Sex Positivity Theme Week – Page 2

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).

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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…

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.

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.

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.

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

The Day Mindy Lahiri Ate Seashells and Called Me Immature

I like Mindy Kaling and I like her show, but the season premiere demonstrates how, like many series, ‘The Mindy Project’ has ambivalent feelings about what kind of sex is OK.

Written by Katherine Murray.

I like Mindy Kaling and I like her show, but the season premiere demonstrates how, like many series, The Mindy Project has ambivalent feelings about what kind of sex is OK.

In the season premiere of The Mindy Project, “While I Was Sleeping,” Mindy Lahiri falls asleep and has a nightmare about what her life would have been like if she hadn’t hooked up with her relatively more conservative boyfriend, Danny (who has meanwhile traveled to India to explain to Mindy’s parents that marriage is a flawed institution and not the right choice for him at this moment in time).

In the dream sequence, Mindy is married to a TV producer played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt, who lets her keep her South Park pinball machine in the living room and stops her from eating seashells when she mistakes them for candy. At first, this seems like the ideal arrangement, but Mindy soon discovers that she’s having an affair with one of the guys who works in her building. When she confesses the affair to Joseph Gordon-Levitt, he explains that he’s totally cool with it, because they have an open marriage. Furthermore, he’s bisexual, and he likes it when they have a three-way with another guy.

Confronted with what sounds to me like the perfect partner, Mindy recoils in horror, treating the three-way-with-a-dude element as the final nail in the coffin rather than the icing on a very delicious-sounding cake.

That much is fine. Not everyone wants the same things and, if Mindy wants to be in a monogamous relationship with a strictly heterosexual man, that’s cool – it’s her choice. I can see how this would be a nightmare scenario for her. But the way her reaction is framed turns it into a value judgement about any kind of relationship that isn’t strictly monogamous.

Rather than just saying, “Hey, this is not what I want – I’m in love with Danny and I want to have a more traditional relationship with him,” Mindy uses this as an opportunity to learn a lesson about how Danny’s positive influence on her has saved her from the fate of immature, hedonistic living. She complains to Joseph Gordon-Levitt that, if she had suggested something like this to Danny, he would have told her to “walk around the block and cool [her] loins” (a joke that pays off when this is, verbatim, what Danny says when she later tells him about this dream). After she wakes up, she also explains to Danny that the lesson she learned is that they make each other better people.

It’s true that Mindy and Danny have always had an opposites-attract relationship, the point of which has always been that they make each other better and more interesting people because they challenge each other to grow. However, I’m a little uncomfortable with the idea that being in an open relationship or having a three-way now and then is an example of Mindy being a “worse” person than she is with Danny.

The Mindy Project has always been a little bit weird about sex. On the one hand, it can be extremely sex-positive and often does the important work of showing us a world in which a woman who doesn’t fit the traditional standard of beauty is still considered desirable, and allowed to feel desire herself. There’s a weird but interesting episode in season three where Mindy discovers that Danny was a stripper at one point in the past (a plot point that seems to have more to do with Chris Messina’s background in dance than with organic character development, but fine). The whole point of that episode is about learning to treat your partner’s past as a fun, sexy surprise rather than something that threatens your relationship, and it includes a really rare example of the female gaze – we’re invited to see Danny as an object of desire without it turning into a joke and without either of the characters getting uncomfortable or embarrassed about it.

On the flipside – while respecting that this is a comedy – the Danny-was-a-stripper episode stands out because discussions and depictions of Mindy’s sex life usually involve a lot of self-deprecating humour to the tune of “It’s not really sexy when she does this.” For example:

I have, over the years, devised a series of illusions and tricks so that my boyfriend never sees me naked when we’re having sex. I hide under the sheets. I pretend that I’m really into blindfolds. Sometimes, I hide in the shadows of candlelight and then I’m like, “boo!” Phantom of the Opera-style.

That’s a funny joke, but it’s part of a series of funny jokes that belie a certain amount of discomfort with the character’s sexuality. It’s the same kind of humour that underpins the joke where Mindy keeps telling everyone how hot she is – the subtext is that her arrogance plays differently because we wouldn’t “expect” her to think this about herself.

The piece de resistance in terms of “I’m not sexy” comedy, though, comes when Mindy imitates the whipped cream bikini scene from Varsity Blues while she video chats with her boyfriend. Instead of a bikini, she makes a modest one-piece swimsuit, and then falls off camera after getting attacked by ants.

Taken in that context, the alternate universe open marriage that Mindy finds herself in in “While I Was Sleeping” seems to be an extension of the idea that there’s something goofy and immature about the sexual situations Mindy gets herself into in the absence of a stabilizing influence like perpetual wet blanket, Danny. The scene isn’t mean-spirited or openly critical, but it takes for granted that the situation Joseph Gordon-Levitt is describing is not OK.

I don’t want to get into a debate about Mindy Kaling’s politics – though it’s safe to say she’s more conservative than I am in some respects, and that’s all right – but watching this scene also reminded me of the essay she wrote for Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? a few years ago, where she describes the difference between what she calls “boys” and “men” and why she recommends that women over 30 focus on trying to date more “men.” Quoth the essay:

Peter owned a house. It wasn’t ritzy or anything, but he’d really made it a home. The walls were painted; there was art in frames. He had installed a flat-screen TV and speakers. There was just so much screwed into the walls, so much that would make you lose your deposit. I marveled at the brazenness of it. Peter’s house reminded me more of my house growing up than of a college dorm room. I’d never seen that before. … I observed in Peter a quality that I knew I wanted in the next guy I dated seriously: He wasn’t afraid of commitment.

… I’m not talking about commitment to romantic relationships. I’m talking about commitment to things—houses, jobs, neighborhoods. Paying a mortgage. When men hear women want a commitment, they think it means commitment to a romantic relationship, but that’s not it. It’s a commitment to not floating around anymore. I want a guy who is entrenched in his own life. Entrenched is awesome.

