tag:theconversation.com,2011:/ca/topics/desire-3268/articles
Desire – The Conversation
2024-02-09T13:35:44Z
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/221728
2024-02-09T13:35:44Z
2024-02-09T13:35:44Z
Love may be timeless, but the way we talk about it isn’t − the ancient Greeks’ ideas about desire challenge modern-day readers, lovers and even philosophers
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/574185/original/file-20240207-31-3xrj56.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C3%2C1022%2C790&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">The love story of Psyche and Eros − also known as Cupid − has survived since the days of Rome and Greece.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/stature-of-cupid-and-psyche-embracing-from-the-villa-news-photo/517391898?adppopup=true">Bettman via Getty Images</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Every year as Valentine’s Day approaches, people remind themselves that not all expressions of love fit the stereotypes of modern romance. V-Day cynics might plan <a href="https://www.usatoday.com/story/life/2023/02/02/when-is-galentines-day-2023/11154837002/">a “Galentines” night for female friends</a> or toast their platonic “Palentines” instead.</p>
<p>In other words, the holiday shines a cold light on the limits of our romantic imaginations, which hew to a familiar script. Two people are supposed to meet, <a href="https://theconversation.com/dont-underestimate-cupid-hes-not-the-chubby-cherub-you-associate-with-valentines-day-197735">the arrows of Cupid</a> strike them unwittingly, and they have no choice but to fall in love. They face obstacles, they overcome them, and then they run into each other’s arms. Love is a delightful sport, and neither reason nor the gods have anything to do with it. </p>
<p>This model of romance flows from Roman poetry, medieval chivalry and Renaissance literature, especially Shakespeare. But as <a href="https://dornsife.usc.edu/profile/david-albertson/">a professor of religion</a>, I study an alternative vision of eros: medieval Christian mystics who viewed the body’s desires as immediately and inescapably linked to God, reason and sometimes even suffering. </p>
<p>Yet this way of thinking about love has even older roots. </p>
<p>My favorite class to teach traces connections between eros and transcendence, starting with ancient Greek literature. Centuries before Christianity, the Greeks had their own ideas about desire. Erotic love was not a pleasant diversion, but a high-stakes trial to be survived, quivering with perilous energy. These poets’ and philosophers’ ideas can stimulate our thinking today – and perhaps our loving as well.</p>
<h2>Deadly serious</h2>
<p>For the ancient Greeks, <a href="https://outils.biblissima.fr/fr/eulexis-web/?lemma=eros&dict=LSJ">eros</a> – which could be translated as “yearning” or “passionate desire” – was a matter of life and death, even a danger to avoid. </p>
<p>In the tragedies of Sophocles, when someone feels eros, typically something is about to go terribly wrong, if it hasn’t already.</p>
<p>Take “Antigone,” <a href="https://press.uchicago.edu/ucp/books/book/chicago/S/bo14823116.html">written in Athens in the fifth century B.C.E</a>. The play opens with the title character mourning the death of her brother Polyneices, who betrayed her father and killed her other brother in battle. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/574181/original/file-20240207-28-emp3fw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A woman in a white dress and black shawl throws her arms up dramatically in front of stern-looking soldiers." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/574181/original/file-20240207-28-emp3fw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/574181/original/file-20240207-28-emp3fw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=445&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/574181/original/file-20240207-28-emp3fw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=445&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/574181/original/file-20240207-28-emp3fw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=445&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/574181/original/file-20240207-28-emp3fw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=560&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/574181/original/file-20240207-28-emp3fw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=560&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/574181/original/file-20240207-28-emp3fw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=560&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Joan Maria Grovin stars as Antigone in a 1959 broadcast production in Munich.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/szene-mit-joan-maria-grovin-als-antigone-in-dem-news-photo/1198737763?adppopup=true">Klaus Heirler/picture alliance via Getty Images</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>After this civil war, King Creon, Antigone’s uncle, forbids citizens from burying Polyneices: an insult to his memory, but also a violation of the city’s religion. When Antigone insists on burying him anyway, she is condemned to death.</p>
<p>The play is often interpreted as a lesson on duty: Creon executing the laws of the state versus Antigone defending the laws of the gods. Yet, uncomfortably for modern readers, Antigone’s devotion to Polyneices <a href="https://doi.org/10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199559213.003.0015">seems to be more than sisterly love</a>.</p>
<p>Antigone leaps at the chance to die next to her brother. “Loving, I shall lie with him, yes, with my loved one,” she swears to her law-abiding sister, “when I have dared the crime of piety.” </p>
<p>Were Polyneices her husband, child, parent or even fiancé, Antigone says, she would never have violated the law. But <a href="https://press.uchicago.edu/ucp/books/book/chicago/S/bo14823116.html">her desire for Polyneices</a> is so great that she is willing to face “marriage to Death.” She compares the cave where Creon buries her alive with the bedroom on a wedding night. Rather than starve, she hangs herself with her own linen veil.</p>
<p>Scholars have asked <a href="https://doi.org/10.1086/657289">whether Antigone has too much eros</a> or too little – and what exactly she desires. Does she lust for justice? For piety? For her deceased brother’s body? Her desire is somehow embodied and otherworldly at the same time, calling our own erotic boundaries into question.</p>
<p>Eventually, Creon’s passion for civic order consumes him as well. His son, Antigone’s fiancé, stabs himself in grief as he embraces her corpse – and hearing of this, his mother kills herself as well. <a href="https://press.uchicago.edu/ucp/books/book/chicago/S/bo14823116.html">Eros races through the royal family</a> like a plague, leveling them all. </p>
<p>No wonder the chorus prays to the goddess of love, pleading for protection from her violent whims. “Who has you within him is mad,” the chorus laments. “You twist the minds of the just.”</p>
<h2>Embrace the risk</h2>
<p>This leads to a second lesson from the Greeks: Love might make you a better person, but it also might not. </p>
<p>Rather than speak in his own voice, the philosopher Plato wrote dialogues starring his teacher, Socrates, who had a lot to say about love and friendship.</p>
<p>In <a href="https://hackettpublishing.com/plato-on-love">one dialogue, “Lysis</a>,” Socrates jokes that if all you want is romantic love, the best plan is to insult your crush until they thirst for attention. In another, “Symposium,” Socrates’ young student Phaedrus imagines an indomitable army entirely comprising people in love. What courage and strength they would show off for each other!</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/574219/original/file-20240207-18-d0mmy3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A scene of seven men in toga-like garments sitting and standing around a tree." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/574219/original/file-20240207-18-d0mmy3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/574219/original/file-20240207-18-d0mmy3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=687&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/574219/original/file-20240207-18-d0mmy3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=687&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/574219/original/file-20240207-18-d0mmy3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=687&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/574219/original/file-20240207-18-d0mmy3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=864&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/574219/original/file-20240207-18-d0mmy3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=864&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/574219/original/file-20240207-18-d0mmy3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=864&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">A mosaic of Plato talking with his pupils, found in the house of T. Siminius in Pompeii.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/plato-conversing-with-his-pupils-from-the-house-of-t-news-photo/73217223?adppopup=true">Art Images/Hulton Fine Art Images via Getty Images</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In <a href="https://hackettpublishing.com/plato-on-love">the “Phaedrus” dialogue</a>, foolish lovers seek a friends-with-benefits arrangement, afraid of the unwieldy passions that come with falling in love. Socrates entertains their question: Is it better to separate affection from sexual entanglements, since the force of desire can erode one’s ethical principles?</p>
<p>His answer is emphatically “No.” For Socrates, sexual attraction steers the soul toward divine goodness and beauty, just as great art or acts of justice can do. </p>
<p>The idea of friends with benefits, he warns, cleaves the ethical self from the erotic self. Here and elsewhere, Plato insists that to be whole people, we must embrace the risks that come with love.</p>
<h2>A necessary madness</h2>
<p>Socrates has one more lesson to teach. Erotic love is indeed a kind of madness – but a madness necessary for wisdom.</p>
<p>In <a href="https://hackettpublishing.com/plato-on-love">“Phaedrus</a>,” Socrates suggests that love is a madness given by the gods, a fire blazing like artistic inspiration or sacred rites. Sexual desire disorients us, but only because it is reorienting lovers toward another world. The “goal of loving,” <a href="https://hackettpublishing.com/plato-on-love">according to one dialogue</a>, is to “catch sight” of pure beauty and goodness. </p>
<p>In erotic longing we bump up against something greater than us, a thread that we can trace back to the divine. And for Socrates, this pathway from eros to God is reason. In desire, a shimmer of light cracks through the broken crust of the material world, inspiring us to yearn for things that last.</p>
<p>The contemporary philosopher <a href="https://socialthought.uchicago.edu/directory/Jean-Luc-Marion">Jean-Luc Marion</a> has suggested that modern academic philosophy has totally failed when it comes to <a href="https://press.uchicago.edu/ucp/books/book/chicago/E/bo4134284.html">the topic of desire</a>. There are vast subfields devoted to the philosophies of language, mind, law, science and mathematics, yet curiously there is no philosophy of eros.</p>
<p>Like the ancient Greeks and medieval Christians, Marion <a href="https://press.uchicago.edu/ucp/books/book/chicago/E/bo4134284.html">warns philosophers against assuming that love is irrational</a>. Far from it. If love looks like madness, he says, that’s because it possesses a “greater rationality.”</p>
<p>In the words of another French philosopher, Blaise Pascal: “<a href="https://www.themarginalian.org/2015/06/19/blaise-pascal-intuition-intellect-pensees/">The heart has its reasons</a>, which reason knows nothing of.”</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/221728/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>David Albertson does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
Conventional stereotypes about romance portray it as a passionate, irrational game. Ancient philosophers, on the other hand, viewed love as something dangerous − but also enlightening.
David Albertson, Associate Professor of Religion, USC Dornsife College of Letters, Arts and Sciences
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/218838
2023-12-14T13:38:10Z
2023-12-14T13:38:10Z
Hope brings happiness, builds grit and gives life meaning. Here’s how to cultivate it
<p>What is hope? In its simplest form, hope is about the future. </p>
<p>There are three necessary elements to hope: having a desire or a wish for something that is valuable, and the belief that it is possible to attain this wish, even when it seems uncertain. Then we have to trust that we have the resources, both internally and externally, to attain this important desire, even when we experience setbacks along the way.</p>
<p>For example, I may hope that I will retire in a peaceful coastal town to pursue my hobby of painting (desire) and I believe that it is possible, although I will have to plan carefully (trust in internal resources). I also trust that I will settle in the community and make friends who share my interest in painting (trust in external resources), even though it may be difficult at first. </p>
<p>When we hope, we have a vision of imaginary futures and we anticipate specific outcomes. In doing so, we choose to focus on possible good things that may happen, even when faced by uncertainty. </p>
<p>Hope has several further dimensions. It involves our thoughts, because we assess the future and the likelihood that we will attain what we wish for. In the process we are taking in information and using it to reach our goals. Hope is also about experiencing positive emotions. It can further be a motivational force, propelling us forward. </p>
<p>Hope may have a strong <a href="https://link.springer.com/chapter/10.1007/978-3-031-24412-4_6">spiritual element</a> – many, if not most, faiths place importance on having trust in a higher power that valuable outcomes may be attained. This trust can maintain hope in difficult times. </p>
<p>Hope also has a social dimension, in the sense that people may share hopes, and have hopes for others. Our sense of hope may further be influenced by our <a href="https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s11482-021-09967-x">context</a>, and how others define what is possible and desirable in the future. This aspect of hope is important when we consider our expectations of national and international futures. </p>
<p>Overall, hope is a universal human phenomenon, studied from <a href="https://link.springer.com/chapter/10.1007/978-3-031-24412-4_6">several disciplines</a>, for example, philosophy, theology, psychology, sociology and economics. In recent times, we are increasingly incorporating insights from all these fields to understand the complex phenomenon of hope.</p>
<p>In studying hope, it has been measured in different ways. Most <a href="https://link.springer.com/chapter/10.1007/978-3-031-24412-4_6">psychological studies</a> have used existing questionnaires in the discipline.</p>
<h2>How hope affects our lives</h2>
<p>How we think and feel about the future has an effect on us in the present. </p>
<p>Overall, hope is beneficial to our well-being. Hope encourages us to persist, even though we may be facing setbacks. Hopeful individuals are more likely to frame difficulties as challenges, rather than threats. This enables them to experience setbacks as less stressful and draining. For example, research indicates that hope is negatively associated with <a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S2352250X22002287">depression</a> and <a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S2352250X23001094?via%3Dihub">anxiety</a>.</p>
<p>This means that people who hold higher levels of hope will be less likely to experience symptoms of depression and anxiety. Hope has been linked to many other positive outcomes, including higher levels of psychological well-being, life satisfaction, happiness, and meaning in life. </p>
<p>The importance of hope was evident during the COVID-19 pandemic. Several <a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S2352250X23000040?via%3Dihub">studies</a> found that people who had higher levels of hope were less likely to experience high levels of stress, depression and anxiety. </p>
<p>The research that I am involved in, the <a href="https://link.springer.com/book/10.1007/978-3-031-24412-4">International Hope Barometer Project</a>, investigated hope, coping, stress, well-being and personal growth among participants from 11 countries during the pandemic years of 2020 and 2021. </p>
<p>Most reported moderate to high levels of hope, although at the same time they experienced moderate levels of perceived stress, characterised by feelings of unpredictability, being out of control, and overload. Hope and well-being were primarily related to being able to reframe negative events in a positive manner, accepting and actively coping with everyday challenges, and finding relief and comfort in religious faith and practice.</p>
<p>Hope is not only beneficial to us on an individual level, but to society at large. Hopeful people are more likely to engage in proactive behaviours that could benefit the community. In the context of global and local turmoil, collective hope is particularly important in maintaining momentum towards the future. </p>
<h2>Learning to cultivate hope</h2>
<p>Hope can be strengthened and enhanced to some extent. Until now, most research has focused on how hope can be promoted in psychotherapeutic and medical settings. Several hope-focused interventions have been <a href="https://doi.org/10.1016/j.copsyc.2022.101509">developed</a> in these contexts, with promising results. </p>
<p>On a more general level, programmes to strengthen hope among young people have been developed. One, referred to as <a href="https://www.unil.ch/scpf/en/home/menuinst/the-center.html">Positive Futures</a>, developed in Switzerland, aims to assist youth to recognise and cultivate positive things, experiences and emotions in life and foster self-worth. It further aims to develop desirable long-term future scenarios and promote hope through voluntary and meaningful projects. </p>
<p>On a more practical level, I believe it is possible to nurture hope through attending to the way we appraise difficulties. Can we see them as challenges rather than insurmountable obstacles? We can also consciously draw on our individual and collective resources and actively look for the good things around us, within the chaos we may be experiencing. </p>
<p>Sharing our hopes with people close to us can further strengthen hope through highlighting shared goals and wishes for the future.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/218838/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Tharina Guse receives funding from the National Research Foundation. </span></em></p>
People who hold higher levels of hope will be less likely to experience symptoms of depression. Shared hopes are also important for expectations of national and international futures.
