would be a pioneering act in representation. I would also like to see more diversity, particularly in body type, having an active sex life on the show, which is often missing or played for lazy and crude laughs on screen more widely. How likely is that to happen? My experience with shows in the past tells me, not very. But at the start of The 100 I’d never have guessed they would make any characters queer, and look what they did with their lead. So, if you’re reading this writers of The 100, I’d really love for you to prove me wrong again.

 


Rowan Ellis is a British geek using her YouTube videos to critique films, TV, and books from a queer and feminist lens.

Sex Worker Positivity in ‘Satisfaction’

Normalizing all sexual fantasies seems to be one of the main themes of the show. ‘Satisfaction’ offers a lot of varied sex positivity onscreen that centers on women. The show sets an example for what more television shows and films could portray when it comes to women, sexual desires, and sex work.

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This guest post by Cameron Airen appears as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.


There aren’t a lot of positive portrayals of sex work in film and television. Sex workers are typically seen as less than human–their lives disposable. The sex worker is often an object used for men’s domination, to shame her for the work she partakes in, or to be feared and avoided like she has the plague. How many times have we heard a woman in a film or TV show express something like, “Oh my god, I look like a whore!” or “She’s a whore!” in total disgust? It happens more often than we are conscious of because whorephobia and the stigma of sex work is deeply pervasive. We’ve been taught from the beginning not to look, or act like or be a whore. Being a whore is thought of as the low of the low; it is a shameful position in society.

Because sex workers are seen and thought of as inferior, violence against them is seen as normal, like we see in the film Dressed to Kill (1980) where a serial killer psychiatrist specifically targets sex workers. If a sex worker is not the target of violence, then they’re being objectified like in the recent film The Escort (2015) where Lyndsy Fonseca plays a sex worker whose story wants to be written by a white man. With the title “The Escort” you might think it would be HER story but she ends up being the pawn for his interesting journalism further perpetuating what the media does to sex workers consistently, objectifying them, which further perpetuates the stigma of sex work. But, I have good news.

One of the few shows that depicts sex workers in a positive way by challenging stereotypes of sex workers and the sex industry is the Australian drama, Satisfaction. Satisfaction centers on a circle of six women who work out of an upscale, legal brothel in Australia (where sex work is legal but its regulations vary regionally). The show doesn’t only focus on their sex work, but their friendships with each other, their personal sexual and romantic interests, and other parts of their lives unrelated to sex work. Satisfaction shows a realistic experience of sex work (for more privileged workers anyway), of sex workers’ clients and situations. Not every work situation turns out to be a positive one for these sex workers, but most do. It shows an assortment of realities that happen within sex work like clients falling in love with a sex worker or vice versa, the various fetishes that clients possess, coming out to loved ones about doing sex work, and dozens of dozens more. Also, safe sex is portrayed in Satisfaction by showing the workers doing STI checks on their clients before each session. When do we ever see safety around sex onscreen?


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“People pay me to have sex with them, and yes, I’m OK with that” –Lauren


Satisfaction offers a variety of personalities and representations of its main characters. It gives older sex workers a voice with characters like Lauren, a receptionist of the brothel who picks up sex work after discovering that she has a knack for it, and Mel, an independent sex worker. It represents the kink side of sex work through Heather, who works as a Dominatrix, and Nat, who explores her kinky sexuality. Chloe, “the best sex worker in the brothel” as Nat describes, has been in the business a long time and is a mother of a teenage girl. A younger and more intellectual type of worker is played through Tippi, a bubbly girl who wants to study creative writing. The brothel is owned by Nat’s dad but Nat manages it with a strong business intent. Satisfaction also adds a male sex worker in season 3 showing some diversity among gender.


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Heather, a lesbian Dominatrix


I do want to point out that Satisfaction is not as diverse as it could be. Heather is the only prominent gay character and sex worker of color. The rest of the women are white and heterosexual. All of the women are in a more privileged position in the sex industry. They have the privilege of working out of a safe and structured, fancy brothel, where clients are screened, instead of on the streets.  Plus, they have the privilege of working in a region where sex work is legal. There is a new character in Season 3 who struggles financially, but up that point, no one else seems to struggle to pay the rent or bills on time. The show also lacks the representation of trans or genderqueer sex workers.

A great aspect of Satisfaction is that it focuses on and normalizes fetishes. When do we ever see sexual fetishes portrayed in a positive light onscreen? Fetishes are seen as a normal part of a person’s sexuality, and not just among the clients but among some of the women as well. It’s another way the show defies sexual and gender stereotypes and gives kink a voice.


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Nat, manager of the brothel and latex Queen


While the last season of Satisfaction took a downturn overall by subtracting familiar characters and adding new ones, it explores one of the more interesting sexual expansions of one of the main characters, Nat. In Season 1, Nat, discovers her sexual appetite for latex. In the “Rubber Dubber” episode (Season 1, episode 7), Nat is intrigued by a client of Heather’s who enjoys being wrapped up in latex from head to toe. As she escorts the client in and out of the room, she is excited by the smell of latex and her curiosity begins. In Season 2, Mel’s younger brother, Sean, comes to visit, ends up being a sex worker, and crushes out on Nat. For a while, Nat doesn’t know what to do with this new guy pursuing her but ends up trying to date him. Her relationship with Sean leads her even deeper into her kink and fetish desires that has her wanting to open up their relationship. This is another sex positive moment because we hardly ever see people, but women in particular, wanting and initiating an open relationship with their partner onscreen.


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Nat and Sean


Season 3 broadens Nat’s sexuality when she starts seeing Bernie, one of Heather’s ex-clients. They end up having a strong S/M connection that allows Nat to explore her relationship to intimacy, fetish, and kink in ways that are more authentic to her. Nat realizes that she needs and wants to be with someone who is more compatible to her desires. This is a great portrayal of showing how women can get their sexual needs and desires met no matter what they may be. Normalizing all sexual fantasies seems to be one of the main themes of the show. Satisfaction offers a lot of varied sex positivity onscreen that centers on women. The show sets an example for what more television shows and films could portray when it comes to women, sexual desires, and sex work.