… I want a schedule-keeping, waking-up-early, wallet-carrying, picture-hanging man.

That list of wants seems to describe the character of Danny Castellano pretty well, and it also seems to support the idea that Mindy (the character) learning to have a mature, responsible relationship with someone like Danny is a sign of personal growth – a sign, specifically, that she’s grown out of the stage where she’s “floating around” exploring possibilities and trying to figure out who she is. It’s a sign of entering the state in life where you start to foreclose on possibilities – a stage where you start to decide who you’re going to be and how you’re going to live, and those decisions get harder to change.

It’s true that there’s a certain extent to which this has to happen for everyone. Life is finite – time runs out. As you get older, you start to become aware that opening one door closes three others. It isn’t possible to do and be everything – you have to make choices.

At the same time, the degree to which we “settle down” isn’t universal. I’m older than 30, and I don’t want to date the guy Mindy describes as a “man.” I don’t want to be that guy, either. I like who I am now, but I also like the idea that I could turn out to be someone different one day. I want to be able to move easily, if that happens.

What does this have to do with a joke about seashells and having a three-way? It has to do with the cultural narrative we have about what it means to be a grown-up – the one that says “You have to foreclose on lots of possibilities as you get older, and one of the possibilities you have to foreclose on is having sex with anyone who’s not your spouse.” That’s the narrative that underpins the jokes in “While I Was Sleeping” – and I found those scenes unsettling not because they personally insulted me – they didn’t – but because I’m not sure I buy into this idea that, in order to be a good adult, I have to be excited for a mortgage.

Also, it feels like everyone I know on Facebook is now married with a house – but that’s a post for a different blog.

Katherine Murray is a Toronto-based writer who yells about movies and TV (both real and made up) on her blog.

Yas Queen!: In Praise of Female Friendship and Sex Positivity on ‘Broad City’

As emerging adults, Abbi and Ilana are free to explore their sexuality as they choose. Choosing to be sexually active means the women have the possibilities of exploring love and sex, casual or within a relationship, in a way that best serves them as 20-something single women. Although Abbi and Ilana each explore their sexuality differently, the women share a common mentality- that they will embrace the many sexual adventures they embark on and support and empower each other every step of the way.

This guest post by Alexandra Shinert appears as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.

In the pilot of Comedy Central’s hit show Broad City, we meet Abbi Abrams (Abbi Jacobson) and Ilana Wexler (Ilana Glazer), two women whose idea of friendship has no bounds. Throughout the series, which is executively produced by Amy Poehler, Abbi and Ilana’s friendship not only takes precedent in their lives but it is also at the core of the show, intentionally placed at the center by the female comedy creators, Abbi Jacobson and Ilana Glazer. As a show that focuses on the lives of two 20-something (mostly) heterosexual, single best friends who are navigating life in New York City, it’s their friendship that shines brightest and makes a significant impact on the landscape when it comes to female-centric media.

At the Paley Center for Media’s New York Comedy Festival panel featuring Broad City, Glazer spoke about the central focus of the show saying, “It’s just a romance between two friends…platonic, for now.” Acknowledging the romance between the two women, Poehler also emphasized that the relationship viewers should care most about is Abbi and Ilana’s as the show is really “a love story” between these two friends. We get the sense that the women truly care for each other and this love can be best expressed in their own words in a scene from the pilot episode (“What a Wonderful World”).

Ilana tells Abbi, “Dude, I would follow you into hell, brother!” A sentiment Abbi would replicate without hesitation by telling her friend, “I would take you on my shoulders, like I’d strap you up and I’d be like, ‘let’s go through hell.’” This declaration that illustrates the women’s true devotion for each other is also extremely visible throughout every episode of the series’ two seasons. Whether Abbi is saving Ilana’s life after a serious allergic reaction to shellfish or the women make time to catch up with each other in the middle of sex via FaceTime, at the core of Broad City’s slap-stick comedy are two women who would do anything for each another.

Central to the nature of friendship, and a key characteristic of female friendship is the role of conversation. For female friends to engage in activities that allow them to talk, open up, and discuss every aspect of their lives, women not only bond but in the process create closeness through self-disclosing of personal information. In the case of Abbi and Ilana, the women comfortably discuss any and all topics (from pooping to pegging); due to this level of self-disclosure, they’ve created a bond that is incredibly close. Abbi, in particular, vocalizes the kind of self-disclosure and closeness they’ve established by emphasizing to Ilana in the season one finale, “You text me every time you take a dump, I know about the pimple on your nipple, and I’m, like, the holder of your social security card.” This dialogue reinforces the important role each of the women play in each other’s lives and further establishes the kind of friendship Broad City portrays. It is within Abbi and Ilana’s friendship that sex positivity truly exists, and due to the nature of closeness between the women and the levels of self-disclosure they’ve established, discussing sex happens most visibly through positivity and empowerment on Broad City.

As 20-something women who are both comfortably content with this particular moment in their lives, the women have no sense of urgency when it comes to finding a partner to marry or deciding when or if they want to have children. These cultural attitudes not only connect to larger generational traits of Millennials but are also characteristic to the stage of their lives the women are experiencing: Emerging Adulthood. As emerging adults, Abbi and Ilana are free to explore their sexuality as they choose. Choosing to be sexually active means the women have the possibilities of exploring love and sex, casual or within a relationship, in a way that best serves them as 20-something single women. Although Abbi and Ilana each explore their sexuality differently, the women share a common mentality- that they will embrace the many sexual adventures they embark on and support and empower each other every step of the way.