Tharina Guse, Professor of Psychology and Head of Department of Psychology, University of Pretoria
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/207654
2023-09-01T15:11:36Z
2023-09-01T15:11:36Z
Women’s sexual desire often goes undiscussed – yet it’s one of their most common health concerns
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/545488/original/file-20230830-15-rnyx9u.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C9%2C6016%2C3998&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Many women are afraid to voice concerns about low desire to their doctors.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/female-doctor-sits-her-desk-chats-1679462020">Lordn/ Shutterstock</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Female sexual desire is frequently misunderstood. Despite desire (also known as libido or sex drive) being the <a href="https://academic.oup.com/jsm/article-abstract/13/2/144/6940252">most common sexual health concern</a> for women, most women aren’t really taught about it growing up. And if they are, the information is <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/00224490609552322">often inaccurate</a>. </p>
<p>This lack of education not only perpetuates misinformation, <a href="https://doi.org/10.1080/09589236.2016.1150818">stigma</a> and shame about female sexual desire, it can also have a major effect on <a href="https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.2217/WHE.11.54">wellbeing</a> and <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/14681994.2014.957498">perceptions of satisfaction</a> in intimate relationships. </p>
<p>Discrepancies in sexual desire and satisfaction are often reported as key reasons for <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/00224499.2018.1437592">relationship difficulties</a>. Low sexual desire also has a negative impact on <a href="https://www.liebertpub.com/doi/abs/10.1089/jwh.2014.4743">body image and self-confidence</a>.</p>
<p>But it’s never too late to understand desire and the many ways it can change – not just each day, but throughout life. </p>
<hr>
<figure class="align-right ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/542294/original/file-20230811-4652-hn8w80.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/542294/original/file-20230811-4652-hn8w80.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542294/original/file-20230811-4652-hn8w80.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542294/original/file-20230811-4652-hn8w80.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542294/original/file-20230811-4652-hn8w80.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542294/original/file-20230811-4652-hn8w80.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542294/original/file-20230811-4652-hn8w80.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p><em>This article is part of <a href="https://theconversation.com/uk/topics/womens-health-matters-143335">Women’s Health Matters</a>, a series about the health and wellbeing of women and girls around the world. From menopause to miscarriage, pleasure to pain the articles in this series will delve into the full spectrum of women’s health issues to provide valuable information, insights and resources for women of all ages.</em></p>
<p><em>You may be interested in:</em></p>
<p><em><a href="https://theconversation.com/the-orgasm-gap-and-why-women-climax-less-than-men-208614">The orgasm gap and why women climax less than men</a></em></p>
<p><em><a href="https://theconversation.com/how-tracking-menopause-symptoms-can-give-women-more-control-over-their-health-209004">How tracking menopause symptoms can give women more control over their health</a></em></p>
<p><em><a href="https://theconversation.com/women-still-feel-like-they-arent-listened-to-when-they-give-birth-heres-what-could-help-change-things-206815">Women still feel like they aren’t listened to when they give birth – here’s what could help change things</a></em></p>
<hr>
<h2>Desire is constantly changing</h2>
<p>Sexual desire is best understood as a transient state. This means it can be affected by an <a href="https://bookshelftocouch.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/12/Maintaining-sexual-desire-in-long-term-Mark_Lasslo_2018.pdf">array of factors</a> – including stress, hormones, physical and mental health, certain medications, lifestyle and the <a href="https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s10879-012-9207-7">balance of intimacy and eroticism</a> in a relationship.</p>
<p>Desire is also a <a href="https://doi.org/10.1007/s10508-017-0959-8">multifaceted response</a>, which can either follow or occur at the same time as pleasure or arousal. This means feeling “in the mood” may not happen until after a woman is aroused. <a href="https://doi.org/10.1007/s10508-016-0895-z">Desire can also occur</a> with or without a partner and will vary in frequency and intensity. Sexual desire can also be affected by many <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/00224490902747768">environmental factors</a>, which helps explain why it may wane during periods of stress or in longer term relationships.</p>
<p>Even factors such as <a href="https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s10508-016-0895-z">gender roles and norms</a> are thought to cause low sexual desire for women in heterosexual relationships. <a href="https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s10508-016-0895-z">One study</a> proposes that the inequities in the division of household labour, the objectification of women and gender norms surrounding sexual initiation (in which men are presumed to be the primary instigators of sex while women are presumed coy), all result in low sexual desire for women. </p>
<p>Understanding that desire is a transient and multifaceted response can help women to see that low desire isn’t a problem with our bodies – and that treating it may be a matter of addressing problems in other parts of their lives. It also helps to understand that it’s normal for desire to change and fluctuate, even on a daily basis, depending on what’s going on in a person’s life. </p>
<h2>Certain life transitions can have a major effect</h2>
<p><a href="https://www.ingentaconnect.com/content/sbp/sbp/2003/00000031/00000006/art00008">Pregnancy</a>, the <a href="https://academic.oup.com/smr/article-abstract/8/1/38/6812656#google_vignette">post-partum period</a>, <a href="https://nyaspubs.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/abs/10.1111/j.1749-6632.2009.04982.x">perimenopause</a> and <a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0378512209001108">menopause</a> are all significant transitional periods in women’s lives that can also have a major impact on sexual desire. </p>
<p>There are a number of reasons why this may be. For example, body changes that may happen during these transitional periods can affect <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/08952841.2018.1510247">body image and self-esteem</a>, which in turn affects desire. <a href="https://journals.lww.com/menopausejournal/Abstract/2004/11010/The_impact_of_hormones_on_menopausal_sexuality__a.20.aspx">Hormone changes</a> can affect mood, and may also result in physical changes – such as <a href="https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s13167-019-00164-3">vaginal dryness</a> and <a href="https://obgyn.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/full/10.1111/1471-0528.14518">dyspareunia</a> (genital pain that occurs before, during or after sex), which are known to affect desire.</p>
<p><a href="https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/abs/10.1111/j.1365-2648.2010.05428.x">Perineal trauma</a> (damage to the perineum during birth) can cause pain which may make women desire sex less. Experiences of <a href="https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s11930-008-0009-6">pregnancy loss</a> and <a href="https://academic.oup.com/jsm/article-abstract/12/4/985/6980224">infertility</a> are also shown to lower sexual desire.</p>
<p>Importantly, these life transitions also affect <a href="https://academic.oup.com/smr/article-abstract/8/1/38/6812656#google_vignette">other areas of our lives</a> – and may lead to stress, fatigue, changes in relationship roles and less time for intimacy. This can all, in turn, lead to lower sexual desire.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="A woman stands in a nursery while holding her baby." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/545494/original/file-20230830-27-q0sbr1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/545494/original/file-20230830-27-q0sbr1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/545494/original/file-20230830-27-q0sbr1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/545494/original/file-20230830-27-q0sbr1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/545494/original/file-20230830-27-q0sbr1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/545494/original/file-20230830-27-q0sbr1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/545494/original/file-20230830-27-q0sbr1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">It’s normal for desire to be affected during big transitional periods, such as after having a baby.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/mother-holding-newborn-baby-son-nursery-624519530">Monkey Business Images/ Shutterstock</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Expecting that sexual desire may change or decrease during these periods can be helpful, as it may reduce self-blame and shame.</p>
<h2>Desire can be cultivated</h2>
<p>Desire can be cultivated at any stage of life. Recent <a href="https://med-fom-brotto.sites.olt.ubc.ca/files/2014/11/Brotto-2017-Evidenced-based-treatments-for-low-sexual-desire-in-women-4743.pdf">psychosocial approaches</a> to addressing low sexual desire emphasise the importance of balancing <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/14681994.2014.957498">intimacy</a> and <a href="https://www.scirp.org/journal/paperinformation.aspx?paperid=67908">eroticism</a>, which is a focus on sensuality and pleasure over arousal and orgasm. Research indicates that, while intimacy is essential in healthy partnered sexuality, eroticism helps <a href="https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s10879-012-9207-7">increase desire</a> by promoting mystery and sexual excitement. </p>
<p>Sexual desire experts also suggest <a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0091302217300079">good strategies</a> for cultivating desire including regularly communicating what feels good and what doesn’t with your partner, planning for sexual activity and finding ways to reduce distraction so you can focus on your body during sex. </p>
<p>Evidence-based treatments for low desire include <a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0005796714000497">mindfulness therapy</a>, which can help women reduce distraction, increase focus on the sensations, thoughts and emotions they’re experiencing in the moment and help target negative self-judgment. Another treatment, <a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S1743609522009602">sensate focus touch</a>, which involves using non-sexual touch to promote more open sexual communication among couples, has also been shown to increase desire. </p>
<p>Sexual desire is <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/14681994.2014.957498">unique to each person</a>. If women were taught what sexual desire is and what to expect across our lives, they would be less likely to suffer the ill effects of this misunderstanding. Sexual desire is not a problem to be solved – but a skill to be learned and cultivated throughout life.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/207654/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Áine Aventin does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
It’s normal for desire to change and fluctuate – even on a daily basis.
