[Paleopsych] WP: Raunchiness Is Powerful? C'mon, Girls
checker at panix.com
Wed Sep 21 22:34:43 UTC 2005
Raunchiness Is Powerful? C'mon, Girls
By Ariel Levy
Sunday, September 18, 2005; B05
Afew years ago I noticed something weird: Raunch was invading my life.
I would turn on the television and see babes in tight, tiny uniforms
bouncing up and down on trampolines. I'd change the channel and see
Oprah had a stripper on her show, teaching her how to wiggle. I'd walk
down the street and see teens and young women -- and the occasional
wild fifty-something -- sporting T-shirts emblazoned with the Playboy
bunny. Britney Spears was becoming increasingly popular and
increasingly unclothed, and her undulating body ultimately became so
familiar to me that I felt like we used to go out.
Watching these developments, it struck me that men -- the traditional
target market for sex in its many forms -- were only half the equation
here. It was women who, across the country, were choosing to firm
their thighs by attending Cardio Striptease workouts. It was women --
usually young, always unpaid -- who, by agreeing to flash their
breasts or make out with their friends on camera, were making a
killing for the insanely popular "Girls Gone Wild" franchise. Even my
best friend from college, who is the kind of feminist who used to take
part in "Take Back the Night" marches on campus, had become fascinated
by porn stars and strippers.
Apparently, where decades ago the women's movement saw
objectification, contemporary women are seeing inspiration. The going
wisdom is that we now are liberated enough to get implants, we're
empowered enough to start lap dancing. Gloria Steinem and her
compatriots were either wrong about these things, or just reacting to
them in a different time, when different rules applied. Partly, this
more recent attitude is a rebellion against the rigidity of the
politically correct '80s. Partly, it's a corollary of an ever more
pervasive American consumerism, which tells us that if only we buy
enough stuff -- bigger and better body parts, tinier and tighter
clothes -- we will be able to buy passion. The question is, when we
pick up that "Porn Star" T-shirt, what are we really buying?
Take Jenna Jameson. The most popular adult film performer on planet
Earth, she has proved to be one of raunch culture's most effective
proselytizers. In 2004, her memoir, "How to Make Love Like a Porn
Star," spent six weeks on the New York Times best-seller list. In it,
Jameson writes that "being in the industry can be a great experience"
because "you can actually become a role model for women."
She's definitely right about the second part. I've spent the last two
years interviewing women for a book about how they relate to raunch.
In that time, what I have heard over and over again is that all of
this -- Playboy, porn, strippers, thongs -- is good for us. When I
went to Miami on spring break with "Girls Gone Wild," a 19-year-old
who'd taken her clothes off for the cameras told me, "It shows
confidence . . . the only way I could see somebody not doing this is
if they were planning a career in politics." When I went to Oakland,
Calif., to talk to high school students, one girl remarked, "To dress
the skankiest, that would be the one way we all compete. Since seventh
grade, the skankier, the smaller, the more cleavage, the better." In
Hollywood, Cardio Striptease creator Jeff Costa proudly told me he had
a mother bring a troupe of girls to his class for a sweet 16 party.
Which helps explain how a company like Playboy Enterprises, despite a
faltering flagship publication that in August announced a $2.3 million
second-quarter loss, still turns a comfortable profit. Licensing, for
instance, is going extremely well because of the army of women and
girls eager to sport the rabbit head logo on their underpants or tank
tops or jammies, as an advertisement for their own independence and
sass. (When a reporter asked in 2003 if he was concerned about Playboy
merchandise being marketed to teenagers, Hugh Hefner replied, "I don't
care if a baby holds up a Playboy bunny rattle.")
But let's think about this for a second. That little bunny logo that's
supposed to symbolize our kicky empowerment is also the emblem of a
man who said in 1967, "I do not look for equality between man and
woman . . . I like innocent, affectionate, faithful girls" -- and
plenty of them. Judging by his new reality series on E!, "The Girls
Next Door," Hef's views haven't changed much. He still surrounds
himself with a small stable of girlfriends, each of whom must be
involved exclusively with him, each of whom has a 9 p.m. curfew. And
these are the women who are going to teach us about liberation?
Jameson is unwittingly poignant on this dichotomy. In her book, she
insists that being in porn is "one of the few jobs for women where you
can get to a certain level, look around, and feel so powerful, not
just in the work environment but as a sexual being." But there's a
reason that Jameson's tome is subtitled, "A Cautionary Tale." When she
describes her actual sexual experiences, they sound carnivorous and
dissociated: "Sexuality became a tool for so much more than just
connecting with a boy I was attracted to," she writes. "I realized it
could serve any purpose I needed. It was a weapon I could exploit
mercilessly." Not once in that description of her sexual life does she
use the word pleasure, to say nothing of love. Making love like a porn
star -- which is supposed to make us feel so powerful -- doesn't
really sound hot or wild or fun, it sounds like a relentless routine.
It sounds like a job.
And, of course, for Jameson, as for other women in the sex industry,
it is. Strippers, porn stars and Playboy Playmates are women whose job
it is to fake lust, to imitate actual arousal. We're supposed to
imitate an imitation of our own sexuality and call that empowerment?
It's an amazing stroke of illogic, but somehow we have accepted the
proposition. In truth, though, raunch culture is not about a real or
unbridled exploration of what turns women on or makes us happy, it's
about one particular -- and particularly commercial -- shorthand for
sexiness, with an emphasis on performance over pleasure, formula over
authenticity. It's ironic that we think of this as adult
entertainment, because really, reducing sex to polyester underpants
and implants is pretty adolescent.
A uthor's e-mail : ariel at ariellevy.net
Ariel Levy's first book, "Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise
of Raunch Culture" (Free Press) is out this month.
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