In the season 1 finale (“The Last Supper”), the women celebrate Abbi’s 26^th birthday by going out to a fancy restaurant for dinner. While dining, the women discuss the sexual adventures Abbi has been enjoying as a way to celebrate her birthday. Ilana is truly overjoyed to learn that Abbi had “slightly above average sex” “twice in one week.” However, after Abbi pees out a condom, she shares a realization with her best friend that she likely had unprotected sex with one of her partners. Ilana’s reaction to Abbi’s dilemma illustrates both the kind of friendship the women share and the importance of having safe sex. “Not only are we talking STDs here, I can’t even imagine how many dudes would love to lock you down with an unexpected pregnancy! I mean, your body is a temple. You’ve got to respect it.” To respect one’s body means taking on the responsibilities that come with the act and to practice safe sex extends into a larger dialogue about sex positivity on Broad City. Abbi and Ilana will continue to celebrate and praise any and all sexual experiences the women enjoy, but this scene clearly emphasizes the importance of being safe above all. Moreover, Ilana’s honesty and openness to tell Abbi how she really feels continues to normalize the kind of friendship the women share and the significant role conversation places within their relationship.

From a simple conversation about sex to experiencing the act and pausing to seek out a friend for advice, Broad City’s depiction of sex positivity exists comfortably within Abbi and Ilana’s friendship. It is extremely present within “Knockoffs” (season 2, episode 4), an episode where Abbi finally gets to date her long-time crush and next-door neighbor, Jeremy (Stephen Schneider). Despite experiencing sex with Jeremy, Abbi is thrown for a loop when he asks her to penetrate him with a strap-on in an act of pegging. Confused by this suggestion, she excuses herself into the bathroom to call Ilana. Abbi seeks out Ilana’s advice, by explaining her situation to her friend: “So we were doing it and I was like ‘we should switch positions,’ and then he throws me a strap-on.” It is Ilana’s guidance and support in this moment of confusion that helps Abbi regroup and eventually partake in this sexual act. The way the women discuss sex and talk through Abbi’s dilemma continues to further establish how sex positivity exists on Broad City within the women’s friendship.

When Ilana gets the call from Abbi, she is overjoyed for her friend, calling the situation “a dream come true” and a “once in a lifetime” experience. She even pauses the conversation to twerk against a wall to express her enthusiasm. Abbi’s lack of confidence as she deals with how to execute the act is fully supported by a knowledgeable Ilana, whose reassurance is exactly what she needs. The women’s conversation continues to demonstrate the strength of their friendship, which connects to the depiction of sex positivity displayed within this scene.

This kind of celebratory praise of sex positivity can be extended to the conversation the women have post-pegging while attending Ilana’s grandmother’s shiva. When Abbi admits to pegging Jeremy, Ilana exclaims, “This is the happiest day of my life,” causing a scene at the somewhat somber event. Ilana praises Abbi for choosing to peg by calling her “a pegga” and “peggasus,” beyond thrilled that she would get to experience that sexual act. Ilana’s reaction is both humorous and extremely heartfelt, as she’s genuinely thrilled for her best friend. What is most significant about this scene is the way Abbi is praised for choosing to have sex, as Ilana never shames her or makes her feel weird about her decision to peg Jeremy. This further exemplifies the portrayal of sex positivity on Broad City that, I’d argue, can also be extended into a larger narrative about the way Abbi and Ilana celebrate each other in every aspect of their lives.

Broad City’s portrayal of sex positivity connects to constructs of sexuality and identity that must also be considered to truly understand the impact of these depictions. For instance, the pegging scene in “Knockoffs” illustrates that Abbi is open to the idea of engaging in an act that challenges heteronormative constructs/roles. In doing so, Broad City exemplifies the fluidity of sexuality. This is also visible through the depiction of Ilana, someone uninterested in labels or monogamy, comfortably content with having a stable “sex friend,” Lincoln (Hannibal Buress) and interested in sex for the sake of her own pleasure. This portrait of sexual fluidity and sex positivity on Broad City is emphasized best and most notably in the episode “Coat Check” (season 2, episode 9), where Ilana engages in sex with a woman, Adele (Alia Shawkat). Adele, who bares a striking resemblance to Ilana, helps her realize her sexual preferences and orientation.

In the middle of her same-sex encounter with Adele, Ilana stops her after realizing she may be too similar to her in appearance (not because she’s a woman, but instead because they’re nearly identical) for this relationship to continue. This instead results in a declaration of Ilana making sense of her own sexuality, as she openly tells Adele, “I have sex with people different from me, you know? Different colors, different shapes, different sizes. People who are hotter, uglier. More smart, not more smart. Innies, outies. I don’t know, a Catholic person.”

For Ilana, someone so eager to discuss and explore her sexuality, this scene emphasizes liberation. She feels comfortable with her choices and owns them, giving us a glimpse of sex positivity rooted in knowledge. Jenny Kutner discussed this scene as she saw the significance of Ilana’s declaration with respect to labels. She wrote, “Ilana’s same-sex encounter gives us the closest thing to a ‘definition’ for the character’s purposely ambiguous sexuality we’re likely ever to get, and it’s still not entirely clear.” By highlighting the significance of this scene she argues, “Broad City’s giving us what is real, and what we often experience as real people who exist in the world.” Furthermore, Ilana is someone who is liberated by this identity and is proud to experience her sexuality in any way she chooses, further demonstrating Broad City’s take on sex positivity.

Ilana comfortably discusses with Abbi the prospects of having a relationship with Adele, even if she considers it “mostly sexual.” Ilana feels the need to reassure Abbi that their friendship will continue to take precedent, by telling her “she [Adele]’s not replacing you.” There is never any worry for the women on Broad City that a relationship, a job, or a responsibility will come between the friends and the bond they share. As Abbi learns about Adele, we see someone who just wants to support her best friend in any way she can. This means being able to support Ilana the way she supports her.