Áine Aventin, Lecturer, School of Nursing and Midwifery, Queen's University Belfast
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/208614
2023-08-15T09:15:15Z
2023-08-15T09:15:15Z
The orgasm gap and why women climax less than men
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/541030/original/file-20230803-29-k3l5ag.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C60%2C6709%2C4396&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Sex isn't just about penetration.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/legs-couple-bed-1086622124">Kaspars Grinvalds/Shutterstock</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Imagine a steamy sex scene involving a woman and a man from your favourite television show or movie. It’s likely that both parties orgasm. But this doesn’t reflect reality.</p>
<p>Because during heterosexual sexual encounters, women have far fewer orgasms than men. This is called the orgasm gap. And it has been documented in the <a href="https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s11930-020-00237-9">scientific literature</a> for more than 20 years. </p>
<p>In one <a href="https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/28213723/">study</a> of more than 50,000 people, 95% of heterosexual men said they usually or always orgasm when sexually intimate, while only 65% of heterosexual women said the same. </p>
<p><a href="https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.1177/03616843221076410?casa_token=EIMMOZmLRmwAAAAA%3AKmP6abzrDfsJRvoSO5LN9EOWUgnXBZGQepNAw9oFPzf-dZE-T-6g9HU1vScVwyNrNdGEuzaGslo">Research</a> shows that some people believe this gap is because women’s orgasms are biologically elusive. Yet, if this were true, women’s orgasm rates would not differ depending on circumstance. Indeed, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Hite-Report-National-Female-Sexuality/dp/1583225692/ref=sr_1_1?crid=G68WDZ96BFZV&keywords=Hite+report&qid=1691488140&sprefix=hite+repor%2Caps%2C122&sr=8-1">many</a> <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/0092623X.2011.628440">studies</a> show that women orgasm more when alone than with a partner.</p>
<hr>
<figure class="align-right ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/542294/original/file-20230811-4652-hn8w80.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/542294/original/file-20230811-4652-hn8w80.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542294/original/file-20230811-4652-hn8w80.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542294/original/file-20230811-4652-hn8w80.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542294/original/file-20230811-4652-hn8w80.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542294/original/file-20230811-4652-hn8w80.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/542294/original/file-20230811-4652-hn8w80.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p><em>This article is part of <a href="https://theconversation.com/uk/topics/womens-health-matters-143335">Women’s Health Matters</a>, a series about the health and wellbeing of women and girls around the world. From menopause to miscarriage, pleasure to pain the articles in this series will delve into the full spectrum of women’s health issues to provide valuable information, insights and resources for women of all ages.</em></p>
<p><em>You may be interested in:</em></p>
<p><em><a href="https://theconversation.com/five-old-contraception-methods-that-show-why-the-pill-was-a-medical-breakthrough-207572">Five old contraception methods that show why the pill was a medical breakthrough
</a></em></p>
<p><em><a href="https://theconversation.com/science-experiments-traditionally-only-used-male-mice-heres-why-thats-a-problem-for-womens-health-205963">Science experiments traditionally only used male mice – here’s why that’s a problem for women’s health</a></em></p>
<hr>
<p>At least 92% of women orgasm when pleasuring themselves. Women also orgasm more when having sex in relationships compared with casual sex. In a <a href="https://nyuscholars.nyu.edu/en/publications/orgasm-in-college-hookups-and-relationships">study</a> of more than 12,000 college students, only 10% of the women said they orgasm during first-time hookups while 68% said they orgasm during sex that occurs in a committed relationship. </p>
<p>Women also <a href="https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s10508-017-0939-z">orgasm more</a> when having sex with other women. In one <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/14616660412331330875">study</a> 64% of bisexual women said that they usually or always orgasm when being sexually intimate with other women. </p>
<h2>Why does this happen?</h2>
<p>In all these scenarios where women are climaxing more, there is a greater focus on <a href="https://theconversation.com/the-clitoris-a-brief-history-196817">clitoral stimulation</a>. The majority of women need clitoral stimulation to orgasm – which makes sense given that the clitoris and the penis originate from the same kind of tissue. And both the clitoris and the penis are chock full of touch-sensitive nerve endings and erectile tissue. </p>
<p>In <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Becoming-Cliterate-Orgasm-Equality-Matters/dp/0062664557/ref=rvi_sccl_4/140-9533092-3796527?pd_rd_w=CRFWT&content-id=amzn1.sym.f5690a4d-f2bb-45d9-9d1b-736fee412437&pf_rd_p=f5690a4d-f2bb-45d9-9d1b-736fee412437&pf_rd_r=PK44YHEX9GFG4VED8TNR&pd_rd_wg=QmJlm&pd_rd_r=0289449b-513a-4ade-ba30-cac1e6ed4d2b&pd_rd_i=0062664557&psc=1">my work</a>, I’ve asked thousands of women: “What is your most reliable route to orgasm?” Only 4% say penetration. The other 96% say clitoral stimulation, alone or paired with penetration.</p>
<p>The main reason for the orgasm gap, then, is that women are not getting the clitoral stimulation they need. And cultural messages about the supremacy of intercourse feed into this. Indeed, countless films, <a href="https://hellogiggles.com/tv-shows-women-orgasm/">TV shows</a>, books and plays portray women <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/00224499.2017.1332152?casa_token=902PI2QuMXYAAAAA%3AYh7bCZV7QyaAja715u13wPWv-F3aZkcS6R0gVJDlVag8lD9JG_FsHOvxl4_EnW_rISFvNNAj6UI">orgasming from intercourse alone</a>. </p>
<p>Popular men’s <a href="https://www.menshealth.com/sex-women/a19523926/4-sex-positions-that-guarantee-her-orgasm/">magazines</a> also give advice on intercourse positions to bring women to orgasm. And while some of the positions do include clitoral stimulation, the message is still that intercourse is the central and most important sexual act.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="Two women in bed together." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/541031/original/file-20230803-29-pvbxh2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/541031/original/file-20230803-29-pvbxh2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/541031/original/file-20230803-29-pvbxh2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/541031/original/file-20230803-29-pvbxh2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/541031/original/file-20230803-29-pvbxh2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/541031/original/file-20230803-29-pvbxh2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/541031/original/file-20230803-29-pvbxh2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Women are much more likely to orgasm from same-sex encounters.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.pexels.com/photo/photo-of-two-women-1215709/"> pixels/mahrael boutros</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The language used in these articles – and in the culture as a whole – reflects and perpetuates this overvaluing of intercourse. We use the words “sex” and “intercourse” as if they are the same. We relegate the clitoral stimulation that comes before intercourse as “foreplay”, implying it is a lesser form of sex. </p>
<p><a href="https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s11930-020-00237-9">Multiple studies</a> have demonstrated that such messages give the idea that sex should proceed as follows: foreplay (just to get the woman ready for intercourse), intercourse, male orgasm and sex over. In this version of sex, it’s the man’s job to “give” a woman an orgasm by lasting a long time and thrusting hard. </p>
<p>No wonder <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/00224499.2017.1283484">research</a> finds that men feel more masculine when their partner orgasms during intercourse. And, it’s no surprise that <a href="https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s10508-013-0212-z">women fake orgasms</a>, <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/00224490903171794">primarily during intercourse</a>, <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/00224499.2013.838934">to protect their partner’s egos</a>. </p>
<p>Indeed, studies suggest that between <a href="https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s10508-013-0212-z">53%</a> to <a href="https://journals.ekb.eg/article_29394.html">85%</a> of women admit to faking an orgasm. Some <a href="https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s10508-019-01510-2">research</a> indicates that the majority of women have faked at least once in their lifetime.</p>
<h2>Closing the gap</h2>
<p>There is hope though, because given that cultural factors are responsible for the orgasm gap, changing how we view sex and intercourse will help to improve women’s sexual experiences. Indeed, <a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0191886919305604?via%3Dihub">educating</a> people on the fact that women don’t have a <a href="https://books.google.com/books?hl=en&lr=&id=iaXrAgAAQBAJ&oi=fnd&pg=PA99&ots=etC2y_CwaZ&sig=7SzjXzrkutfYuPnB9YIGeIHmnBE#v=onepage&q&f=false">limited biological capacity for orgasm</a> is important. Likewise, education for both men and women about the clitoris could be a game-changer. </p>
<p>Still, such knowledge alone is unlikely to close the orgasm gap on a personal level. According to a chapter in a <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Principles-Practice-Sex-Therapy-Sixth/dp/1462543391/ref=sr_1_5?crid=ZODK2JIGHTZO&keywords=Sex+therapy&qid=1689803436&sprefix=sex+therapy+%2Caps%2C102&sr=8-5&ufe=app_do%3Aamzn1.fos.18ed3cb5-28d5-4975-8bc7-93deae8f9840">sex therapy textbook</a>, women need skills to put this knowledge into practice. This means women must be encouraged to masturbate to learn what they want sexually. And this needs to be coupled with training in communication so they can share this information with partners. </p>
<p>Women need to feel entitled to pleasure and empowered to get the same type of stimulation alone as with a partner. This means heterosexual couples’ must rid themselves of the old script that calls for foreplay followed by intercourse after which sex is over.</p>
<p>Instead, they can take turns having orgasms using oral sex or manual stimulation where she orgasms followed by intercourse. Alternatively, women can touch themselves with hands or a vibrator during intercourse. </p>
<p><a href="https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/19453881/">Research</a> shows that women who use vibrators have more orgasms. And because many women worry about how they look during sex or if they are pleasing their partner, <a href="https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/31570137/">research</a> shows that mindfulness can help, too.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="Vibrators and sex toys on pink background." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/541032/original/file-20230803-27-d46oqe.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/541032/original/file-20230803-27-d46oqe.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/541032/original/file-20230803-27-d46oqe.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/541032/original/file-20230803-27-d46oqe.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/541032/original/file-20230803-27-d46oqe.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/541032/original/file-20230803-27-d46oqe.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/541032/original/file-20230803-27-d46oqe.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Women are more likely to experience orgasms when using a vibrator.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.pexels.com/photo/sex-toys-5187378/"> Pexels/anna shvets</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>But orgasm equality is about so much more than quality sex. Multiple women have told me that once they felt empowered in the bedroom, they were more confident in the rest of their life. </p>
<p>Importantly, according to <a href="https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.1177/0361684320917395?casa_token=Vy8RNRR1p_oAAAAA%3A47r5DQh2M1CkFNZxj4i0kiH6bobsX8JgyNY7xxbXdifhnoQkbuOOlgda1DRP6kAaSl4V2SUioOk">one study</a>, feeling entitled to pleasure increases a woman’s agency in telling partners what they want sexually and their agency in protecting themselves sexually. </p>
<p>Indeed, the study found that feeling entitled to sexual pleasure increased women’s confidence in both refusing to do sexual acts they were not comfortable with and using protection against both pregnancy and sexually transmitted infections. </p>
<p>According to another <a href="https://ajph.aphapublications.org/doi/full/10.2105/AJPH.2019.305320">article</a> on sex education and pleasure by two US health researchers, when young people learn that sex should be pleasurable, they may be less likely to use it in manipulative and harmful ways. So teaching that sex is about pleasure for both partners, rather than something done to women for men’s pleasure, might also help to decrease levels of sexual violence. </p>
<p>Clearly, teaching about women’s pleasure will do more than increase orgasm rates.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/208614/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Laurie Mintz does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
Women have fewer orgasms than men. But this gap is cultural, not biological. Closing it is possible, both on a societal and personal level.