You can watch all seasons of Satisfaction for free on Hulu.

 


Cameron Airen is a queer feminist with a M.A. in Anthropology and Social Change who did her ethnography with sex workers in the Bay Area. When she’s not obsessing over women & gender in film/TV, Cameron is trying to create a (mostly) vegan cookbook. She resides in Berkeley, Calif. You can follow her on Twitter @cameronairen.

 

 

The Honest Sexcapades in ‘You’re The Worst’

Gretchen leaves Jimmy and states, “Well as my grandma used to say, ‘It’s only a walk of shame if you’re capable of feeling shame.’ See you later, thanks for doing all the sex stuff on me.”

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This guest post by Giselle Defares appears as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.


Sex is one of the strange wonders in our life. Many of us barely flinch when it comes to the sexual intrusiveness in our contemporary media. Oh, how the times have changed. Twenty years ago it would be Roseanne and Dan winking at each other. In recent years the boundaries have slowly been pushed back in our TV-landscape when it comes to the act of swapping bodily fluids– see Californication, True Blood, or The Americans. Sexual freedom is not only shown on cable shows such as HBO or FX, but also on network TV (see Scandal’s “Olitz” scenes on ABC). Everything is shown: same-sex scenes, masturbation, sex scenes from a woman’s perspective, you name it. In our modern society, it can sometimes be hard to navigate the complexity of sex, or get an accurate media portrayal of the gray messiness that sex, love, and relationships entail. Fear not, there’s the dark comedy gem of FX, You’re the Worst, which had its 10-episode debut season in 2014.

The romantic single-cam comedy is created by first-time showrunner Stephen Falk. He started out writing and producing for dark comedies such as Weeds and Orange is the New Black. Falk and his creative team specifically focused on detailed world-building in the show. He chose to divide the post-pilot episodes into three acts , each with their own director. In this way each episode can work individually (within its group) or as one part of the major arc.

It’s a surprising choice for Falk to mold his vision in the form of a modern sitcom – perhaps the redundant comparison comes as a result of the 30-minute format. After all, the format of the American sitcom, well, seems a bit dated, yet somehow it works for the show. The romantic influences in the show vary from the 1950s John Osborne play Look Back in Anger, ultimate rom-com When Harry met Sally, to the sitcom Mad About You. Falk created flawed characters, who in essence are just lovable dickheads. He commented on the beating heart of the show: “No matter how damaged we are, we all are deserving of love.”

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You’re the Worst centers around Jimmy Shive- Overly (Chris Geere), a narcissistic, mediocre, English writer living in Los Angeles whose day job consists of insulting anyone he doesn’t think is as smart as him. After going to his ex’s wedding he ends up having a one night stand with the laissez-faire publicist, Gretchen Cutler (Aya Cash). Despite their differences the two decide that they don’t want to stop seeing each other. The supporting cast consists of Gretchen’s best friend Lindsay Jillian (Kether Donohue), whose marriage to nerdy husband Paul is crumbling (Allan McLeod). Jimmy’s roommate Edgar (Desmin Borges), a sweet military veteran who suffers from PTSD and dabbles in selling drugs. Gretchen’s boisterous client, the rapper Sam Dresden (Brandon Mychal Smith) and his faux Tyler The Creator gang that consists of Shitstain (Darrell Britt Gibson) and Honey Nutz (Allen Maldonado).

You’re the Worst’s honest take on modern sexuality starts right in the pilot. During a well-deserved break in their one-night stand, while they munch on pasta, Jimmy quips to Gretchen, “I’m glad that this is a one night thing so we can reveal all this awful shit about ourselves.” They high five and Jimmy drops pasta from his fork on his crotch and Gretchen quickly says, “I’ll get that.” Aha, a woman who’s not afraid to get what she wants. We see various clips in their hilarious graphic sex montage. Gretchen straddles Jimmy whilst she’s chewing gum and she pensively states, “ I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I’m not attracted to you.” Jimmy just looks at her and says “ What has that got to do with anything?!”

Yet, the most graphic and funny (sex) scene in the pilot is when Jimmy performs an oral act and spits on Gretchen’s vagina:

Gretchen: “Did you spit on it?!”

Jimmy: “It’s saliva. It’s going to get there anyway.”

Gretchen shrugs.

Well, there’s certainly a nice amount of sexual activity in the show. Girl goes down on boy, boy goes down on girl, even attempts at threesomes. It’s sad that it seems revolutionary that the characters on the show have a healthy relationship and enjoyment with sex.

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Jimmy and Gretchen are commitment-phobes who are running away from responsibility in every aspect of their lives. They have absolutely no qualms with physical intimacy but they run when they develop some level of emotional intimacy. They’re self-absorbed, often engage in destructive and self-destructive activities, and struggle with the concept of adulthood and the inevitable romantic relationships that will follow. Their obnoxious behavior can be awful but Falk ensured that the moments aren’t gratuitous.

Gretchen is portrayed as a capable but laid-back publicist. She’s snarky, loud, magnetic, and complex. She’s also selfish, self-aware, and caring. Gretchen is definitely not the bumbling goody two-shoes that’s normally shown in the romantic genre. She hates that she cares about her intimate circle and tries to hide her feelings but can’t. Her quips are what make her endearing – especially her conversations with Sam and his crew. In episode 3, “Keys Open Doors,” Gretchen leaves Jimmy and states, “Well as my grandma used to say, ‘It’s only a walk of shame if you’re capable of feeling shame.’ See you later, thanks for doing all the sex stuff on me.”