As illustrated, sex positivity on Broad City directly connects to the friendship Abbi and Ilana share. Regardless of the kind of situation the women find themselves in, they would truly do anything for each other. Above all, Jacobson and Glazer’s series is about celebrating women, specifically 20-somethings as they experience this moment in their lives. This celebratory praise of women begins with Abbi and Ilana’s friendship, where two women’s love and support for each other extends into every aspect of their lives. If Broad City is a love story between Abbi and Ilana, it is one that is adding an incredibly powerful portrayal and narrative about women to the landscape. For women to be supporting women and empowering one another above all, Broad City gives us not only an amazing depiction of sex positivity but one of the greatest portraits of female empowerment that is beyond worthy of praise.

References

Fehr (1996). Friendship Processes. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications Inc.

Johnson (1996). “Friendships Among Women, Closeness in Dialogue.” In J. T. Wood, Gendered Relationships (pp. 79-94). Mountain View, CA: Mayfield.

Alexandra Shinert holds her M.A. in Media, Culture and Communication from NYU. She has spent time studying media portrayals and narratives, most notably on Girls and Broad City. She is genuinely interested in understanding 20-somethings and Millennials and appreciates a great TV reaction gif. You can connect with her on Twitter @AShinert

‘Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries’: Killing the Stigma of Sex

Besides occasional sex jokes, ‘Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries’ features episodes about vibrators, abortion, and women’s rights. It also highlights a wealth of one-night stands, and while the men are attractive, the camera glances over the bodies of Miss Fisher’s lovers as lovingly as it does her gorgeous outfits. It is, in an odd way, the perfect combination of the male and female gaze.

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

“My sin’s are too many and varied to repent. And frankly, I intend to continue sinning.” – Miss Phryne Fisher

Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries has been a popular show in Australia for years, and is based on a long-lasting series of books by Australian author Kerry Greenwood.

But, what did it take for American viewers to tune in? Why, slut-shaming, of course!

In a bizarre, but typically American, twist of fate, Netflix reviewers who bashed Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries by calling the lead character a “tramp,” a “tart,” and a “s!ut” (Netflix censors that one), made the show seem a hell of a lot more interesting. Jezebel writer Rebecca Rose and her readers definitely agreed.

A lady detective who loves sex? Yes, please.

From its very first episode, Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries is alive with sex positivity.

Indeed, the show’s treatment of sex is both blatant and tongue-in-cheek.

One needs only look at the main character’s name – Miss Phryne Fisher.

The original Phryne was a famous hetaera of Ancient Greece. She was, in other words, a high-class prostitute. And though her birth name was Mnesarete, which means to commensurate virtue, she was nicknamed “Phryne.” Which means toad.

The original Phryne was charged with impiety, and some say that when she was taken before the court she disrobed, baring her breasts to highlight her womanhood and arouse compassion. She was acquitted.

Still, the trial made Phyrne famous, and in ancient Greece, “Phryne” quickly caught on as a nickname for prostitutes and courtesans.

Thus, Miss Fisher bears the first name Phryne, and that alone serves as a hint of what is to come.

She is certainly not one to commensurate virtue.

However, despite what those Netflix reviewers believe, her name is also ironic – Miss Fisher is not a slut, or a tramp, or a tart.

Miss Phryne Fisher (Essie Davis) is a lady detective, who also happens to be sharp as a whip, with a shiny gold gun and a magnificent wardrobe to boot.

And, though it is 1920s Australia, she drives a car, flies planes, wears trousers, and sleeps with whomever strikes her fancy.

Her best friend, Dr. Mac, also happens to be a lesbian. Dr. Mac has plenty of (behind-the-scenes) sex of her own, and rarely has a problem finding a lover in the roaring ’20s.

It makes sense that Dr. Mac is such good friends with Phryne Fisher. As a character Phryne is many things, and one of those things is a woman who happens to love good sex–a woman who does not seek to hide her true self.

In a refreshing turn, the show doesn’t seek to hide this either, nor does it give excuses for it.

Take, for example, this exchange with Dr. Mac:

Dr. Mac: Looks like a nerve powder. Usually prescribed for women, of course, the hysterical sex, for nervous exhaustion, emotional collapse, wandering wombs…that sort of thing.

Miss Fisher: Why on earth would a womb wander?

Dr. Mac: Unnatural behavior will do it, according to Hypocrites. Like celibacy.

Miss Fisher: Oh good. Mine’s not going anywhere.

It’s a joke about sex but, television writers of America, it’s not in poor taste! And, once it’s said, the show simply moves on.

Besides occasional sex jokes, Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries features episodes about vibrators, abortion, and women’s rights. It also highlights a wealth of one-night stands, and while the men are attractive, the camera glances over the bodies of Miss Fisher’s lovers as lovingly as it does her gorgeous outfits. It is, in an odd way, the perfect combination of the male and female gaze.

While the show does feature Miss Fisher having a great deal of sex that, alone, does not make it sex positive. Sex positivity is not about having a lot of sex but instead focuses on removing the stigma and shame from sexual choices.

Miss Fisher just happens to want to have sex: that is her sexual choice.

In the very first episode, Phyrne has a sexual relationship with a dancer, Sasha de Lisse, and she later jokes that it was helpful for the investigation:

Miss Fisher: She pointed the finger at Sasha de Lisse, and I was forced to discount him with my own thorough investigation.

However, it’s clear to the viewer that is not the reality of the situation – Phryne had sex with Sasha because she wanted to.

You may wonder…if Miss Fisher has casual sexual relationships, how do the writers show the depth of her character? So often in American television, we rely on our lead actress’ relationship with a man, or potential relationship with a man, as a central plot device. This is particularly common in crime procedurals. Case in point: Castle, Bones, and Scandal.

In an interesting twist, there is a leading man in Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries: Detective Inspector Jack Robinson (Nathan Page). Yet, unlike Castle and Bones and a plethora of other shows, this time the male lead, Jack, is the emotionally reserved one. And, in many ways, Miss Fisher is key to his character’s development.

Without giving too much away, as the series progresses Miss Fisher’s love of life and, dare I say it, sex, leads Jack to ponder new possibilities.