Laurie Mintz, Emeritus Professor of Psychology, University of Florida
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/206518
2023-07-10T02:06:18Z
2023-07-10T02:06:18Z
Fat people are taught to hate themselves – but Kris Kneen’s intimate book could create change
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/535263/original/file-20230703-241360-p21iwx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C0%2C5539%2C3479&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">A woman relaxes in the pool: in their memoir, Australian writer Kris Kneen describes the freedom they find in the water.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Allgo An App for Plus-size People/Unsplash</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>When I was a child, the water was a place of freedom. I remember throwing my body around with abandon, revelling in the joy of handstand competitions and long games of mermaids or lifeguards with my sister and cousins. </p>
<p>I’ve swum for most of my life, finding joy in the quiet of the water and the way I can move my body without straining my joints or passing out from trying to exercise in the heat. </p>
<p>But my relationship with the water changed as my body did. To get in the water, to swim, was to strip down to a bathing suit and gave me nowhere to hide. As my breasts grew, hips widened, belly expanded, it got harder and harder to find my freedom in water, unless I was alone. </p>
<hr>
<p><em>Review: Fat Girl Dancing – Kris Kneen (Text Publishing)</em></p>
<hr>
<p>In Kris Kneen’s latest memoir <a href="https://www.textpublishing.com.au/books/fat-girl-dancing">Fat Girl Dancing</a>, they describe a similar freedom in the water and the aloneness they find there:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Sometimes when I am swimming, I feel safe. It is as if the weight I am carrying has been cancelled by the lift of the water. If I’m alone, if there is no one else in the pool to judge me, maybe then I can feel okay about my body.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Feeling okay about your body as a fat person is difficult and complicated. Writing about it can be even harder. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/535257/original/file-20230703-268647-shqtv2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/535257/original/file-20230703-268647-shqtv2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/535257/original/file-20230703-268647-shqtv2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=397&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535257/original/file-20230703-268647-shqtv2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=397&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535257/original/file-20230703-268647-shqtv2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=397&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535257/original/file-20230703-268647-shqtv2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=498&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535257/original/file-20230703-268647-shqtv2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=498&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535257/original/file-20230703-268647-shqtv2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=498&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Kris Kneen writes about their complex relationship with their body in Fat Girl Dancing.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Sean Gilligan</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Fat bias</h2>
<p>The world is completely biased against fat bodies. Fat people face myriad challenges in their day-to-day life, from the well-documented discrimination on airline travel and public transport, to the size bias from clothing manufacturers. There’s scrutiny over groceries, eating in public, working out, not working out, being visible. </p>
<p>It can be extremely difficult for fat people to access health care where their weight doesn’t become the only thing that doctors focus on. And when they do, tables and blood pressure cuffs and testing machinery are not built with every body in mind. Kneen explores these experiences in her book:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>My arm was too big for the cuff. I could tell, but they didn’t seem to notice. I told them it hurt but they just nodded and said it was supposed to be a little uncomfortable. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It hurt, and because it was a machine that repeated the reading on a regular basis it continued to hurt again and again and again.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Thin bodies are held up as the ideal: they are the bodies of social media, movies – and as Kneen (who has written erotic memoirs, fiction and poetry) explores, porn and erotic stories. </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/535255/original/file-20230703-255984-ovj9iw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/535255/original/file-20230703-255984-ovj9iw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/535255/original/file-20230703-255984-ovj9iw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=918&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535255/original/file-20230703-255984-ovj9iw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=918&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535255/original/file-20230703-255984-ovj9iw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=918&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535255/original/file-20230703-255984-ovj9iw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1153&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535255/original/file-20230703-255984-ovj9iw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1153&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535255/original/file-20230703-255984-ovj9iw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1153&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Society’s anti-fat bias is so pervading, fat people are taught to hate themselves and crave smaller bodies. We fantasise about the thin people shown to us in the media: we have, as Kneen says, become “a part of this system that hates fat women”.</p>
<p>There are also intersections within the fat community, which means that while I consider myself a fat person, I am a straight-sized fat or “a small fat”. </p>
<p>This means I can shop off the rack in many stores, can fit into shoes and chairs, and face less daily scrutiny than many fat folks. I operate in a more privileged subject-positioning: while I face some of the discriminations all fat folks face, I can never understand the full extent of what other, fatter people face. </p>
<p>Understanding is important. And in this memoir, Kneen invites readers into their life and feelings in a way that’s deeply intimate – a way that somehow feels even more intimate than their earlier writing about sex and desire. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/a-big-fat-fight-the-case-for-fat-activism-7743">A big fat fight: the case for fat activism </a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Breaking down fatphobia</h2>
<p>I’ve been working hard at unpacking my own relationship with my body. I’ve found motivation and understanding in books like <a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/what-we-dont-talk-about-when-we-talk-about-fat-9780807014776#:%7E:text=In%20What%20We%20Don't,of%20plus%2Dsized%20people's%20experiences.">What We Don’t Talk About When We Talk About Fat</a> by Aubrey Gordon, <a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/the-body-is-not-an-apology-second-edition-9781523090990">The Body Is Not An Apology</a> by Sonya Renee Taylor and <a href="https://thefuckitdiet.com/book">The F-ck It Diet</a> by Caroline Dooner. </p>
<figure class="align-left ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/535252/original/file-20230703-267655-cyhffd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/535252/original/file-20230703-267655-cyhffd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535252/original/file-20230703-267655-cyhffd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535252/original/file-20230703-267655-cyhffd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535252/original/file-20230703-267655-cyhffd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535252/original/file-20230703-267655-cyhffd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535252/original/file-20230703-267655-cyhffd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Kris Kneen’s self-portraits attempt to break down fatphobia.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Anthony Mullins/Fat Girl Dancing</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The books I’ve found in the body of fat writing use data and research, coupled with some anecdotes, to break down internal and external fatphobia. But Kneen writes using a mix of forms and structures. Direct essays, where Kneen unpacks an aspect of their life or an experience, are often followed by more “creative” chapters where the writing is more experimental. </p>
<p>Sometimes the reader is pulled right in close to Kneen’s feelings in these sections – and the affect is powerful. Their book does more than just share experiences, it leads the reader through a life: the good, the bad, the complex and the profoundly beautiful. </p>
<p>One of the most beautiful but also disturbing parts of the books is where Kneen goes swimming in Vanuatu and captures the attention of a dugong. Having lost his mate, the male dugong had become a danger to men swimming in the bay. When the dugong appears, he takes a liking to Kneen. At first it’s delightful, but then the dugong pushes them away from the shore. “It was funny and wonderful and terrifying,” Kneen says. </p>
<p>The dugong becomes a repeated motif in the book: why did he take such a liking to Kneen? What would have happened had they allowed themselves to be taken out to sea, to become the dugong’s bride?</p>
<blockquote>
<p>I bobbed gently back to the cliff face and climbed up it, grinning, knowing the creature had identified me as something like itself, a great blubbery thing of the ocean. And feeling, for the first time, exactly the right size and shape.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>One of the most stunning parts of the book is the way its chapters are punctuated by black-and-white photos of Kneen’s body, taken by their partner Anthony. They’re stunning naked pictures. Kneen says they “hint at the whole of my body without showing which bits we are looking at”. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/535253/original/file-20230703-269585-e2we55.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/535253/original/file-20230703-269585-e2we55.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/535253/original/file-20230703-269585-e2we55.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535253/original/file-20230703-269585-e2we55.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535253/original/file-20230703-269585-e2we55.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535253/original/file-20230703-269585-e2we55.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535253/original/file-20230703-269585-e2we55.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535253/original/file-20230703-269585-e2we55.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The book’s photos of Kneen’s body, taken by their partner, are ‘stunning’.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Anthony Mullins/Fat Girl Dancing</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The intimacy of the book is at its peak here; readers are not just seeing Kneen’s body – invited to look upon it and think about it. We are seeing their body through their partner’s eyes, which is extraordinary. Looking at these pictures, then taking the invitation issued by the book to <a href="https://www.textpublishing.com.au/fat-girl-dancing-photographs">view the high-resolution versions</a> of the images online, I found myself falling a bit in love with Kneen.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/explainer-what-is-fat-studies-63108">Explainer: what is fat studies?</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Burlesque is (not) for every body</h2>
<p>The book isn’t without its issues, but they’re things I wonder if anyone else would notice. For Kneen, burlesque classes have helped them to be able to look in the mirror and like what they see. </p>
<p>But I am also a dancer in Brisbane and have misgivings about the place where Kneen dances: a place where I found the moves towards diversity and intersectionality <a href="https://www.killyourdarlings.com.au/article/misfit-ballet/">felt forced and unnatural, particularly for people of colour</a>. These classes work for some, but <a href="https://www.vice.com/en/article/k7w35e/performers-of-colour-deserve-more-from-the-adult-dance-community">not for others</a>.</p>
<p>The cover quotes are from impressive literary names, but no one on the list is fat. And in the mammoth list of follow-up books to read, there are typos an editor who was engaged with the fat community might have noticed.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/535254/original/file-20230703-264305-70lubj.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/535254/original/file-20230703-264305-70lubj.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/535254/original/file-20230703-264305-70lubj.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535254/original/file-20230703-264305-70lubj.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535254/original/file-20230703-264305-70lubj.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535254/original/file-20230703-264305-70lubj.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535254/original/file-20230703-264305-70lubj.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/535254/original/file-20230703-264305-70lubj.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Burlesque has helped Kneen look in the mirror and like what they see.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Anthony Mullins/Fat Girl Dancing</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>There’s something interesting about the way Kneen tells their stories about hurt and discrimination. There are moments when they walk into their favourite store, excited to buy a new outfit, only to find the brand has changed patterns and they can’t fit the clothes anymore. There are conversations where well-meaning friends make horrific jokes about their weight, where their mother puts them on a diet. </p>
<p>I worry sometimes, with writing about the fat experience, that incidents like this stir the pities of thin people instead of the sort of empathy we need: empathy that would stir those people to think about how they behave around fat people and the ways they are perpetuating negative stereotypes. </p>
<p>It’s hard for me to say how thin people will read this book. But I think Kneen’s delivery is exquisite and emotionally balanced.</p>
<p>I can see this book creating change, because it is so personal. I found comfort in some of these shared experiences. And I found beauty in the large body – and joy in the way Kneen’s story joins the growing body of books about the fat experience.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/206518/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Melanie Saward does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
Kris Kneen’s ‘exquisite’ memoir about living in a fat body is deeply intimate. It somehow feels even more intimate than their books about sex and desire.
Melanie Saward, Associate Lecturer, Creative Writing, Queensland University of Technology
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/199202
2023-03-07T19:05:38Z
2023-03-07T19:05:38Z
What do women want? Freud’s infamous question invites voyeurism – but examining what they do is far more revealing
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/513077/original/file-20230302-24-k7bk7b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C6%2C4361%2C2890&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Joel Muniz/Unsplash</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Ten years ago, artist Linda Fregni Nagler’s archival collection of more than a thousand studio-made portraits of infants went on show at the Venice Biennale. </p>
<p>Mostly dating from the 19th century, the pictures belong to a genre of <a href="https://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/the-hidden-mothers-of-family-photos">“hidden mother” photography</a>, featuring very young children supported by a mother whose presence is concealed in the composition, either swathed in blankets or curtains, or – with bizarre frequency – disguised as a chair. </p>
<hr>
<p><em>Review: A Little Give: The Unsung, Unseen, Undone Work of Women – Marina Benjamin (Scribe) and What Women Want: Conversations on Desire, Power, Love and Growth – Maxine Fei-Chung (Viking)</em></p>
<hr>
<p>To modern eyes, as Marina Benjamin writes in her exquisite book of essays, <a href="https://scribepublications.com.au/books-authors/books/a-little-give-9781922585660">A Little Give: The Unsung, Unseen, Undone Work of Women</a>, the pictures are “uncanny, violent, disturbing” – particularly those in which the mother has been reduced to a dark blot, scratched, or burnt off the negative after the photograph was taken. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/513075/original/file-20230302-24-hr8cj6.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/513075/original/file-20230302-24-hr8cj6.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/513075/original/file-20230302-24-hr8cj6.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=882&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513075/original/file-20230302-24-hr8cj6.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=882&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513075/original/file-20230302-24-hr8cj6.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=882&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513075/original/file-20230302-24-hr8cj6.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1109&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513075/original/file-20230302-24-hr8cj6.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1109&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513075/original/file-20230302-24-hr8cj6.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1109&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The ‘hidden mother’ photographs unearthed by Linda Fregni Nagler make the invisibility of women’s unpaid labour ‘frightening and strange’.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Linda Fregni Nagler/MACK Books</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The photographs stage the infant as self-sufficient and autonomous, an ideologically fraught form of make-believe that requires the viewer to “unsee” the woman crudely concealed beneath the fringed damask cloak or piece of carpet. </p>