Jimmy could have been one of the more one-dimensional characters. He’s sarcastic and almost shows no signs of humanity. It’s slowly revealed in defining moments that he does have feelings or even a soul. One of the top moments is when Falk toyed with one of the more cliché rom-com tropes. In episode 8, “Finish Your Milk,” Jimmy and Gretchen have a big fight when he finds out that she presents a Wasp version of herself to her parents. He tracks her down at their country club lunch (as you do) and delivers a big speech how they don’t know the real version of their daughter. In a nice twist, it turns out that “whiteknighting” isn’t what Gretchen needs and she breaks up with him for it. Well, that’s definitely a feminist silver lining in a romantic situation.

The quips and honesty surrounding sex is what sets the tone for the show. It’s not only seen in the budding relationship between Gretchen and Jimmy but also in Gretchen’s relationship with her bestie Lindsay. Falk took the stock characters from romantic comedies and flipped them upside down. Lindsay is the self-absorbed and annoying best friend. She easily could have been one-note but the writing and the comedy chops of Kether Donohue really make it work. Lindsay has heart, a lot of personality and a high sex drive. In the pilot, Gretchen is picked up after her romp with Jimmy and she spills the beans to a disapproving Lindsay. Gretchen quips, “You’re being shitty and judgmental to me. How many guys did you blow at our five-year reunion?” Ah, who doesn’t love the frankness between two good friends?

Jimmy and Edgar’s relationship isn’t as tight, but whether he knows it or not, Jimmy really needs Edgar. In the first episodes it seems that Edgar is only there to lent an ear to Jimmy and cook him the most fabulous cuisine. Edgar fulfils the role of the kooky roommate but throughout the season we’re shown an heartwarming arc. He’s realistically messed up, struggles with daily social situations and is Jimmy and Gretchen’s number one fan. During the episodes we’ll see that he (well, actually both Edgar and Lindsay) becomes a fully developed character who stands on his own and doesn’t necessarily exist to serve Jimmy and Gretchen’s arc.

Why is the relationship between Jimmy and Gretchen believable? The emphasis lies on two people being present in their relationship whilst they navigate a society that has become less conversational and more self-indulgent. In their own unique way, both Gretchen and Jimmy listen, and see each other for who they really are – they don’t judge and accept the other one’s choices. This is a refreshing take on romantic relationships on TV.

You’re The Worst is a romantic comedy/mirror on our society about romantic dating. Love is exhilarating, hard, and quite often people struggle between loneliness, vulnerability, and the satisfying experience when you meet another person who just gets you. It’s not the representation for millennial dating – since there are so many different points of view when it comes to love and sex- but it certainly comes close for many of us. Jimmy, Gretchen and their squad are all messed up people. They can be snarky, manipulative and mean. You really shouldn’t, yet you care about them, even root for them and want them to do well.

You’re the Worst is an underrated show about romantic dysfunction. It’s one of the better comedy shows on TV right now; quite frankly, if you’re not watching it you’re doing yourself a disservice.

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Giselle Defares comments on film, fashion (law) and American pop culture. See her blog here.

 

To Boldly Go: ‘Star Trek: The Next Generation’ Explores the Limits of Sexual Attraction in “The Host”

Once Beverly decides that so little of her attraction to Odan was wrapped up in his host body, the floodgates of sex, sexuality, gender, and physical attraction were wide open.


This guest post by Swoozy C appears as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.


Last year, after seeing my closest twitter friends relentlessly tweet its praises, I set out to strengthen my nerd cred by finally watching Star Trek: The Next Generation in its entirety. The show is a great watch for a number of reasons, but one of the best is its attempts progressive social messages. Despite Geordi La Forge (played by Lavar Burton minus all of his real life swagger) being an apparent 24th century holdover from the Men’s Rights Advocates, Star Trek was incredibly forward thinking in its open exploration of sexuality.

“The Host” has stuck out as one of my favorite episodes for this. In this episode, Beverly Crusher (Gates McFadden), the Enterprise’s chief medical officer, falls in love with a Trill ambassador named Odan (Franc Luz) who is on the ship to mediate a dispute between the inhabitants of two moons. While on his way to a meeting, Odan is fatally injured. Once he returns to the Enterprise, he explains to Beverly that as a Trill, he exists in a symbiotic relationship between a “symbiont” and a host body. In order to survive, Odan must be transplanted into a new host. Because he is necessary for the success of the upcoming mediation, Riker offers to host Odan until the new body arrives, taking on Odan’s personality and all of his memories.

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Understandably, Beverly is hesitant to accept the person who looks like Riker, a man she has come to love like a brother, is now Odan. She is angry for what she sees as purposeful omission on his part in not telling her that his body was merely a host and not Odan himself. When Beverly cries that he should have told her what he is, he responds with, “This is what I am,” shining a brief light on what may not have been overtly visible as an allegory for transgenderism and homosexuality in 1991 when the episode first aired. What is overt is the question: when we are romantically or sexually attracted to someone, what is it about that person that we are attracted to? This is the question that Beverly must wrestle with.

Once he is no longer in the body that she recognizes as his (and is in fact in a the body of someone she has had a long standing friendship with), Beverly must confront what it means for her to be in love with and sexually attracted to Odan.

Despite his new body, Odan’s personality, memories, and feelings are the same. He still loves and is attracted to Beverly. Beverly’s struggle is played out in a scene with the ship’s counselor Deanna Troi (Marina Sirtis). “What was it I loved about him?” she asks. “His eyes? His hands? His mouth? They’re gone.” Here is where the episode shines in asking some very provocative questions. How much of our attraction is based on someone’s personality and how much is based on the body they inhabit? How much of the person and our attraction to them is held in who they are physically? Now that Odan is in Riker’s body, can she still be in love with him? Can she still want him sexually?