In one instance Phryne, like her namesake, bares her breasts (season 2, episode 1) while performing an undercover fan dance (of course).

Yet, even in this instance her behavior is not frowned upon. Maybe her Catholic maid should be scandalized, but instead she simply sighs, while Jack – now accustomed to Phryne’s personality – smirks. Perhaps the closest one gets in 1920s Australia to rolling one’s eyes.

There is a will-they-won’t-they in Phryne and Jack’s friendship that is evident from the very beginning of the series.

But Miss Fisher never pines. It is clear that she loves sex for sex, and while a relationship with Jack may be somewhere on the horizon, well, she’s not going to be celibate in the meantime.

Some viewers cannot believe that Phryne could flirt with Jack, and truly be interested in him, yet continue to sleep with other men. Certainly, this is not an idea that is commonly shown on television.

But if sex positivity is the idea of informed consent and agency within one’s own sexuality, Phyrne’s relationship with Jack is a prime example of it.

Phyrne is making her own decisions about her own body, and only she can judge what is right for her.

In fact, there is one particular scene from the second season that proves a perfect thesis. Jack and Phryne sit down at a piano, and sing the classic Cole Porter song, “Let’s Misbehave.”

They both know they’re going against societal norms, but neither seems terribly concerned about it.

Jack knows that Phryne sleeps with other men, and she never tries to hide that from him. And while he may not be thrilled, he doesn’t try to stop her. He’s not ready for a relationship with her, so what right does he have to stop her from doing what she pleases?

Through the first three seasons, Phryne sleeps with numerous men. Her sexual conquests, and I’m using that term because I am quite sure that’s how Miss Fisher herself would see them, circumvent race and age.

In Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries sex can be serious, and have consequences (and sometimes lead to murder), but it is also often humorous. In one such scene, Phryne attempts to have sex with a boxer – who’s overly focused on proving how strong he is via push-ups (season 2, episode 4). Miss Fisher’s quite disappointed he won’t just come to bed already.

Miss Fisher: Why don’t you show me here? On the bed?

One of Miss Fisher’s most fleshed out sexual relationships occurs with a Chinese-Australian man, Lin Chung.

While they also socialize, eating meals together and walking through the streets of Melbourne, the purpose of their meetings is clearly sexual in nature.

When Phryne learns that Chung will be entering into an arranged marriage, she continues to sleep with him, but she also stresses that once he has met his bride their sexual relationship will end.

Yes, Phryne has a healthy sex drive and morals – an unusual combination in television.

In an interesting twist, Phryne ultimately helps facilitate the arranged marriage.

And, despite what American television writers may have conditioned us to expect, Phryne does not become a petty, jealous woman. She does not seek to destroy Chung’s relationship and win him back, nor does she feel disrespected.

Miss Fisher is a woman who knows what she wants – who made an educated choice.

Plus, there are other fish in the sea – the boxer, the old friend, the circus performer – after a while the murders do get a tad…outrageous. But the sex stays good.

Emma Thomas is a freelance writer, media development associate, and independent producer. Her musings can be found on Twitter (@EmmaGThomas) and her blog, while her newest film projects can be found at Two Minnow Films.

Let’s Talk About Sex (Positivity for Women) in Animated Comedies

However, there are animated shows that do present female sex positivity and appear to subvert the current patriarchal control of female sexuality in media. ‘Archer’ and ‘Bob’s Burgers’ are both refreshing examples of portrayals of positive female sexuality.

This guest post by Belle Artiquez appears as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.

Satirical cartoons have been on the rise for about a decade now with a growing, dedicated fan base and I’m not surprised–anything can happen in animated worlds, the bonds between reality, plausibility and total fiction are non-existent. We’ve all seen it as children watching cartoons like Mickey Mouse or Tom and Jerry; these characters can be hit by a literal ton of bricks over the head and still survive without a scratch (maybe a bump though). Anything goes in the animated world. What we know and what we are willing to believe are things that simply don’t matter in these worlds.

Although animated satire and comedy live outside these rules of logic, they are still somehow typically governed by the laws of patriarchal sexuality (see: Family Guy). In essence, anything can happen, unless it’s connected to female sexuality, then and only then will the animation be controlled by what we actually already know and deal with in reality, which is that female sexuality is not accepted in the same regard as male sexuality.

However, there are animated shows that do present female sex positivity and appear to subvert the current patriarchal control of female sexuality in media. Archer and Bob’s Burgers are both refreshing examples of portrayals of positive female sexuality.

Archer may seem equally (if not more) as aggressively offensive as a show like Family Guy; every character has his/her flaws and disgraceful behaviour, but Archer doesn’t have the same approach or effect at all. Sterling Archer, the main protagonist and suave but cheesy 007 archetypal agent, is exactly what we expect of a spy with buckets of money and a handsome face; he treats everybody like crap and goes through women like he would bourbon–swiftly and with very little thought to his actions. He doesn’t respect women, but at the same time he doesn’t really respect anybody because he assumes he’s better than everyone around him. So while this one character portrays a kind of sex negativity when it comes to women (and men), he’s presented as a total jack-ass, so what he does and how he treats people is meant to enhance that. He also had an extremely oppressive and traumatizing upbringing, due to the fact that Malory was a spy herself and left him with Woodhouse, a butler, for the majority of his childhood before shipping him off to private school and forgetting to pick him up on Christmas (Eve!). So Malory fits the Bad Mother archetype too–we see that on numerous occasions–but this is not in any way connected to her sexual behaviour.

Basically just another Monday afternoon in the Archer residence; he rarely doesn’t have women on his mind

Malory Archer, the controlling, alcoholic and completely insincere boss, cares very little about anything other than money has had many flings with men in separate spy agencies and even has a long standing sexual relationship with the leader of the KGB; however, none of this she considers anybodies’ business but her own, and what a good message to send. She sees no problem with any of her relationships because they are personal, and her sexuality is displayed in a way that it is natural; she may a mother and a grandmother, but why should that stop her from enjoying a sex life the same as everyone else? Her body is seen in a positive light. Even with her wrinkles, she is accepted.