<p>The cruder the disguise, the more the image fits the definition of uncanny; it makes the social and cultural invisibility of women’s unpaid physical and <a href="https://theconversation.com/what-is-emotional-labour-and-how-do-we-get-it-wrong-185773">emotional labour</a> both frightening and strange. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/is-it-possible-to-describe-the-complexity-and-absurdity-of-motherhood-181066">Is it possible to describe the complexity and absurdity of motherhood?</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Invisible labour</h2>
<p>Housework – all the “Cleaning”, “Caring”, “Feeding” and “Pleasing” (the titles of the essays in Benjamin’s book) – is an activity that makes homes, worlds and human realities. But it is also, as Benjamin writes, an “activity that erases itself”. </p>
<p>This is not just because a swept floor will soon be muddied again, or a spotless bookshelf covered in another layer of dust. Rather, as Benjamin writes, </p>
<blockquote>
<p>the success of housework turns on its invisibility, on the quiet conspiracy of women who do it and then hide the fact of its doing, denying the physicality of their own labour. </p>
</blockquote>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/513067/original/file-20230302-18-deh1mm.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/513067/original/file-20230302-18-deh1mm.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/513067/original/file-20230302-18-deh1mm.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=960&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513067/original/file-20230302-18-deh1mm.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=960&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513067/original/file-20230302-18-deh1mm.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=960&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513067/original/file-20230302-18-deh1mm.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1207&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513067/original/file-20230302-18-deh1mm.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1207&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513067/original/file-20230302-18-deh1mm.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1207&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Benjamin’s essays investigate the social and philosophical dimensions of <a href="https://theconversation.com/yet-again-the-census-shows-women-are-doing-more-housework-now-is-the-time-to-invest-in-interventions-185488">housework</a>, tracing the fine filaments that bind women to a system of gender inequality. Each thread is followed compellingly through Benjamin’s own life, as the daughter of Jewish-Iraqi migrants, as a conflicted or rebellious adolescent, and as a mother to a child she calls “my teenager”. </p>
<p>The book is a careful unravelling – or, more precisely, an unthinking – predicated on a very different form of storytelling to that in Maxine Mei-Fung Chung’s <a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/what-women-want-9781529151121">What Women Want: Conversations on Desire, Power, Love and Growth</a>. </p>
<p>Chung’s book is in the now firmly established genre of the therapist-patient memoir. Its title derives from <a href="https://theconversation.com/a-dangerous-method-in-defence-of-freuds-psychoanalysis-5989">Sigmund Freud</a>’s question “What does a woman want?”, which Freud famously declared himself unable to answer, despite what he alleges was 30 years of trying. </p>
<p>One problem with Freud’s question – and, indeed, there are very, very many problems with it – is that it constructs women (or “Woman”) as a mystery to be solved. As it turns out, this creates problems for Chung.</p>
<p>Benjamin’s book takes a different tack. It zigzags between memory, discovery and reflection, taking the reader to the heart of the essay form. It is a journeying style of writing that constantly drives at its ideas without needing to be sure of their endpoints; it expects a question, not an answer.</p>
<h2>A gendered economy of care</h2>
<p>“Oh my God, a fairy has come and made magic …” </p>
<p>Benjamin’s aunt’s carer says this as she walks into the kitchen, where Benjamin, “a middle aged woman on her knees”, has spent hours squatting on the floor “skirt hitched up around her thighs”, “one hand splayed”, among the “bleach, floor cleaner, J-cloths, paper towels” and “anti mould spray”.</p>
<p>Benjamin’s aunt – frail, incontinent, and increasingly mute – sits with Benjamin’s mother in the sitting room adjacent. The author is attempting to restore “if not exactly her [aunt’s] dignity, then at least some version of order”. “I want to leave a physical marker, a totem of shiny pots and pans, a cairn”, she writes. This is </p>
<blockquote>
<p>payback for the care my aunt showered on me growing up; jumping in to take my side in my endless arguments with my mother: driving me home across London at maniac speeds on nights I’d changed my mind about sleeping over. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>The author is making her <a href="https://theconversation.com/dont-blame-women-for-low-libido-sexual-sparks-fly-when-partners-do-their-share-of-chores-including-calling-the-plumber-185401">housework</a> a gift. But then, the fairy idea brings her up short. </p>
<p>It is, Benjamin writes, “a clever thing to say”. It means the author has not “debased herself” by doing menial work, amidst the “swamp mist” and “dirty grey dishcloth[s]”. In a swift sentence, punishing housework has been vanished into “fairy dust and glitter; a wand waved rather than demeaning labour”.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/513064/original/file-20230302-17-jdw7rk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/513064/original/file-20230302-17-jdw7rk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/513064/original/file-20230302-17-jdw7rk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513064/original/file-20230302-17-jdw7rk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513064/original/file-20230302-17-jdw7rk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513064/original/file-20230302-17-jdw7rk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513064/original/file-20230302-17-jdw7rk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513064/original/file-20230302-17-jdw7rk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The success of housework depends on its invisibility – 'a wand waved’ – writes Marina Benjamin.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Pexels/Karolina Grabowska</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The essay in which this scene appears – titled “Cleaning” – delves deep into the politics of housework where one woman’s freedom or self care is frequently purchased through the work of another, and where oppression and privilege often sit alongside each other. </p>
<p>Benjamin summons the ghosts of the invisible servants that once populated grand Victorian homes. “Concealed behind walls, they moved through the many-storeyed houses they upkept using a labyrinth of back passages, narrow corridors and separate stairways”, then – at night time – were banished to the attics where they “melted into the air”.</p>
<p>The modern world parallels are striking. The vast economy of care that keeps the world turning continues to vanish under the weight of economic indices and measures of GDP. And the problem is a profoundly gendered one.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/friday-essay-a-sex-positive-feminist-takes-up-the-unfinished-revolution-her-mother-began-but-its-complicated-189139">Friday essay: a sex-positive feminist takes up the 'unfinished revolution' her mother began – but it's complicated</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Factory of femininity</h2>
<p>The gendering of housework is further explored in an essay called “Pleasing”. Here, vivid scenes paint pictures of Benjamin’s father’s couturier business, which, she says, transformed her childhood home into a “factory of femininity”; a “site of cultural reproduction” where gender inequality is manufactured from exquisite silk.</p>
<p>It is a world in which women, according to Benjamin’s mother, must work hard to “push [their menfolk] forward and have their backs, swallowing their own anger and aspirations in order to be the glue that bonds families together”. </p>
<p>Women should also be “easy on the eye”; a feat predicated on “shoving under the glossy cover of their exterior bodywork all the effort it took to get there”. And so it turns out that beauty – much like cleaning – is something that must appear effortless, for it to be appreciated as successful. </p>
<p>Benjamin’s concern is not to present <a href="https://theconversation.com/friday-essay-how-new-york-fashion-week-came-to-be-54389">fashion</a> as anti-woman or anti-feminist, but rather to explore the ways ideas about fashion get conscripted into ideas about women’s position in the world. Her father, for example, was a devotee of Dior’s “New Look” long after it gave way to other trends. He held Chanel’s lean, “androgenous” [sic] tweed suits responsible for creating “an army of cross-dressers as militant in the social freedoms they claimed as [Coco Chanel] had famously been”. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/513059/original/file-20230302-27-7fmv4b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/513059/original/file-20230302-27-7fmv4b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/513059/original/file-20230302-27-7fmv4b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=893&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513059/original/file-20230302-27-7fmv4b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=893&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513059/original/file-20230302-27-7fmv4b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=893&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513059/original/file-20230302-27-7fmv4b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1123&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513059/original/file-20230302-27-7fmv4b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1123&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513059/original/file-20230302-27-7fmv4b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1123&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Marina Benjamin’s father was a devotee of Dior’s ultra-feminine ‘New Look’.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Laura Loveday/Flickr</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Oddly, Benjamin’s mother gets little sympathy. The author acknowledges her father’s “explosive temper”, describing him as “a volcano emitting noxious fumes”. She also acknowledges behind the scenes, it was always her mother who “exhausted herself, paddling madly […] to keep the shiny surface of our lives afloat”. And yet, her mother’s contributions to the family enterprise are comically described as “yanking her housewife’s agenda into the public sphere as far as it would go without pulling out its gendered roots”. </p>
<p>Her father receives more sympathy. “He and I had more in common than I knew”, writes Benjamin. When his business collapsed, his health imploded. Benjamin writes, “<a href="https://theconversation.com/how-did-the-patriarchy-start-and-will-evolution-get-rid-of-it-189648">Patriarchy</a>, it seems, could fell us both.”</p>
<p>Time is cyclical in this essay collection, much like the activity of housework itself. The essay “Launching” is as much about her father’s death as it is about the launching of “my teenager”. </p>
<p>The six years Benjamin’s mother spends caring for her father in the lead-up to his death gives way to the years Benjamin spends caring for her mother, “paying the bills” and “organising cleaners and tradesmen”. Increasingly it falls to the author to “bring food”, “fetch her cash, accompany her to the doctor, chiropodist and dentist – and to increasingly frequent hospital appointments” for “X-rays, ECGs, echoes, ultrasounds and lung capacity tests”.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/suburban-living-did-turn-women-into-robots-why-feminist-horror-novel-the-stepford-wives-is-still-relevant-50-years-on-186633">'Suburban living did turn women into robots': why feminist horror novel The Stepford Wives is still relevant, 50 years on</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Uncomfortably voyeuristic</h2>
<p>Maxine Mei Fung-Chung’s book What Women Want follows a more linear trajectory. It gives an often-harrowing account of the lives of eight women who struggle with eating disorders, issues of childhood abandonment and <a href="https://theconversation.com/explainer-what-does-intersectionality-mean-104937">intersectional</a> oppressions of <a href="https://theconversation.com/racism-is-still-an-everyday-experience-for-non-white-australians-where-is-the-plan-to-stop-this-179769">racism</a>, gender and <a href="https://theconversation.com/the-concept-of-class-is-often-avoided-in-public-debate-but-its-essential-for-understanding-inequality-187777">class</a>: including, in one story, the extraordinary cruelty of a mother who rejects her teenage daughter’s same-sex sexuality, labelling her “disgusting”. </p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/513060/original/file-20230302-22-9cdkph.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/513060/original/file-20230302-22-9cdkph.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/513060/original/file-20230302-22-9cdkph.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=960&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513060/original/file-20230302-22-9cdkph.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=960&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513060/original/file-20230302-22-9cdkph.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=960&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513060/original/file-20230302-22-9cdkph.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1207&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513060/original/file-20230302-22-9cdkph.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1207&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/513060/original/file-20230302-22-9cdkph.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1207&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>There is Marianna who desperately wants a baby, Ruth who wants to understand her stepfather’s cruelty, and Agatha who wants her son to accept her desire to embark on a <a href="https://theconversation.com/friday-essay-love-in-the-time-of-incontinence-why-young-people-dont-have-the-monopoly-on-love-or-even-sex-198416">late-life romantic relationship</a>. And there’s Terri, who, in the opening chapter, attempts to force herself into a heterosexual marriage with an older man, then finds herself “skyfalling” into sex with strangers and attempting suicide, before she finds a woman who is right for her.</p>
<p>And yet, there is something uncomfortably voyeuristic in these fictionalised accounts of women’s experience, although Chung says she shares the stories with her patients’ consent. </p>
<p>There’s also a sense that the oddly gendered shopping list of things her patients “want” at the end of the book – including a baby, great sex and a man to love – may not bring them any kind of permanent joy. To the wary reader, these end-goals – though deeply felt – seem destined to give way to other wants. Or the patient may well decide their trajectory had been set in the wrong direction, before veering off elsewhere.</p>
<p>The things that are wrong with society – in this book, racism and homophobia, for example – have complicated dimensions, which need to be explored on a larger social canvas than afforded by a therapist’s couch.</p>
<p>“Women are not a mystery and neither are our wants and needs”, writes Chung. </p>
<blockquote>
<p>But there is a complexity attached to our desire. What I want to understand more deeply is what it is that keeps us in denial, loveless, a constant state of longing.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>But are women perpetually so lost and longing? </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/from-reproducers-to-flutters-to-sluts-tracing-attitudes-to-womens-pleasure-in-australia-87852">From reproducers to 'flutters' to 'sluts': tracing attitudes to women's pleasure in Australia</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>What does a woman want?</h2>
<p>In taking off from Freud’s question, “What does a woman want?” Chung appears to succumb to Freud’s infamous construction of women as “lack” and “absence”; as perpetually needy (and, for Freud, hysterical). </p>
<p>The book’s promise to liberate and empower women to “claim what we truly want” is unlikely to be realised – despite the book’s blurb assuring the reader Chung “knows the answers”. </p>
<p>Changing the world, running a multi-million-dollar business enterprise, or managing a household and raising a child are unlikely to keep anybody – women or men – happy and joyful all the time. It will almost certainly leave you tired, cranky and exhausted. But it’s probably worth a try.</p>
<p>Benjamin points out that although housework’s “hard-won order is destined not to last”, women’s “never-ceasing housekeeping is not just beginning over”. There will be tensions and cruel divisions between working and caring, between the need to “earn my living without short-changing my child”, and doubts about work that may or may not have been “pursued at too high a cost”. And there will always be a shimmery illusion of “priceless freedom” on the “far side of constraint”. </p>
<p>In some ways, the end of Benjamin’s book points the reader back to the beginning. For me, the image that lingers is a sketch that appears in the early pages: a word portrait of her aunt and mother embarking on their journey from Baghdad to London. </p>
<p>They are “dressed in white shirts and full skirts, tightly belted at the waist in the 1950s style”. They are “leaning over the railing of the ocean liner that would sweep them away from Jewish Baghdad forever, faces turned to the wind […]” And it’s the wind, the salt air filled with possibilities, that makes Benjamin’s final point – it’s not the end-point that counts, but the way of travelling.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/199202/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Camilla Nelson does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
Marina Benjamin’s essays investigate the social and philosophical dimensions of housework and ‘femininity’. Maxine Fei-Chung’s book gives an often-harrowing account of eight women who struggle.