In her discussion with Deanna, the counselor, who has previously had a romantic relationship with Riker, encourages Beverly to accept her second chance at love. After some soul searching over a cup of lemon tea, she realizes that the body Odan inhabits is not a key factor in why she loves him, accepting the fact that not only can she love him in Riker’s body, but in the new host that is sent for him.

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Despite the heteronormativity of a Riker/Beverly relationship, it is not hard to take the leap to ask how much gender is related to both our physical bodies and our sexual attraction. Odan is gendered male throughout the episode, but why? Is the symbiont inherently male? Or is he considered male because of the host bodies we’ve seen him inhabit? How much of Beverly’s attraction is based on his maleness? Once Beverly decides that so little of her attraction to Odan was wrapped up in his host body, the floodgates of sex, sexuality, gender, and physical attraction were wide open. And briefly, it appeared that Star Trek was going to reach into the depths to explore this; when Odan’s new host finally arrives, it is to our and Beverly’s surprise, a female body.

Perhaps the writers of this episode felt their audience was not ready to directly address transgender and homosexual issues, or perhaps they themselves were not ready to tackle it head on. When this episode aired, we were still six years away from Ellen’s coming out moment and “you’re gay” was one of the worst pejoratives you could use toward someone at school. Whatever the case, the writers failed miserably at what could have been one of the most forward thinking, progressive episodes of television at the time. Instead of bringing us into the utopia of the 24th century that Star Trek is set in, the writers rooted us firmly in the homo- and transphobia of our then current era.

When Odan comes to talk to Beverly in her new female body, Beverly is cold and visibly uncomfortable. When Odan tells Beverly that she is still and always will be in love with her, Beverly uses the excuse of being unable and unwilling to keep up with the Trill’s changing body, despite her excitement for the new host body up until she saw that it was female. Beverly had come so far in her own sexual exploration throughout this episode, but almost all of it is undone in these final three minutes. Suddenly, and without any contemplation that the we as the viewer get to see, Odan’s body is much more important to Beverly than it was just two scenes prior.

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Of course, anyone who has sexual or romantic preferences can tell you that gender and attraction can be inextricably linked. Where Star Trek fails is in not exploring that link or even overtly admitting that gender is the real issue for Beverly. In refusing to acknowledge this, and instead place blame on a too often change in host bodies, Star Trek not only back tracks on the entire premise of the episode, but does a disservice to Beverly and the audience. Beverly’s disgust at the idea that she and Odan might continue a same- gendered romantic relationship is shortsighted for a show that takes place in the 24th century alongside a more evolved human society. It also morphs Beverly from the thoughtful, empathetic character that she has been throughout the show and this episode into a cold and uncaring one.

While having Beverly love and accept Odan’s gender fluidity would have made for a nearly perfect episode, almost as much could have been gained by simply letting her admit that, while she cared deeply for Odan, she was unable to maintain her romantic and sexual attraction with this new female body. In 1991, allowing a character like Beverly to openly question her sexual orientation, even if only to discover that she could not be in a same-gendered relationship, would have been groundbreaking.

See also: Trill Gender and Sexuality Metaphors in Star Trek


Swoozy C is a registered nurse living that Mudita lifestyle in Los Angeles. She is a featured contributor at Femsplain.com, writing and making videos about sex, sexuality, and gender. https://twitter.com/swoozyc

 

 

Slaying Dudes and Stealing Hearts: The Tell-All Sexuality of Mindy Lahiri

Sex positivity, for instance, is frequently presented in an oversimplified, inaccurate package of rampant promiscuity and generally assigned to a side female character, like a free-spirited best friend or sister. Meanwhile, the main character frequently serves as the antithesis to said behavior who is later rewarded with “true love.”

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This guest post by Shannon Miller appears as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.


If there was ever a word that could best encompass the essence of the central character of The Mindy Project, it would be “unapologetic.” Mindy Lahiri (Mindy Kaling) is unapologetically confident in her abilities as a doctor. Her fashion is an unapologetic cacophony of bold colors and daring patterns that always inexplicably work. She makes no apologies for subscribing to her version of femininity, which includes a sizable obsession with romantic comedies, flawless selfies, and overpriced blowouts from trendy hair salons. She’s more than occasionally rude, prejudiced, and self-absorbed and probably should apologize for a great many of those instances, but rarely does. She refuses to be the underdog in medicine and in love, and would be the first to tell you that she has earned the right to a cinematic romance and all of the enviable, announcement-worthy sex that comes with it. To summarize: Mindy Lahiri is determined to have it all and to those who feel like that quest is a selfish or unrealistic one, well…sorry, not sorry.

The romantic comedy genre is often the target of harsh criticism bordering on blatant disrespect – as are many things that are considered inherently feminine – but there are certain critiques of mainstream efforts that I do feel are worth examining, like the recycling of/lazy approach to certain tropes. Sex positivity, for instance, is frequently presented in an oversimplified, inaccurate package of rampant promiscuity and generally assigned to a side female character, like a free-spirited best friend or sister. Meanwhile, the main character frequently serves as the antithesis to said behavior who is later rewarded with “true love.” There is a cluster of issues with this model, like the implication that the choice to entertain multiple partners is always a negative one. The most troubling concern for me, however, is the notion that an active sexual appetite and the desire or ability to be in a romantic, loving relationship are somehow mutually exclusive. While there are plenty of aspects of the genre that I adore, it is always disappointing to see sex positivity treated as a cautionary tale, or something within the protagonist that must be cured.

And you might assume that a woman who would potentially give her right arm to be Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally would adopt this particular school of thought. Nevertheless; Mindy’s dream of finding the perfect husband and father to her nine future daughters is only rivaled by her desire to have her world categorically rocked by a man with the penis of Michael Fassbender. Her pleasure doesn’t take a backseat to her relationship goals, nor are they necessarily treated as separate entities. In fact, Mindy folds her sensuality into her overall ideals of dating and monogamy.