Malory’s still got it, and the show is confident in its portrayal of an older woman’s sexuality

Then we have Pam Poovey, an overweight but confident, bisexual, and often outrageous woman. She says “sploosh” whenever anybody says anything slightly sexual, and is never afraid to ask for what she wants, she is open to anything and although she is overweight, this is never portrayed as a negative quality. Her naked body can be seen in many episodes, and both she and the creators are unafraid to show this in a way that is not done for pure laughs. She is accepting of her body and so are her lovers. If anything, people seem to have more of a problem with her vulgarity than her weight, as she is extremely sexually assertive and pretty outrageous.

Carol or Cheryl, depending on whose company she is in, is equally as assertive but certainly has the most outlandish sexual fantasies. She has a thing for strangulation, and loves rough sex, but again while her coworkers are horrified by her words (as would anybody upon hearing a sexual fantasy that involves a fireman choking you to death and drooling on your popped out eyeball!), they do not shame her for these fantasies; they do not make fun of her, or tell her she’s a disgusting human being for being the way she is, they accept it. Shaming the women simply does not happen. Nobody tells them to get some self-respect; instead, all of their sexual activity is presented as normal, even though each and every character has flaws and is in her own way quite selfish. The female characters are all very sexually expressive and different in their sexuality, fantasies, and preferences. Female sexuality is thus presented in numerous positive ways throughout the show.

Pam is never embarrassed by her body, and neither are her lovers

Another show that is equally as progressive is Bob’s Burgers. Similar to Archer, it does not shame, and it respects its characters for their flaws and weirdness. Set around a family struggling to live off a burger restaurant that isn’t doing so well, each and every one of them has their own bizarreness to them, but are equally loveable at the same time. Bob is the patriarch who will do anything for his family, is the typical Dad funny and is constantly feuding with the neighbouring restaurant. Linda, the matriarch, is obsessed with musicals (possibly missing her calling in life) and will occasionally (who are we kidding, it happens all the time) burst into song. Then we have the kids; Gene, who loves his fart music and appears to have gotten this passion from his mother; Louise, who always dominates her older siblings with cunning plans and devious behaviour; and Tina, who is the voice of reason but, let’s be honest, simply loves butts. Each character has his or her own quirks personalities without being a joke.They are loved by each other which adds to the acceptance of their choices. Tina and Linda both display female sex positive vibes, but the show is overall accepting of its characters sexuality, be it straight, gay, pan, or whatever they present, which is pretty damn cool.

Linda loves her daughter’s quirks

Back to female sexuality though: Linda is a fantastic mother, one who wants her children to feel loved, to love their bodies, and to be honest about who they are. We see her have mother daughter bonding time where they simulate birth using Vagasacks, and she never shies away from questions like, “Where do babies come from?” opting for the acutely honest “From my vagina.” She also wholly respects Tina’s erotic friend fiction, and encourages her to be honest and unashamed about it. Linda is possibly the best TV mother ever.

Then there is Tina herself. Whether people find her attractive or not is insignificant, as she is only a young girl, and although she is plagued by puberty-driven sexual fantasies, she is never sexualized in any way. Tina is simultaneously uncertain of herself, becoming nervous and groaning when addressed by anybody, and confident, proud of her sexuality and femininity and unafraid to vocalise it to her family: “I’m no hero, I put my bra on one boob at a time like everyone else.” She is the hero of the show, let’s just admit that now. While most media will portray female adolescence as wholly centred around damsel in distress situations, or dreaming of wedding days and the like, Tina’s fantasies are anything but. She dreams of zombie boyfriends, not just one or two, but an entire team of them, where she gets them to touch each others butts and make out. And this zombie fetish is not a throwaway joke; it’s not a one-off that’s soon forgotten about, it’s a recurring theme. She fantasizes about being in The Walking Dead and seducing the zombies with her feminine charm and hair flick. She knows what she wants, and she is always in charge; she’s never the damsel (“I’m sick of acting like a dumb helpless girl just so a hot boy who dances his feelings will notice me”), never the frail girl, she’s the proud confident (sensual) woman. These fantasies appear to give her confidence in reality even if she’s awkward at it; she openly likes/dreams/thinks of boys’ butts which subverts gender expectations; she flirts with boys, mostly Jimmy Jr., who she is very, very interested in. She is becoming a woman in control of her own sexuality as she aptly tells Bob, “If you believe you’re beautiful, you will be. I did.” I adore this line. Tina Belcher does not wait for a boy to tell her she’s beautiful because she does not need that validation. She knows she’s beautiful and that’s all that matters.

Tina’s a girl who knows what she wants, and isn’t afraid to say it

I could go on and on about how Tina not only subverts typical representations of adolescent female desires, but also how she owns it, and how her family support her in every way, but truth is, I want you to watch it for yourself, because it’s glorious, it’s passionate, and most of all, it’s damn funny. Tina Belcher is without a doubt the feminist hero of animated comedies directed toward adult audiences.

While there are pretty horrific representations of female sexuality in animated comedies, there are also really progressive, pro-female ones too. Sex positivity for women is pretty hard to find in most film and TV, but when I do find it, it makes me really happy. Like, can’t control the giant smile on my face happy, because we are all too aware of male sex positivity, but female positivity in general is either shrouded in public displays of misogyny (in an acknowledging it but laughing at it too kind of way), made out to be a joke, or quite simply non-existent. Both Archer and Bob’s Burgers refuse to adhere to these norms, and portray actual female sex positivity in dozens of ways. It’s really refreshing–like getting a nice cold glass of homemade lemonade on a hot summer’s day when you were expecting a cheap coffee kind of refreshing.