Camilla Nelson, Associate Professor in Media, University of Notre Dame Australia
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/199360
2023-02-13T16:17:07Z
2023-02-13T16:17:07Z
Five things research can teach us about having better sex, according to a sex therapist
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/509760/original/file-20230213-28-tqaiuv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C0%2C2592%2C1722&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/passionate-love-feet-young-couple-that-747893590">AimPix/Shutterstock</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Sex can be wonderful, but it can also be tricky. Science may be the furthest thing from your mind when you’re getting intimate with someone. But actually, there’s a lot we can learn from science when it comes to sex.</p>
<p>The science of sex is a broad field of research that encompasses many aspects of human sexuality, from physiology to the psychological and social factors that influence sexual behaviour.</p>
<p>Over the years, researchers have been able to shed light on a variety of ways we can enhance sexual experiences in (or outside of) the bedroom. In the spirit of Valentine’s Day, here are five key lessons you can take from science if you’re looking to improve things between the sheets.</p>
<hr>
<figure class="align-right ">
<img alt="Quarter life, a series by The Conversation" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/451343/original/file-20220310-13-1bj6csd.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/451343/original/file-20220310-13-1bj6csd.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/451343/original/file-20220310-13-1bj6csd.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/451343/original/file-20220310-13-1bj6csd.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/451343/original/file-20220310-13-1bj6csd.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/451343/original/file-20220310-13-1bj6csd.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/451343/original/file-20220310-13-1bj6csd.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p><em><strong><a href="https://theconversation.com/uk/topics/quarter-life-117947?utm_source=TCUK&utm_medium=linkback&utm_campaign=UK+YP2022&utm_content=InArticleTop">This article is part of Quarter Life</a></strong>, a series about issues affecting those of us in our twenties and thirties. From the challenges of beginning a career and taking care of our mental health, to the excitement of starting a family, adopting a pet or just making friends as an adult. The articles in this series explore the questions and bring answers as we navigate this turbulent period of life.</em></p>
<p><em>You may be interested in:</em></p>
<p><em><a href="https://theconversation.com/love-languages-might-help-you-understand-your-partner-but-its-not-exactly-science-199040?utm_source=TCUK&utm_medium=linkback&utm_campaign=UK+YP2022&utm_content=InArticleTop">‘Love languages’ might help you understand your partner – but it’s not exactly science</a></em></p>
<p><em><a href="https://theconversation.com/anxiety-can-lead-to-erection-problems-in-young-men-but-reaching-for-viagra-isnt-always-the-solution-191980?utm_source=TCUK&utm_medium=linkback&utm_campaign=UK+YP2022&utm_content=InArticleTop">Anxiety can lead to erection problems in young men – but reaching for Viagra isn’t always the solution</a></em></p>
<p><em><a href="https://theconversation.com/five-dating-tips-from-the-georgian-era-186847?utm_source=TCUK&utm_medium=linkback&utm_campaign=UK+YP2022&utm_content=InArticleTop">Five dating tips from the Georgian era</a></em></p>
<hr>
<h2>1. Understanding arousal and desire</h2>
<p>Arousal and desire play a crucial role in human sexuality. Arousal (or excitement) is a necessary component of sexual activity and can be triggered by a range of stimuli, including physical touch, visual cues, and psychological factors. In the context of sex, desire (or libido) refers to the drive or motivation to engage in sexual activity.</p>
<p>Arousal and desire are complex phenomena and can both be influenced by a variety of factors, including biological, psychological and environmental factors.</p>
<p>The <a href="https://scholar.valpo.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1061&context=psych_fac_pub">sexual response cycle</a> devised by William Masters and Virginia Johnson, who were known in the 1960s for their controversial research into the physiology of human sexuality, refers to stages of emotional and physical changes as a person becomes aroused during sexually stimulating activities (including intercourse and masturbation). Typically, these phases include desire, arousal, orgasm and resolution (return to normal). </p>
<p>Yet, other sexual response models tell us that men and women <a href="https://www.yourbrainonporn.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/07/YBOP-07_THE-DUAL-CONTROL-MODEL-THE-ROLE-OF-SEXUAL-INHIBITION-EXCITATION-IN-SEXUAL-AROUSAL-AND-BEHAVIOR-Janssen-Bancroft.pdf">experience these phases differently</a>. One reason for this is that women tend to have a more complex response to sexual stimuli, as they are more likely to be influenced by psychological and emotional cues such as communication and relationship dynamics.</p>
<p>Science also tells us that while arousal and desire are interconnected, they <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/009262300278641">work in different ways</a>. For example, if a man displays signs of physical arousal (such as morning erections), this doesn’t mean he necessarily feels “horny” or desires sex. Similarly, a woman might not have a desire for sex, yet desire may surface either before or after arousal. </p>
<h2>2. Communicating openly and honestly</h2>
<p>Another aspect of improving sexual experiences is communication. Research has shown that couples who <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC6037577/">communicate openly and regularly</a> about their sexual preferences are more likely to experience greater sexual satisfaction. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="Two young men relaxed on a bed." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/509762/original/file-20230213-28-l83wtg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/509762/original/file-20230213-28-l83wtg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/509762/original/file-20230213-28-l83wtg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/509762/original/file-20230213-28-l83wtg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/509762/original/file-20230213-28-l83wtg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/509762/original/file-20230213-28-l83wtg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/509762/original/file-20230213-28-l83wtg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Communicating openly with your partner about sex is likely to improve things in the bedroom.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/gay-couple-love-home-concept-549557440">Rawpixel.com/Shutterstock</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>To improve communication, try having honest and open conversations with your partner (or partners) about your sexuality. Because sex can be many things for many people, don’t be embarrassed to discuss your turn-ons and any concerns or dislikes you might have. </p>
<h2>3. Adding variety to your sex life</h2>
<p>Research shows that adding thrill and a variety of <a href="https://www.routledge.com/Rekindling-Desire/McCarthy-McCarthy/p/book/9780367143848">stimulation and techniques</a> to your sex life such as different sexual positions, manual stimulation (for example, fingering), masturbation practices and oral stimulation, can enhance your sexual enjoyment. Some other things you might consider trying include:</p>
<ul>
<li>role playing</li>
<li>exploring kink and BDSM practices</li>
<li>incorporating sex toys</li>
<li>sensual massage</li>
<li>using lubricants</li>
<li>practising <a href="https://www.webmd.com/sex/what-is-tantric-sex">tantric sex</a></li>
<li>masturbating in front of your partner (or partners)</li>
<li>watching ethical porn</li>
<li>swinging.</li>
</ul>
<p>When exploring any of these activities, it’s important to obtain <a href="https://bettymartin.org/videos/">mutual consent</a> and respect each other’s boundaries.</p>
<h2>4. Mindfulness</h2>
<p><a href="https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s11930-019-00197-9">Mindfulness</a>,
a state of present-moment awareness, has been shown to have a positive impact on sexual experiences. By increasing awareness and attention to sensations in the body, mindfulness can enhance sexual arousal and desire.</p>
<p>There are several ways in which mindfulness can be incorporated into sexual experiences. One approach is to focus on the present moment and pay attention to sensations in the body during sexual activities. This can help increase sexual arousal and enhance pleasure. </p>
<p>Additionally, taking slow, deep breaths and focusing on the sensation of breathing can help calm the mind and increase sexual desire. Mindfulness and breathing exercises are likewise useful for managing <a href="https://theconversation.com/anxiety-can-lead-to-erection-problems-in-young-men-but-reaching-for-viagra-isnt-always-the-solution-191980">anxiety around sex</a>.</p>
<p>Creating a calming space for physical intimacy can also help build trust and improve intimate partner bonding.</p>
<h2>5. Managing expectations</h2>
<p>The idea that sex is predictable, clear-cut and <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/14681990601013492">picture-perfect</a> is unrealistic. Sex is complex and multifaceted. </p>
<p>Yet our <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/10532528.1990.10559854">sexual scripts</a> often tell us otherwise. Sexual scripts are best understood as the messages we’ve learned about sex growing up. Cultural norms and religious beliefs can influence our attitudes toward sexual behaviour and pleasure. For example, certain cultures or religions may view sex as a solely procreative act, or limit the expression of sexuality to only heterosexual relationships.</p>
<p>Scripts can be limiting, in that they can define what is considered “normal” (for example, that intercourse will equal an orgasm) or “acceptable”. But they can also be empowering and sex positive, providing a framework for exploring and expressing sexuality. </p>
<p>Regardless of our ideas about sex, it’s also important to feel comfortable in our own bodies. If you can embrace your body and love it the way it is, this will help when you have sex. Try not to overthink during sexual experiences and allow your body to do what comes naturally.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/199360/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Alongside my work as an academic, I am a practising sex and relationship therapist. These practices inform my teaching.
</span></em></p>
Looking for sparks between the sheets this Valentine’s Day?
Chantal Gautier, Lecturer and Sex and Relationship Therapist, University of Westminster
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/189139
2022-12-08T19:24:09Z
2022-12-08T19:24:09Z
Friday essay: a sex-positive feminist takes up the ‘unfinished revolution’ her mother began – but it’s complicated
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496669/original/file-20221122-26-j8utbt.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=11%2C17%2C3976%2C1958&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">The main photo is author Nora Willis Aronowitz, with her mother Ellen Willis pictured, in black & white, on right. (Left image is from Unsplash/Gabriel Nune.)</span> </figcaption></figure><p>Bad Sex – like <a href="https://www.hachette.com.au/roxane-gay/bad-feminist">Bad Feminist</a> (the title of the essay collection that launched Roxane Gay to literary stardom back in 2014) – is an enticing title for a book. Who hasn’t had bad sex at some time or other, including those of us who identify as feminists? </p>
<p>Bad sex, variously defined and experienced, continues to be depressingly common, even though sex “has never been more normalised, feminism has never been more popular” and “romantic love has never been more malleable”. </p>
<p>Or, so argues Nona Willis Aronowitz, in her genre-defying first book, <a href="https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/639587/bad-sex-by-nona-willis-aronowitz/">Bad Sex: Truth, Pleasure and the Unfinished Revolution</a>. </p>
<hr>
<p><em>Bad Sex: Truth, Pleasure and an Unfinished Revolution – Nona Willis Aronowitz (Plume).</em></p>
<hr>
<p>Aronowitz’s regular writing gigs include a love and sex advice column for Teen Vogue. But in taking “bad sex” as her subject, she’s less concerned with offering remedies than in the “broader question of what cultural forces interfere with our pleasure, desire and relationship satisfaction”. </p>
<h2>What has changed, what remains</h2>
<p>In her cleverly constructed investigation, Aronowitz makes this a personal and historical question, as well as a feminist dilemma. Across 11 chapters, she blends memoir, social history, feminist analysis and cultural commentary in a highly readable, often insightful – and occasionally self-indulgent – fashion. </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496118/original/file-20221118-18-tla1jx.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496118/original/file-20221118-18-tla1jx.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496118/original/file-20221118-18-tla1jx.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=906&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496118/original/file-20221118-18-tla1jx.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=906&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496118/original/file-20221118-18-tla1jx.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=906&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496118/original/file-20221118-18-tla1jx.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1139&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496118/original/file-20221118-18-tla1jx.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1139&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496118/original/file-20221118-18-tla1jx.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1139&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Hers is a very US-centric story: the backdrop to her investigations is the election of Donald Trump and his term in office, which heightened the chaos of her personal world, and her feminist framework is almost exclusively US-based. But Bad Sex has wider resonance and appeal.</p>
<p>The starting point is Aronowitz’s own compulsion to understand and move beyond the “bad sex” that eroded her otherwise satisfying (though ultimately short-lived) marriage. Through her “zig zag pursuit of sexual liberation”, Aronowitz ranges across the contemporary sexual landscape – dating apps, ethical non-monogamy, sexual and gender fluidity – while also looking back to feminist and gender history to contemplate what has changed, and what perennials remain. </p>
<p>These include the murky edges of consent (a conversation, she reminds us, that started well before #MeToo), everyday forms of sexual coercion, and the “woke misogynist” – a contemporary type with antecedents like “men’s libbers”. </p>
<p>Yet despite what the title might suggest, sexual harm is not her main concern and Bad Sex is not a #MeToo book. Aronowitz wants to bring both pleasure and nuance back to the centre of feminist sexual politics, including by way of telling the truth about how difficult it can be for women to pursue (or even identify) their desires in an enduringly patriarchal world. </p>
<p>Sometimes this involves poking gentle fun at herself and the whole concept of “feminist sex”. (“I wanted my hook-ups to be both fulfilling and morally sound”.) But there’s no doubting her commitment to the task – which includes knowing her history.</p>
<h2>Feminist sexual revolutions and sex wars</h2>
<p>The “unfinished revolution” of the subtitle is the explicitly feminist sexual revolution launched by women’s liberationists like Anne Koedt, whose essay <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/26221179-the-myth-of-the-vaginal-orgasm">The Myth of the Vaginal Orgasm</a> was first published in 1968. </p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496332/original/file-20221121-9586-bdeyjm.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496332/original/file-20221121-9586-bdeyjm.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496332/original/file-20221121-9586-bdeyjm.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=776&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496332/original/file-20221121-9586-bdeyjm.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=776&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496332/original/file-20221121-9586-bdeyjm.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=776&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496332/original/file-20221121-9586-bdeyjm.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=975&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496332/original/file-20221121-9586-bdeyjm.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=975&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496332/original/file-20221121-9586-bdeyjm.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=975&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>By harking back to it, Aronowitz offers an updated telling of the heady and horny history of early radical feminism – as captured in Jane Gerhard’s <a href="http://cup.columbia.edu/book/desiring-revolution/9780231112055">Desiring Revolution: Second-Wave Feminism and the Rewriting of Twentieth-Century American Thought, 1920 to 1982</a> (2001), and before that, <a href="https://www.upress.umn.edu/book-division/books/daring-to-be-bad-1">Daring to Be Bad: Radical Feminism in America 1967-1975</a> (1989) by Alice Echols. </p>
<p>In this century, “radical feminism” has ossified into a catch-all for what many see as the most negative and obstinate manifestations of feminism – among them transphobia, anti-porn and anti-sex work, gender essentialism, and an agenda dominated by white, middle-class women. </p>
<p>But Gerhard and Echols, among many others, have recuperated a vibrant and multi-faceted lineage of radical feminism in which good sex was integral to liberatory feminist politics. </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496116/original/file-20221118-18-mxk3ep.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496116/original/file-20221118-18-mxk3ep.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496116/original/file-20221118-18-mxk3ep.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=928&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496116/original/file-20221118-18-mxk3ep.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=928&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496116/original/file-20221118-18-mxk3ep.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=928&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496116/original/file-20221118-18-mxk3ep.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1166&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496116/original/file-20221118-18-mxk3ep.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1166&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496116/original/file-20221118-18-mxk3ep.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1166&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The points at which those earlier histories conclude are significant. Echols stops in 1975. She says that’s when “cultural feminism” became the dominant strain of feminism in the US, marked by separatism and a female counterculture that alienated many heterosexual and bisexual women – not to mention lesbians who were turned off by what they saw as the policing of their sexual desires. </p>
<p>Gerhard continues to 1982, the year of the historic <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1982_Barnard_Conference_on_Sexuality">Scholar and the Feminist Conference</a> at Barnard College. Entitled “Towards a Politics of Sexuality”, the conference was convened by feminists eager to return to (and extend) feminism’s earlier focus on sexual pleasure – much to the consternation of anti-porn feminists. They protested outside, wearing T-shirts with “For a Feminist Sexuality” on one side, and “Against S/M” on the other. </p>
<p>The Barnard Conference did not launch the “Feminist Sex Wars” – with “pro-sex” feminists on one side and the so-called “anti-sex” feminists on the other. It certainly galvanised them, though. And it has been heavily dissected and narrated ever since, including by those who were there. </p>
<p>Anthropologist Gayle S. Rubin, part of the West Coast lesbian sadomasochism scene, was still a graduate student when she presented an early version of her since much-anthologised essay, <a href="https://read.dukeupress.edu/books/book/1560/chapter-abstract/173938/Thinking-SexNotes-for-a-Radical-Theory-of-the?redirectedFrom=fulltext">“Thinking Sex: Notes for a Radical Theory of the Politics of Sexuality”</a>, at the conference. </p>