Additionally, open sexual expression in professional women is not something that we get to see reflected in our network programing too regularly and when it is, it’s treated with ranging levels of discretion. We know that the decision to keep one’s sex life private or public is a personal choice and a right, but it can get problematic when our expression becomes shrouded in societal expectations until it’s presented as an absolute (i.e. “a lady must keep her sex life private” or “real women should openly discuss their sexuality”). Our brightly-hued protagonist , however, isn’t terribly caught up in anyone’s expectations of her in this regard; she’s far too busy informing her entire staff when then-boyfriend Cliff (guest star Glenn Howerton) is routinely “getting up in them guts” (“Danny Castellano is My Personal Trainor”) or proudly lauding the oral skillset of current boyfriend and fellow OB-GYN Danny Castellano (Chris Messina). Yes, there’s definitely a lack of consideration for the privacy of her sexual partners within this compulsive need to share. Still, what makes her frank ownership of her sexuality so engaging isn’t that it’s some theoretical example of how women “should” express themselves, but a refreshing exercise in actual agency. Sure, she doesn’t have to broadcast her satisfaction with her and Danny’s sex life, but she’s going to and whether or not you decide to pull up a chair in the breakroom and listen (or tune in to her podcast dedicated to it, which she briefly hints to in the third season) is entirely up to you.

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Her marque of sexuality also combats a lot of preconceived notions about sex positive women, in general. For instance, there exists an idea that sex positivity equates to absolute self confidence in all areas, which can include body image. While she is certainly accepting of her body to an extent, Mindy still holds onto some insecurity.  In the season two episode “Danny Castellano is My Personal Trainor,” she divulges a few tricks to her coworkers that have kept her naked form a mystery to her partners over the years. This ultimately leads to her requesting the personal training services of Danny in an effort to get fit and gain enough confidence to allow Cliff to see her bare body.  Her occasional reservations about her image don’t negate her desires, but they do shine a light on a certain vulnerability that isn’t always associated with sex positivity. Another popular assumption is that “sex positive” is synonymous with “adventurous,” or that those who identify as such are open to anything. It’s a misconception that can lead to events similar to those of season three’s polarizing episode “I Slipped,” which sparked a vital discussion about consent and in-relationship boundaries after Danny mistakenly assumes that Mindy is far more amenable to anal sex than she realistically is. She resists the false equivalencies that tend to strip much of the nuance and humanity from the sex positive movement, keeping an otherwise radical character somewhat relatable.

Though I champion Mindy as an audaciously sexual being, it’s important to recognize that there is a certain amount of privilege at work here (economic status, age, and ability, just to name a few) that makes her brand of sex positivity so largely celebrated. The fact that she is a young, wealthy, able bodied doctor not only impacts how she encounters inequality, but also the way her liberal sexual expression is positively received by others, whether it is intentional or not. It’s negligent to examine Mindy’s sexual identity and ignore the circumstances that afford her the benign label of “sex positive,” because that fortune simply isn’t awarded to all women, fictional or real.

That could be why The Mindy Project doesn’t protect its star from the sexist judgments of just about every one of her male counterparts, like her ex-boyfriend Cliff or previous fling and midwife/nemesis Brendan Deslaurier (Mark Duplass), both whom have taken foul jabs at the number of partners under Mindy’s belt (pun not entirely intended). This judgment is rife with hypocrisy – as slut-shaming typically is – when you consider how much Brendan prides himself on his open-minded approach to his own life, including casual sex, or how the men on the show experience virtually no judgment for their many previous conquests. This gross sexism is absolutely frustrating to witness, but it also grounds her experience in something that is accessible to many women. I may never personally relate to the glamorous life of a successful surgeon in Manhattan, but the indignation she feels when some guy tries to disgrace her for daring to enjoy sex, especially when he has no qualms about flaunting his own desirability, feels very damn familiar. How dare you, indeed.

We’re beginning to witness something really cool in sitcom television: genuine, recognizable complexity in women. Seeing a woman play both the helpless romantic and the unabashed sex enthusiast isn’t a revolutionary concept, nor is Mindy Lahiri the first to do it. I am, however, thrilled to consume quality programming that shows us thriving in our intricacies. My hope is that the future of TV includes more characters like Mindy: intelligent women armed with crass jokes, lavish fantasies of love, and a killer wardrobe.

 


Shannon Miller’s passions include bossy women, social justice, and her two-year-old daughter’s version of “Let It Go”. Her hatred of raisins is non-negotiable. You can read her thoughts regarding representation in media on her blog Televised Lady Bits or follow her on Twitter @Phunky_Brewster.

 

Virtue, Vulgarity, and the Vulva

The equality of men and women on the basis of healthy and consensual sex is sex positivity according to the Women and Gender Advocacy Center. Thus, to desire sex positivity is to be inherently feminist.


This guest post by Erin Relford appears as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.


If TV shows were lovers, I’d argue women haven’t had great sex since Sex and the City. Much like your first time and the strategically latent mile markers you’ve placed on partners since then, you know good sex when you encounter it. From a woman’s point of view, good sex is control without judgment, a convergence of discovery, submission beyond fear, and a jungle gym full of toys where choice puts you in the driver’s seat (debauchery being an optional passenger of course).

Considering Sex and the City TV’s certifiable rubber stamp of good female sex, Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda echoed the tales of countless women, giving ode to the free missives of womanhood and female prowess. The lessons in relationships, the selfish romps of good delight, all were reasons to shout “yes, yes, yes” by virtue of sex positivity.