These progressive sex positive shows really are charming the pants off us…pun not intended–just a happy coincidence

Belle Artiquez graduated from film and Literature studies in Dublin and since has continued her analysis and critique of film, TV, and literature (mainly in the area of gender politics and representations) as well as cultural and societal critiques on such blog spots as Hubpages and WordPress.

Clitoral Readings of ‘The Piano,’ ‘Turn Me On, Dammit,’ and ‘Secretary’

But how can female arousal be visually expressed? If women stereotypically prefer to read literary erotica over watching porn, with erotica’s descriptions of the interior sensations of female arousal, is that because many women imagine that female performers of porn are uncomfortably simulating their pleasure? Can there be a clitoral cinema of female arousal, and what would it look like?

Written by Brigit McCone as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.

In Lisa Cholodenko’s The Kids Are All Right, a lesbian couple justify their preferred choice of pornography – gay male porn – by the fact that erections make desire excitingly visible and unarguable. The essence of sex positivity is shared arousal, yet, as Nora Ephron and Meg Ryan famously reminded audiences of When Harry Met Sally, female arousal and orgasm are easy to visually fake. Male craving for confirmation of orgasm in their own porn-watching leads to the “cum shot” becoming a standard trope of male-oriented pornography. But how can female arousal be visually expressed? If women stereotypically prefer to read literary erotica over watching porn, with erotica’s descriptions of the interior sensations of female arousal, is that because many women imagine that female performers of porn are uncomfortably simulating their pleasure? Can there be a clitoral cinema of female arousal, and what would it look like?

I would like to investigate that question using examples from three female-authored films: The Piano, Turn Me On, Dammit!, and Secretary. Judged only by their premises, they appear to be the height of exploitation – The Piano explores the sexual blackmail of a mute woman, Turn Me On, Dammit explores the lustful fantasies of a slender, blonde Scandinavian teenager, and Secretary explores an inexperienced young woman’s desire to be spanked and dominated. Yet, by making the female erotic imagination and self-stimulation central to their aesthetic, each of these films became erotic classics for female audiences. How?

The Piano

Written and directed by Jane Campion, The Piano contains some equal opportunity nudity and straightforward sex scenes, but it also disrupts the male gaze and centers the female spectator at key moments. Consider the scene in which Harvey Keitel’s Baines is examining Holly Hunter’s Ada from every angle, with casual male entitlement, as she plays her piano. Lying on the floor, he discovers a small hole in her thick, woollen stocking. The hole is symbolically clitoral to the female audience, as Baines circles his finger slowly over the little patch of heightened sensation and Ada gasps, but for the male audience it offers no spectacle. It is, rather, an evocation of the sensation of clitoral stimulation, in the same way that a woman licking an ice-cream may evoke oral sex to a male sexual imagination.

With Ada reaching through a crevice of wood to play secretive piano notes, Campion portrays the instrument as inherently sensual. Later comes a lovingly lit shot of a naked Baines caressing and rubbing the piano itself with a cloth. The hetero-female audience can take pleasure in both the spectacle of his body, and the suggestive quality of his attentive and caressing touch, but the female body is removed from the realm of spectacle. Instead, Baines is caressing the piano as a symbol of Ada’s voice and will, representing his deeper appreciation for her. Some critics (including Bitch Flicks) have said that it is problematic for Ada to fall in love with a man who is sexually blackmailing her. I would suggest, however, that, in a society that normalizes the purchase and conquest of women, it is Baines’ initial desire to negotiate, and his eventual total rejection of models of ownership,to request that Ada shows active desire for him, that marks him as her chosen mate.

Sam Neill’s controlling husband Stewart voyeuristically peers through a chink in Baines’ cabin to see his sexual play with Ada. At the moment at which Baines performs oral sex on Ada, Stewart’s gaze is distracted by his dog licking his hand. If Stewart carries the male gaze and male identification in this scene, then Jane Campion playfully interrupts that gaze to turn the man’s own hand into a symbolically clitoral site, vividly evoking the sensation of being licked for female audiences. The Piano, and its reputation as peculiarly erotic to women, is perhaps the strongest evidence that the female imagination responds to clitoral symbolism on a level that equals male susceptibility to phallic symbolism.

When Neill’s Stewart submits to Ada’s exploring his naked body with her hands, the male body becomes available to woman as spectacle and tactile pleasure while the woman herself remains clothed. If the male audience is uncomfortable with this passivity, they can identify with Stewart’s own discomfort, which explodes when Ada reaches the taboo territory of his backside, and he pulls up his hose and dashes from her, eyes averted. Just as his relationship with the Maori is colonial and acquisitive, Stewart’s only model for sex is male conquest and female submission. Just as Baines has surrendered to Maori language and culture, so his model for male/female relationships is a negotiated dual surrender and an attempt to learn the meaning of Ada’s piano language. The film’s finale rewards Baines’ model of negotiated interdependence and dual surrender over the Stewart’s domineering conquest model, with clitoral cinema triumphant.

Turn Me On, Dammit!

Depictions of female masturbation as erotic spectacle tend to focus on a woman moaning softly as she caresses her face, breast and thighs, running her fingers through her hair. The clitoris, effectively, becomes dispersed and distributed across any secondary sexual characteristics that the male audience happens to find attractive, hence the weirdly clitoral scalp of compulsive hair caressing. Female writer-director Jannicke Systad Jacobsen of Turn Me On, Dammit!, by contrast, opens with her teenaged heroine lying clothed on the floor, her hand jammed down her panties, frantically rubbing her clitoris, breathing rapidly and screwing up her face in unphotogenic arousal. This realistic depiction of masturbation immediately establishes the woman as sexual agent, not object. Because it is solitary and largely unphotogenic, masturbation has no function but to be the expression and release of female arousal.