<p>In her essay, Rubin lamented the “temporary hegemony” of the anti-pornography movement, defended pro-sex feminism as part of a longer tradition of sex radicalism, and provocatively challenged the “assumption that feminism is or should be the privileged site of a theory of sexuality”. This last point partly accounts for why Rubin’s essay is as canonical to queer theory as it is to feminist thought.</p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496117/original/file-20221118-20-psgdmc.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496117/original/file-20221118-20-psgdmc.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496117/original/file-20221118-20-psgdmc.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496117/original/file-20221118-20-psgdmc.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496117/original/file-20221118-20-psgdmc.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496117/original/file-20221118-20-psgdmc.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496117/original/file-20221118-20-psgdmc.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496117/original/file-20221118-20-psgdmc.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Amia Srinivisan.</span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DWjqeAarm2I&t=1762s">lecture</a> delivered earlier this year, Rubin noted a resurgence of interest in the Feminist Sex Wars, post-#MeToo. It’s evident in a surge of books released in 2021. There were two dedicated revisionist histories: Lorna Bracewell’s <a href="https://www.upress.umn.edu/book-division/books/why-we-lost-the-sex-wars">Why We Lost the Sex Wars: Sexual Freedom in the #MeToo Era </a> and Brenda Croswell’s <a href="https://nyupress.org/9781479802708/the-new-sex-wars/">The New Sex Wars: Sexual Harm in the #MeToo Era</a>. </p>
<p>And those Feminist Sex Wars were part of philosopher Amia Srinivisan’s lauded essay collection <a href="https://www.bloomsbury.com/au/right-to-sex-9781526612533/">The Right to Sex</a>. Srinivisan also wrote <a href="https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2021/09/13/who-lost-the-sex-wars">an essay for The New Yorker</a> on the Sex Wars, extending its preoccupations to the British context.</p>
<p>Each of these books is markedly different in its emphasis. Bracewell spotlights the participation of queer women of colour. Croswell contemplates the limits of the law for addressing sexual assault. And Srinivisan re-evaluates anti-porn feminism in light of contemporary concerns. All three, however – like Aronowitz – see the feminist politics of sex as unfinished business, with the Feminist Sex Wars of the 1980s offering both guidance and a cautionary tale.</p>
<p>For Rubin, however, the new literature on the Sex Wars – some of it tainted with errors of fact – is not so much history as a reiteration of myths and recycled narratives. These books reflect what she sees as a “growing tendency to pontificate on these earlier conflicts without actually knowing what was going on in them”, nor the context in which they unfolded (notably – the Reagan administration, the rise of the Christian right and the onset of the AIDS crisis). </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496353/original/file-20221121-48207-ba7q3u.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496353/original/file-20221121-48207-ba7q3u.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496353/original/file-20221121-48207-ba7q3u.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=905&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496353/original/file-20221121-48207-ba7q3u.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=905&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496353/original/file-20221121-48207-ba7q3u.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=905&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496353/original/file-20221121-48207-ba7q3u.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1138&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496353/original/file-20221121-48207-ba7q3u.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1138&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496353/original/file-20221121-48207-ba7q3u.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1138&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Rubin recalls the Sex Wars as traumatic for many reasons, including because they eclipsed an earlier, more wide-ranging and libidinous feminist sexual agenda. Early radical feminists and women’s liberationists, says Rubin, were “incredibly concerned with sex, sexuality, women’s sexual pleasure, along with violence, rape and battery, and a whole lot of other things”. </p>
<p>One of the most prominent was <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2006/11/10/arts/10willis.html">Ellen Willis</a>, author of “Towards a Feminist Sexual Revolution” (published in 1982), among other key essays. Two years later, her daughter (with activist and scholar <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2021/08/21/us/stanley-aronowitz-dead.html">Stanley Aronowitz</a>) was born: Nona Willis Aronowitz.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/is-the-metoo-era-a-reckoning-a-revolution-or-something-else-176565">Is the #MeToo era a reckoning, a revolution, or something else?</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Like mother, like daughter?</h2>
<p>Like many millennial women, Aronowitz came of age with “pro-sex” feminism on the ascent. But though she was literally raised by one of the recognised progenitors of that feminism, she says while she was growing up, her mother “didn’t pry or even offer” counsel on puberty or sex. </p>
<p>Willis died in 2006, when Aronowitz was in her early 20s. It’s primarily through her mother’s writings that she’s absorbed her views on sex and relationships, including as editor of the posthumous collection <a href="https://www.upress.umn.edu/book-division/books/the-essential-ellen-willis">The Essential Ellen Willis</a> (2014). </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496109/original/file-20221118-14-kiynvw.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496109/original/file-20221118-14-kiynvw.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496109/original/file-20221118-14-kiynvw.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=311&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496109/original/file-20221118-14-kiynvw.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=311&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496109/original/file-20221118-14-kiynvw.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=311&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496109/original/file-20221118-14-kiynvw.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=391&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496109/original/file-20221118-14-kiynvw.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=391&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496109/original/file-20221118-14-kiynvw.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=391&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Ellen Willis.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Minnesota University Press</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In Bad Sex she digs deeper, reading through her mother’s letters and personal papers to piece together her sexual experiences and past relationships – including with Aronowitz’s father. Some of what she finds is confronting (especially about her dad’s first marriage). But there’s also solace, wisdom and solidarity to be found in her mother’s life and writing, and those of others like her, who have made (or continue to make) “good sex” central to their feminism.</p>
<p>Willis began her writing career as a rock critic. She was initially wary of the version of women’s liberation she found in <a href="https://repository.duke.edu/dc/wlmpc/wlmms01037">Notes from the First Year</a> (1968), a collection of writings from New York radical women. </p>
<p>“Sexuality,” writes Aronowitz, “was all over Notes” – including Koedt’s advocacy for the clitoris and call to “redefine our sexuality”, and Shulamith Firestone’s transcription of one of the group’s meetings on sex, a somewhat damning indictment of the sexual revolution. </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496115/original/file-20221118-26-psgdmc.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496115/original/file-20221118-26-psgdmc.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496115/original/file-20221118-26-psgdmc.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=902&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496115/original/file-20221118-26-psgdmc.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=902&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496115/original/file-20221118-26-psgdmc.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=902&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496115/original/file-20221118-26-psgdmc.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1133&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496115/original/file-20221118-26-psgdmc.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1133&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496115/original/file-20221118-26-psgdmc.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1133&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Willis wrote at the time that “the tone strikes me as frighteningly bitter” – but within months of meeting the New York women, she was a total convert. She formed the breakaway group <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Redstockings">Redstockings</a> with Firestone, who went on to write the feminist classic <a href="https://www.versobooks.com/books/1853-the-dialectic-of-sex">The Dialectic of Sex</a> (1970). Willis also re-evaluated her relationship with her boyfriend in the light of what consciousness-raising had exposed, and went on to spend much of her thirties single. </p>
<p>By the end of the 1970s, Willis was an eloquent critic of the then-emerging anti-pornography feminism. She warned in a landmark 1979 essay that if </p>
<blockquote>
<p>feminists define pornography, per se, as the enemy, the result will be to make a lot of women afraid of their sexual feelings and afraid to be honest about them. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>In the same essay, Willis shared that “over the years I’ve enjoyed various pieces of pornography […] and so have most women I know”. A couple of years later, in <a href="https://academic.oup.com/minnesota-scholarship-online/book/14252/chapter-abstract/168135486">“Lust Horizons: Is the Women’s Movement Pro-Sex?”</a> (1981), Willis surveyed the flashpoints. </p>
<p>She concluded that both “self-proclaimed arbiters of feminist morals” and “sexual libertarians who often evade honest discussion by refusing to make judgements at all” were obstacles to “a feminist understanding of sex”. By her lights, that involved recognising that “our sexual desires are never just arbitrary tastes”.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/shulamith-firestone-why-the-radical-feminist-who-wanted-to-abolish-pregnancy-remains-relevant-115730">Shulamith Firestone: why the radical feminist who wanted to abolish pregnancy remains relevant</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>A candid narrator</h2>
<p>Aronowitz is clearly indebted to her mother’s style of feminism. Her description of Willis’s particular niche (in the introduction to The Essential Ellen Willis) could well describe her own. She was intellectual, but not academic. She was a journalist, but not primarily an “objective” reporter; she “poached from her life and detailed her thought processes”. </p>
<p>Like her mother, Aronowitz is alert to the grey areas between utopian feminist visions of sexual liberation and the tricky realities of heterosexuality – or in Aronowitz’s case, heteroflexibility. “Reconciling personal desire with political conviction,” she writes, “is frankly, a tall order,” but nevertheless “essential”.</p>
<p>Yet while Willis stopped short of memoir, Aronowitz – reared on social media as much as feminism – is a candid narrator. It’s hard not to bristle with sympathy for her now ex-husband Aaron when she describes their sex towards the end as “metastasizing in the worst way”, or her own experience of it as “some putrid combination of bored, irritable, and disassociated”. </p>
<p>Elsewhere, Aronowitz describes her sexual encounters when her marriage is opened up, while she’s separated and as she moves into a new relationship – in enough detail to possibly tip over into too-much-information territory for some readers.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496356/original/file-20221121-12-el1m9f.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A smiling woman with curly hair in front of a painted red brick wall." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496356/original/file-20221121-12-el1m9f.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496356/original/file-20221121-12-el1m9f.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=476&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496356/original/file-20221121-12-el1m9f.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=476&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496356/original/file-20221121-12-el1m9f.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=476&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496356/original/file-20221121-12-el1m9f.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=598&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496356/original/file-20221121-12-el1m9f.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=598&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496356/original/file-20221121-12-el1m9f.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=598&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Nona Willis Aronowitz is a ‘candid’ narrator, but Bad Sex doesn’t descend into ‘an extended confessional’.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo by Emily Shechtman</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>What stops Bad Sex from descending into an extended confessional is that her truth-telling (which is different to tell-all) is not a solipsistic exercise. Aronowitz knows the limits of extrapolating from one’s own experience – especially if, like her, you’re a white, middle-class feminist with a big platform – and that the best way to do it is to be honest and to share the stage. </p>
<p>She reveals she enjoyed the social capital accrued from getting married and was terrified of being thirtysomething and single. And how she violated the rules of ethical non-monogamy (crossing over into a far less progressive “affair”), and largely went through the motions of queer experimentation. </p>
<p>Aronowitz indicts herself as much as she does her own generation of so-proclaimed sexual renegades. But hers is not a satirical gaze; her quest to understand what makes sex “good” or “bad” – and why it matters – is genuine.</p>
<p>Aronowitz typically launches each chapter with a personal experience: either her own, or from someone who offers a different perspective. Like her friend Lulu, a Black, queer woman, whose personal and family histories preface a larger discussion of the distinctive trajectories of black feminist sexual thought. </p>
<p>Readers with prior knowledge will be familiar with some of the key works and figures Aronowitz showcases (for instance, Audre Lorde’s classic 1978 essay <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/50683.Uses_of_the_Erotic">“Uses of the Erotic: The Erotic as Power”</a>). She weaves these classics together with contemporary literature and activism (like adrienne moore browne’s 2019 book <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/40549668-pleasure-activism">Pleasure Activism: The Politics of Feeling Good</a>). And so, she provides entry points for different potential audiences: readers seeking a historical primer, and readers who are after an update. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496112/original/file-20221118-15-61dji2.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496112/original/file-20221118-15-61dji2.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496112/original/file-20221118-15-61dji2.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=487&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496112/original/file-20221118-15-61dji2.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=487&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496112/original/file-20221118-15-61dji2.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=487&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496112/original/file-20221118-15-61dji2.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=612&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496112/original/file-20221118-15-61dji2.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=612&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/496112/original/file-20221118-15-61dji2.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=612&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Audre Lorde.</span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The gap between theory and practice – or the challenge of what Sara Ahmed calls living a feminist life – is of special interest to Aronowitz. She manages to both capture the power of polemic in feminist history and to get behind the scenes. </p>
<p>For instance, Aronowitz reminds us, even Emma Goldman, the defiant anarchist who inspired women’s liberationists with her proclamations of free love, was hardly immune to romantic despair.</p>
<p>Elsewhere, she revisits essays by radical feminists <a href="https://www.greenlion.com/dana.html">Dana Densmore</a> and <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roxanne_Dunbar-Ortiz">Roxanne Dunbar</a> on celibacy and asexuality as essential and invigorating aspects of second-wave feminist sexual thought. </p>
<p>When Densmore later tells her there wasn’t anyone in their militant group, Cell 16, who was actually celibate, Aronowitz isn’t surprised or judgemental. Instead, she heeds what Densmore saw as the most important sentence of her essay – one Aronowitz had originally overlooked: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>This is not a call for celibacy but for an acceptance of celibacy as an honourable alternative, one preferable to the degradation of most male-female sexual relationships. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>Sex, Densmore tells her, was “really bad in 1968”. In the early phase of the sexual revolution, when feminism had yet to happen, “it felt important to tell women they could walk away from bad relationships.”</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/friday-essay-with-men-i-feel-like-a-very-sharp-glittering-blade-when-5-liberated-women-spoke-the-truth-191496">Friday essay: 'with men I feel like a very sharp, glittering blade' – when 5 liberated women spoke the truth</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>What now?</h2>
<p>Over 50 years later, Aronowitz has a lot to share with readers about sex. But her book is no polemic. In thinking about sex – her own and in general – feminism has clearly been an enormous and generative influence, but Aronowitz also acknowledges its limits and shares her frustrations. “I felt grateful”, she writes, “for the radical feminism that encouraged shame-free sexual exploration but I resented its high bar too.”</p>
<p>Crucially, however, Aronowitz does not disavow feminism or make grand claims about what sex should or should not be. That phase, Aronowitz suggests, was necessary once, but is now over. </p>
<p>This sets Bad Sex productively apart from other recent books, such as Louise Perry’s <a href="https://www.wiley.com/en-au/The+Case+Against+the+Sexual+Revolution-p-9781509550005">The Case Against the Sexual Revolution: A New Guide to Sex in the 21st Century</a> (2022). Perry’s somewhat unrelenting diatribe against sex-positive feminism concludes with motherly advice to her readers, including “don’t use dating apps” and “only have sex with a man if you think he would make a good father to your children”. </p>
<p>For Aronowitz, ultimately the “unsteady conclusions of liberationists” – including those of her mother – were more inspirational “than any righteous slogan”. Bad Sex offers a rich compendium of these teachings, but its value is more elusive and greater than this. </p>
<p>In sharing her doubts, reflections and vulnerabilities, Aronowitz pushes feminist sexual politics beyond the binaries it is sometimes reduced to: pleasure/danger, positive/negative, pro/anti. Instead, she pushes it towards the complex engagement that Ellen Willis, among others, had encouraged all along.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/189139/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Zora Simic does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
Nona Willis Aronowitz, daughter of a second-wave feminist, ranges across the contemporary sexual landscape – and looks back at the history of feminism – in a ‘zig zag pursuit of sexual liberation’.