So why then has good female sex gone missing from television? Arguably, cable and broadcast networks have shared in their ill-fated attempts at sexploitation, mostly at the expense of women. The proof is in the pudding or pootnanny in this case. Showtime’s Californication led seven seasons of “accidental cunnilingus” and sapless sucking, while Ray Donovan’s no frills 1-2-3 pump action has left Showtime’s female audience high and dry. HBO’s Ballers is a good time in the sack, if you’re a woman willing to suffice with balls of dry humping and no “Mr. Big” (par for the course Dwayne Johnson).

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Lest one forget HBO’s seduction of rape and torture porn, Game of Thrones’ female characters experience it all in guile of good TV. These depictions aren’t to suggest the storytelling behind such shows are short of genius, but remiss of variety. The female sex narrative has been relegated to an industry turned tits for trade commonwealth, a vulva and violence republic.

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Sex is an inalienable right, sacred and undeniable, an equal opportunity employer that does not discriminate in its pursuance of life, liberty, and rapture. The privilege is everyone’s to be expressed as a declaration of independence and therefore should be engaged from the perspectives of both men and women. On the contrary, the Declaration of Independence was written “that all men are created equal,” yet our stories involving sex are still being viewed from the perspectives of men.

The equality of men and women on the basis of healthy and consensual sex is sex positivity according to the Women and Gender Advocacy Center. Thus, to desire sex positivity is to be inherently feminist.

However, let’s not be haste and expel the idea sex positivity has gone hiding into the forests of Westeros. Evidence exists that sex positivity is flourishing in light of TV’s new golden era and new wave of feminism. It’s come in the embodiment of female sex appeal, the brand of woman that is fabulously fierce, yet deliciously palpable. The fire of Daenerys Targaryen, the tenacity of Brienne of Tarth, or the inexplicable “Stark” of Arya and Sansa are all due a conceded applause thanks to Game of Thrones portrayal of strong, bountiful female characters. Scandal’s Olivia Pope earns top brass for her bastion of prose and breastwork, delivering willful rhubarbs to Washington’s elite though judged often and tenaciously for her challenge to disbelief that women can command power and pleasure in it from the highest tent pole in the land.

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Alicia Florrick’s beau Will Gardner may be gone, but her sense of smart and sexy is almost too naughty for CBS’ The Good Wife.

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And dare not forget the women of USA Network’s Suits, led by the strut, poise, and pivot of the inimitable Jessica Pearson.

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Suffice to say there are many Masters of Sex on television, but does women’s exploration of sex on television have to be justified in pioneering scientists? Can the enjoyment of love and lust be equal parts man, equal parts woman? Not so, according to the 2015 Writers Guild of America TV staffing brief, where women remain underrepresented among staff writers by nearly two to one.

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All things being equal, one could satiate in the fact women being 50.8 percent of the US population, would also mean a majority of female driven TV programming, written by women. But the reality is, most female characters are written by men. Some exceptionally well, as in FX’s You’re The Worst where creator Stephen Falk gives equal Judas Priest to the sexes or Darren Star’s Sex and the City. But there are more than 31 flavors to cherry popping ecstasy as proven early on by Ilene Chaiken’s The L Word. Perhaps one of the more prevailing scapes into female intimacy and feminism, The L Word managed to be intriguing and vanguard, paving the way for shows like Orange is the New Black where women could be domineering and emphatic, let alone in control of their very naturism as on Girls.

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In an age of digital storytelling, where men still dominate culture and the writer’s room, we can continue to look forward to Pussy Galores.

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Meanwhile, feminists and female viewers alike will revel in the Lisbeth Salanders, Olivia Popes, and Mary Janes, persevering far and wide in search of the next big “O,” that is open, outstanding, and out of the ordinary television that engages women from the female point of view. Will there ever be great sex on TV for women?

The answer may befall in there’s simply more to come

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Erin Relford is an author and screenwriter currently working in Los Angeles.  Her writings involve female empowerment and engaging girls in science, technology, engineering, and math (STEM).  You can follow her on Twitter @AdrienneFord or her website pinkyandkinky.com

 

The Audacity of Sex and the Black Women Who Have It

‘Being Mary Jane’ provides the dialogue and the safety net in saying out loud ,”I see you, I’ve been there too and you are not alone.” The embracing of positive sexuality of Black women on television is not progressive feminism. It is the hope that future depictions of such will not be labeled progressive, but just as common as the stereotypes that have lingered for too long.


This guest post by Reginée Ceaser appears as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.


When I was not quite a teenager, I watched Spike Lee’s movie entitled She’s Gotta Have It. I watched and enjoyed the characters’ monologues and the way Spike Lee’s character, Mars, repeated questions during conversation. I knew it was about a young woman who had three boyfriends but did not understand much else, let alone its importance in the framing of the sexuality of Black women. Released in 1986, She’s Gotta Have It chronicled Nola Darling balancing a relationship with three different men at the same. The three men know about each other and constantly vie for Nola’s attention and affections in hopes of being the one she chooses to have a monogamous relationship with.

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An issue brought up in the film between the men is maybe Nola is being a “freak” because she’s lacking something emotionally (like daddy issues). The remedy to attempt this “freak” behavior is make Nola go to therapy to work out her issues. Her therapist, a Black woman, feels that Nola does not have the deep emotional issues originally perceived, and is enjoying her healthy sex drive. Satisfied that she’s had enough therapy, Nola continues her relationships with her with suitors. Looking back on the film today, I appreciate that this film now because it centers on a Black woman who unabashedly is exploring and thoroughly enjoying her sexuality. By doing this, Spike Lee took long held beliefs and perceptions of Black women and pushing back on the constrictions and perceptions of society. Films like She’s Gotta Have It come out few and far between due to of the “sensitive” context.