Alma is masturbating to a phone sex hotline, where a male voice describes a hot encounter in the imaginary realm, like narrated literary erotica. Despite its sexed-up publicity, Turn Me On, Dammit! features only one brief, confusing sex act, as Alma is poked in the thigh by the naked erection of her crush, before he immediately withdraws. Instead, the film is saturated with Alma’s erotic imagination as she narrates imaginary encounters over fragmented photographs, ridiculous surrealism and vivid close-ups. Fragmenting the encounters in this way evokes the partial and inadequate imagination of a sexually inexperienced girl, attempting to project what sex might be like. Her fantasies include older men to whom she is not attracted, as well as female rivals, capturing the wide ranging of a horny teenager’s exploratory imagination. By combining fragmented visuals with Alma’s own narrated voiceover, the female viewer never feels an intrusive male gaze. The teenaged female voice of desire and sexual curiosity dominates and narrates throughout.

Secretary

Although the film is directed by Steven Shainberg, he is sensitive to the female origins of his story, adapted by Erin Cressida Wilson from a short story by Mary Gaitskill. Determined to portray the sexual awakening of a submissive woman, rather than the focussing on the pleasure of a dominant man, Secretary harnesses many of the same techniques used by the fully female-authored The Piano and Turn Me On, Dammit. Where Baines demonstrated his attentive, caressing nurture by lovingly wiping Ada’s piano, James Spader’s Mr. Grey demonstrates attentive, caressing nurture to the delicate, vulva-reminiscent orchids in his office. The flowers symbolize burgeoning arousal and desire explicitly in the heroine’s own fantasy sequence, as giant blooms burst open behind Mr. Grey. This fantasy sequence is alternated with shots of the heroine’s frantic, realistic masturbation. Like Turn Me On, Dammit!‘s Alma, Secretary‘s Lee is fully clothed during her masturbations, emphasizing that they are expressions of arousal rather than spectacle. After the film’s most potentially degrading act of domination, where Lee is required to bare her ass while Mr. Grey masturbates over it, the act is reclaimed for audiences as having been arousing for Lee, by her immediate withdrawal into the bathroom to masturbate over the memory of it. A middle-aged woman in a neighbouring stall is shown overhearing her masturbation with a look of compassionate understanding that emphasizes the universal female experience of arousal and desire. Finally, however, it is Lee’s own narrating voice, like Alma’s, that owns the film and challengingly asserts her active role in submitting.

So, can we say that these three films – The Piano, Turn Me On, Dammit! and Secretary – are sex-positive films? I would argue that their clitoral aesthetic of female-authored desire and imaginative sensation make them sex-positive for their female audience. However, in the world of the film, its men are still technically committing acts of sexual harassment where the woman consents by her imagination rather than her voice. This harassment is reclaimed for the female audience by our insight into the heroine’s desire. Can we assume that the male heroes are aware of the women’s desire, because they’ve read it on her face or in her subtler physical responses? We are still a long way from a society that takes it for granted that women should voice their desires, and that sex should be openly negotiated. But recognizing and developing a clitoral aesthetic of film is a step in the right direction. A cinematic language of female desire can be harnessed to support conversations about female needs and sensitivities.

Brigit McCone became obsessed with Harvey Keitel after seeing The Piano at an impressionable age. She writes short films and radio dramas. Her hobbies include doodling and reveling in trashy romances.

Call For Writers: Sex Positivity

Simply put, sex positivity is the notion that sex between and among adults with enthusiastic consent is healthy. Practicing sex positivity means that we don’t judge ourselves or others when it comes to sex, not the type of sex we enjoy, the number of partners we choose, or the frequency with which we engage in sexual activity.

Our theme week for September 2015 will be Sex Positivity.

Some urge critical analysis of the sex positivity movement because desire exists within our patriarchal landscape and, therefore, cannot be seen as separate or free from that oppressive force. However, it remains very difficult to even find examples of sex positivity in contemporary films and television. For example, the widely discussed film Fifty Shades of Grey showcases sex that pushes the boundaries of convention but has also been condemned as glorifying abusive masculinity. Boys Don’t Cry, on the other hand, is a film that focuses on the female pleasure of Lana (Chloë Sevigny) and the healthy sexual relationship between her and her trans* partner, Brandon (Hillary Swank). Because he is trans*, though, Brandon is tortured and murdered, underscoring the fact that we do not live in a sex positive world.

Show us examples of film and television that practice sex positivity, empowering their participants, or engage in the critical debate that questions whether sex positivity can even exist and whether or not it is compatible with feminism. Because sex positivity is complicated and nuanced, are there iterations of media that, on the surface, seem sex positive but ultimately are not?

Feel free to use the examples below to inspire your writing on this subject, or choose your own source material.

We’d like to avoid as much overlap as possible for this theme, so get your proposals in early if you know which film you’d like to write about. We accept both original pieces and cross-posts, and we respond to queries within a week.

Most of our pieces are between 1,000 and 2,000 words, and include links and images. Please send your piece as a Microsoft Word document to btchflcks[at]gmail[dot]com, including links to all images, and include a 2- to 3-sentence bio.

If you have written for us before, please indicate that in your proposal, and if not, send a writing sample if possible.

Please be familiar with our publication and look over recent and popular posts to get an idea of Bitch Flicks’ style and purpose. We encourage writers to use our search function to see if your topic has been written about before, and link when appropriate (hyperlinks to sources are welcome, as well).

The final due date for these submissions is Friday, Sept. 18, by midnight.

The Dreamers

Nymphomaniac Vol. I & II

Hysteria

Bob’s Burgers

Transparent

Spy

Kinsey

Waiting to Exhale

Secretary

Stoker

The Diary of a Teenage Girl

The 100

The To Do List

Boys Don’t Cry

Fifty Shades of Grey

Star Trek: The Next Generation

Say Anything

Masters of Sex

Ladies No. 1 Detective Agency

Duke of Burgundy