Preconceived notions of Black women in society have permeated into the fabrics of the stories of Black women in film and television creating flat, one-dimensional characters that are forced to speak the humanity and womanhood of all Black women. Black women characters have been defined for decades by barely developed characters to serve their “larger than life” trope. For instance there is the angry Black woman, the sassy Black woman, the fat and sassy Black woman, as well as the fat Black woman with low self-esteem, and the fat Black woman that desperately wants the love of a man but in the end is humiliated by him. There is also the frigid Black woman or the hypersexual Black woman. Lastly, and an all-time favorite, the Black woman that must choose having a career or having a man (read: a dependable, steady sex life) to be fulfilled.

Many stories regarding Black womanhood are deeply rooted in sex and the respectability of sexual behavior projected upon them. Black women are often forced to live in a very tiny box with huge expectations of them and anything less than is being a renegade and a menace to society. We are supposed to be high achievers, while wearing our skirts to our ankles and necklines to our chins. Sex before marriage is frowned upon, having sex outside of a serious relationship can garner side-eyes and distance from friends, and having the audacity to freely explore sexuality outside of the norms of committed relationships and marriage is a disownable offense. There is no gray area allowed, no progression of full womanhood to be pursued and any open, honest conversation about sex and sexuality of Black women is relegated to girls’ night with friends.

Fast forward to 2013, and Mara Brock Akil debuts a new scripted drama, Being Mary Jane, centering on a Black journalist named Mary Jane, portrayed by Gabrielle Union. I fell in love with Being Mary Jane when Mary Jane sat her in office and masturbatedwith the help of a mini vibrator before going on a date. Another aspect that I loved about the scene is that Mary Jane didn’t immediately turn to porn to aid in her arousal. She had a computer and a smartphone and yet depended on herself and the vibrator. It is a choice that audaciously and efficiently wrestled down and shattered the myth that only way Black women achieve sexual pleasure is through men. It was gratifying to watch a long-held belief of Black women being scared, frigid and afraid to touch themselves and love themselves sexually evaporate on primetime television.

Mara also crafted a nuanced woman that balanced a progressing career, taking care of family, evaluating and redefining friendships and of course, navigating an intricate and messy personal life. With Mary Jane’s intricate and messy personal life, Mara takes another bold opportunity to rebuff sexual respectability and cement agency and consent by introducing Mary Jane’s friend with benefits.

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Friends with benefits is a subject that is frequently discussed but is tap danced around to avoid being labeled as promiscuous and “loose.” Also hinging on that fear is the thought of losing control of the ability to just have sex with no other emotional attachment. Mary Jane’s friend with benefits, or Cutty Buddy as he is affectionately known by fans, is paramount because he represents more than just surface level sex. He’s beautiful, muscular, handsome man with a voice that sounds like hot butter on a fresh oven biscuit.  He respects her and even cares for her but is fully aware of their agreement, makes no illusions about it, and is committed to upholding it. There is a mutual understanding and reciprocation of attraction that is delightful to see play out. That reciprocation is delighting to see, because too often we see or read about men who have casual sex or play the role of friend with benefits and then immediately degrade and shun them for engaging in sex outside of societal norms of a relationship. For example, Nola Darling did choose a man to have a monogamous relationship with and he in turn verbally attacks her and sexually assaults her for making him feel used. It is the ultimate act of “punishment” that is unfortunately used when sex isn’t played by the rules.

Navigating womanhood is not a straight shot; it’s not perfect but the chance to develop and nurture it on one’s own terms is a perfect realization in the feminist school of thought. Being Mary Jane provides the dialogue and the safety net in saying out loud ,”I see you, I’ve been there too and you are not alone.” The embracing of positive sexuality of Black women on television is not progressive feminism. It is the hope that future depictions of such will not be labeled progressive, but just as common as the stereotypes that have lingered for too long.

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Reginée Ceaser is a New Orleans native who is a rockstar in her daydreams, retired daytime soap opera viewer, and proud television binger. Reginée can also be found giving dazzling commentary on Twitter @Skiperella and on her blog, Skiperella.com 

 

 

‘Concussion’: When Queer Marriage in The Suburbs Isn’t Enough

This film about a queer woman is, unlike the same year’s ‘Blue Is The Warmest Color’, directed and written by a queer woman (Stacie Passon who was nominated for “Best First Feature” in the Independent Spirit Awards and will be will direct an episode of ‘Transparent’ this coming season), and in many aspects is the answer to those who dismissed ‘Blue’ as a product of the male gaze.

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This repost by staff writer Ren Jender appears as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.


How many distinctive, acclaimed films about queer women can be released in American theaters at the same time? If we extrapolate from the actions of film distributors in 2013, the answer is apparently: only one. Concussion was named one of the top 20 films of that year by Slate’s Dana Stevens and was also named one of the top films of 2013 in Salon. Shortly after its premiere, at Sundance, The Weinstein Company acquired it for distribution. For most films that acquisition (and the later support from reviews in traditional media) would mean a national release, but the film had a very limited run in theaters that fall and never played a theater in my art-house-friendly city. The film was on Video On Demand, iTunes, and Google Play, but deserves much more attention than most films that never have a national theatrical run.

This film about a queer woman is, unlike the same year’s Blue Is The Warmest Color, directed and written by a queer woman (Stacie Passon who was nominated for “Best First Feature” in the Independent Spirit Awards and will direct an episode of Transparent this coming season), and in many aspects is the answer to those who dismissed Blue as a product of the male gaze. Instead of a teenage protagonist, the main character in Concussion, Abby (played by Robin Weigert: Andrew O’Hehir in Salon summed up her performance as “OMFG”), is a 40-something, stay-at-home Mom, married to another woman and living in the suburbs.

When her son accidentally hits her in the face with a baseball, we see the confusion and blood in the family car ride to the hospital, as she moans to no one in particular, “I don’t want this. I don’t want this. I don’t want this.”

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In the ER Abby says she is going back to work in the city (and that she really means it this time). Abby doesn’t need to work for money: her spouse, Kate, is a divorce attorney, kept busy by the dissatisfied wives in their social circle. We see the wives’ well-maintained bodies in slow motion, at the beginning of the film, in spin and yoga classes as David Bowie sings on the soundtrack, “Oh you pretty things…”

Passon knows this world well She lives in the town (Montclair) Abby does. She is married to a woman and has children, one of whom accidentally hit her in the face with a baseball. The parallels between her life and Abby’s may be why the character and setting seem so fully realized.

Abby for the most part blends in with her straight women friends but we see she’s different from them–and not just in her orientation. She reads books while she vacuums. When a friend is circulating a “new motherhood” survey for an article in a parenting magazine, Abby writes of dreams in which she sticks her then newborn son in the microwave–and other dreams in which she and her son are married. She writes, “My poor baby, I didn’t know whether to kill him, fuck him, or eat him.”

At times Abby’s queerness does separate her from the other women. When Abby mentions to her friend that one of the group of women they work out with is “cute,”  the friend (played by Janel Maloney) reproaches Abby, “She’s not a lesbian!”

Still of Robin Weigert, right, and Johnathan Tchaikovsky in the movie, Concussion. Credit: RADiUS-TWC

Abby starts work with a contractor to refurbish a city loft. As they transform the apartment, she transforms too, first hiring women to have sex with her and then working out of the loft as a high-priced escort, “Eleanor,” whose clients are all women.

A woman character turning to sex work for reasons other than money is usually a male artist’s conceit, as in Luis Buñuel’s great Belle de Jour, which features stunning, beautifully dressed, doctor’s wife, Catherine Deneuve, working in a brothel while her handsome, attentive (but clueless) husband sees his patients. In women’s memoirs of sex work (like Michelle Tea’s Rent Girl) the money is the point of the work (as it is with most work).

A sex worker character whose clients are all women (when the vast majority of sex work clients are men) is also usually the creation of a straight male artist–and is usually a male character so the work avoids any explicit same-sex scenes.

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Perhaps because Concussion turns that last trope on its head (or perhaps because New York is a big city that can cater to many kinds of tastes) we accept the conceit of a woman over 40 seeing women clients (for $800 a session) every day. The queer women we see in sexual situations in Concussion are not cut from the same Playboy-ready cloth as the two women in Blue: one client is fat, another is an obvious real-life survivor of breast cancer and some of her clients, like Eleanor herself, are nowhere near their 20s anymore.

Robin Weigert doesn’t have a Barbie Doll face or a porn model’s body, but does have a passing resemblance to the young Ellen Barkin. Weigert exudes the same confidence and sexiness–reminding us those two qualities are often one and the same.

Concussion has a scene similar to one in Blue in which a straight man interrogates a queer woman about her sexuality. But because Abby is in her 40s, the mocking tone she takes with him is completely different from what we hear from the 20-something main character in Blue, Adele.

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In Concussion are we seeing the female gaze? Well, we’re definitely seeing one woman’s gaze, that of Passon. The sex scenes in Concussion, unlike Blue, don’t seem like outtakes from an amateur porn video, but flow from the other nonsexual encounters in the film. (Concussion’s expert cinematographer is David Kruta.) We also don’t see full frontal nudity from any of the actresses, and although we see the bare breasts of some of Eleanor’s clients, we never see hers. Eleanor/ Abby is both a psychological and corporeal enigma to us.

Some clues for her motives are in the scenes between Abby and her spouse. They are affectionate and loving with each other, even when they’re alone, but the sex has gone out of their marriage. After a disastrous first encounter with an escort, we feel Abby’s ache of longing when a second “better” escort begins to touch her. Later we see Eleanor’s first client, a 23-year-old virgin, react to Eleanor’s touch in much the same way.

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In the city we see Abby in punk rock t-shirts (vintage Blondie and the now-defunct C.B.G.B) and boyshort underwear and in the suburbs we see her fitting in with her friends in yoga pants and an expensive down-filled jacket. At a suburban dinner party the guests talk about their days hanging out in pre-gentrified downtown New York clubs, Squeezebox and The Limelight, and we realize yes, many of  the club kids of the ’90s have become comfortable, suburban Moms and Dads.

The loft is decorated with posters for Louise Bourgeois and The Guerrilla Girls and has Diet For a New America on the bookshelf, distinct touches some of us in the audience recognize from our own living spaces. In the dialogue we hear echoes of conversations we too have had (or overheard) at parties: “I finally took the Myers-Briggs.” Writers of satire often seem to want their audience to hate the people, especially the women, they create (the Annette Bening character in American Beauty is just one example). Passon’s satire is much trickier–and kinder. She wants us to recognize these people. She wants us to recognize ourselves in them.

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The film Passon says inspired Concussion is from the 1970s: Jeanne Dielman.., (and is also written and directed by a queer woman, Chantal Akerman). In Concussion, as in Dielman, we see the first signs of the housewife/sex-worker protagonist starting to unravel when she fails to stick to her usual daily routine: Abby misses picking up the kids after school for the first time in six years. Unlike Dielman, Passon’s film captures the monotony of domestic tasks, but doesn’t ask the audience to endure that boredom themselves.

Although Concussion was made before queer marriage became legal in New Jersey, the film brings up some interesting questions about the queer community’s quest for “equality.” What if we become just as disenchanted with being soccer Moms as straight women sometimes do? What then? At the end Abby throws herself into a home renovation project, the way so many of our married friends, straight and queer do, and we marvel at the mystery of other people’s marriages, not just in the film, but all around us.

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Ren Jender is a queer writer-performer/producer putting a film together. Her writing. besides appearing every week on Bitch Flicks, has also been published in The Toast, RH Reality Check, xoJane and the Feminist Wire. You can follow her on Twitter @renjender