Zora Simic, Senior Lecturer, School of Humanities, UNSW Sydney
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/193440
2022-11-06T19:04:11Z
2022-11-06T19:04:11Z
Sex, ‘skin hunger’ and problematic men: Jessie Cole’s memoir investigates desire after trauma
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/492460/original/file-20221031-22-v9dxa1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=159%2C0%2C3433%2C1812&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Desire's story of loss and longing is threaded with moments of hope, like a 'dangerous but invigorating' ocean swim.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Mickael Gresset/Unsplash</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span></figcaption></figure><p><a href="https://www.textpublishing.com.au/books/desire">Desire: A Reckoning</a> is a remarkable contemporary memoir. Its author, Jessie Cole, is unafraid to be vulnerable – in her life and her writing. This, her fourth book (and second memoir) is an extraordinary exploration of both physical and emotional desire, and the fraught limits of passion, need and want. Cole’s romantic desires are set against <a href="https://www.textpublishing.com.au/books/staying-a-memoir">deep family tragedy</a>: the suicide of her sister, and then, some years later, the suicide of her father.</p>
<p>Against layers of thinking about love, desire, bodies and ecological disaster, Desire traces a love affair, a long-distance relationship between Cole and an unnamed, older lover.</p>
<p>Though Cole’s experiences of sex, <a href="https://theconversation.com/what-is-love-in-pop-culture-love-is-often-depicted-as-a-willingness-to-sacrifice-but-ancient-philosophers-took-a-different-view-187159">love</a> and family are all quite different to my own, I had an almost visceral reaction at many moments: this book elicited a sharp gasp of recognition more than once. </p>
<hr>
<p><em>Review: Desire: A Reckoning – Jessie Cole (Text Publishing)</em></p>
<hr>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/492428/original/file-20221030-44561-ygq9tt.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/492428/original/file-20221030-44561-ygq9tt.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/492428/original/file-20221030-44561-ygq9tt.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=918&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/492428/original/file-20221030-44561-ygq9tt.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=918&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/492428/original/file-20221030-44561-ygq9tt.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=918&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/492428/original/file-20221030-44561-ygq9tt.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1153&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/492428/original/file-20221030-44561-ygq9tt.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1153&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/492428/original/file-20221030-44561-ygq9tt.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1153&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>This memoir begins with Cole’s exploration of her bodily responses to sex and desire. She yearns for touch, despite living in a secluded forest, accompanied only by family and pets. Her celibacy is punctuated by moments of desire, and unsatisfactory encounters with problematic men. </p>
<p>Early in the book, men are imagined as sexual threat, often in the most casual or mundane of ways. Boys who grope girls on the staircases at school; young men who call her both slut and pricktease; a boyfriend, then partner who assumes she is always ready for sex.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/from-reproducers-to-flutters-to-sluts-tracing-attitudes-to-womens-pleasure-in-australia-87852">From reproducers to 'flutters' to 'sluts': tracing attitudes to women's pleasure in Australia</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>A vulnerable landscape</h2>
<p>Beyond the forest, heterosexual encounters are met with bodily revolt: twitches, ticks, an unintended combat roll away from a potential lover. Before a date, her tongue swells. Cole illuminates the ways her desire for touch was complicated by a raft of objections that were, literally, written on her body. </p>
<p>She seeks out an energy healer, who lays hands on her. Is he a predator? No, but he tells her she had been sexually assaulted as a teen when drunk. Puzzled, she doesn’t recall a specific incident of sexual violence, though wonders if perhaps she simply cannot remember. Then, her realisation: “he could say this shit to any woman and it would probably be true”. As a reader, I flinched in recognition at this line. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/492433/original/file-20221030-79255-j3d8z7.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/492433/original/file-20221030-79255-j3d8z7.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/492433/original/file-20221030-79255-j3d8z7.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=516&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/492433/original/file-20221030-79255-j3d8z7.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=516&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/492433/original/file-20221030-79255-j3d8z7.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=516&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/492433/original/file-20221030-79255-j3d8z7.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=648&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/492433/original/file-20221030-79255-j3d8z7.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=648&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/492433/original/file-20221030-79255-j3d8z7.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=648&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Jessie Cole's memoir is an extraordinary exploration of physical and emotional desire. Photo: Danika Cottrell</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Cole, through her own body, traces a landscape where women are vulnerable to all manner of threat, yet can still want and need touch. Desire is an engrossing exploration of what it means to be a heterosexual woman, in a world where many formative sexual moments involve – to more or less degrees – some element of trauma. It’s a navigation by a woman who experiences what she terms “skin hunger”, despite it all. What follows is a profound search for touch, joy and pleasure. </p>
<p>But it’s not just a story of sex. It’s a meditation on love, too. The book vibrates with the power of the many forms of love: parental love (both towards her sons and the love received from her mother), her deep devotion to female friends, and the peculiarly intense adoration of a working dog for his mistress. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/hook-ups-pansexuals-and-holy-connection-love-in-the-time-of-millennials-and-generation-z-182226">Hook-ups, pansexuals and holy connection: love in the time of millennials and Generation Z</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Ignored warning signs</h2>
<p>It’s a story, too, about family. The unfinished business of Cole’s father’s suicide, in particular, haunts this work. The unreliability of her father, who died at a critical point in her adolescence, flavours her future relationships – so much so that Cole reports reading a 500-page academic work on <a href="https://theconversation.com/why-everyone-should-know-their-attachment-style-105321">attachment theory</a> to try to understand the gaps left behind. And when her eventual lover is disinterested in discussing it, it’s an ignored warning sign. </p>
<p>Desire is also a book about writing itself, and how desire might flow through to a page. Cole concludes the book by saying she wrote most of her memoir contemporaneously, as she felt both desire and dejection. The presentness of the work is startling. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/492427/original/file-20221030-90666-e4qutm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/492427/original/file-20221030-90666-e4qutm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/492427/original/file-20221030-90666-e4qutm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=403&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/492427/original/file-20221030-90666-e4qutm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=403&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/492427/original/file-20221030-90666-e4qutm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=403&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/492427/original/file-20221030-90666-e4qutm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=507&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/492427/original/file-20221030-90666-e4qutm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=507&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/492427/original/file-20221030-90666-e4qutm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=507&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">A love story set against a backdrop of climate emergency – fire and floods – in the northern New South Wales forests.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Phillip Flores/Unsplash</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>This love story is set against a backdrop of <a href="https://theconversation.com/laid-awake-and-wept-destruction-of-nature-takes-a-toll-on-the-human-psyche-heres-one-way-to-cope-187837">climate emergency</a> in the old forests of northern New South Wales. Australian readers will recognise the terrible, scarring patterns of fire and flood that marked the years before the pandemic. </p>
<p>It’s one of the most moving evocations of our damage to Country I have read: the sheer terror of fire and wind (even in the rainforest); the unimaginable havoc of floods; the rejuvenating potential of this beautiful and horrifying land. It’s a love song to the land – one marked, like Cole’s relationships with men, by instability. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/losing-a-loved-one-can-change-you-forever-but-grief-doesnt-have-to-be-the-end-of-your-relationship-with-them-191135">Losing a loved one can change you forever, but grief doesn't have to be the end of your relationship with them</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>A passionate but detached love affair</h2>
<p>Freudians might read Cole’s older lover as a father figure. But while she appears to be attracted to his everyday kindness, the relationship is built on complex needs. She largely flies to visit him in his home in the city, although he does once visit the wonders of her forest life. In a series of vignettes, the couple fall into a habit of good sex and gentle companionship, with passionate visits held together by phone and email. And, importantly, he doesn’t want her too much: too much desire on his side would be alarming, at least at first. </p>
<p>But despite the outward appearance of his care (the warmed towels, the carefully drawn pot of tea), it is never a comfortable relationship: Cole is plagued by doubts of reciprocity, and sometimes her body rebels. Towards the end, she concludes that perhaps she should have listened more to her body, which might have sensed his ambivalence, his lack of driving interest in, or passion for, her. </p>
<p>When he ends the relationship, it is as catastrophic as the <a href="https://theconversation.com/floods-are-natural-but-human-decisions-make-disasters-we-need-to-reflect-on-the-endless-cycles-of-blame-192930">floods</a> and <a href="https://theconversation.com/native-forest-logging-makes-bushfires-worse-and-to-say-otherwise-ignores-the-facts-161177">fires</a> she has endured. On reflection, she could see desire, but also “undernourishment” throughout their relationship. But the end of their romance still leaves her with the lingering thought that perhaps she is too deeply traumatised to love, and to be loved. </p>
<p>Desire is a powerful, tender book of loss and longing, attempting to grapple with both inner pain and external tragedy. It’s a vulnerable work that moved me to tears more than once. But despite it all, there are moments of hope, even at the end. </p>
<p>Her flower garden, which she built. The water hole, regenerating. A swim in the ocean at dusk, dangerous but invigorating. The final sense that Cole did not – and would not – end her search for intimacy and connection.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/193440/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Lisa Featherstone has received an ARC grant on sexual violence.</span></em></p>
Jessie Cole’s memoir traces a love affair: a long-distance relationship with an unnamed, older lover. It’s set against layers of thinking about love, desire, bodies and ecological disaster.
Lisa Featherstone, Associate Professor in Australian History and the History of Sexuality, The University of Queensland
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/176760
2022-02-10T22:17:09Z
2022-02-10T22:17:09Z
What the mythical Cupid can teach us about the meaning of love and desire
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/445736/original/file-20220210-17-1y1uhco.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C9%2C6417%2C4707&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">A part of the fresco "Triumph of Galatea," created by Raphael around 1512 for the Villa Farnesina in Rome.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/the-triumph-of-galatea-1512-14-news-photo/151324283?adppopup=true">Art Images via Getty Images</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Each Valentine’s Day, when I see images of the chubby winged god Cupid taking aim with his bow and arrow at his unsuspecting victims, I take refuge in my training as <a href="https://www.brandeis.edu/facultyguide/person.html?emplid=1be7ee967d45605afddf7da9ad4ca2c049a26c0b">a scholar of early Greek poetry and myth</a> to muse on the strangeness of this image and the nature of love.</p>
<p>In Roman culture, Cupid was the child of the goddess Venus, popularly known today as the goddess of love, and Mars, the god of war. But for ancient audiences, as myths and texts show, she was really the patron deity of “sexual intercourse” and “procreation.” The name Cupid, which comes from the <a href="https://www.online-latin-dictionary.com/latin-english-dictionary.php?parola=cupido">Latin verb cupere</a>, means desire, love or lust. But in the odd combination of a baby’s body with lethal weapons, along with parents associated with both love and war, Cupid is a figure of contradictions – a symbol of conflict and desire.</p>
<p>This history isn’t often reflected in the modern-day Valentine celebrations. The Feast of Saint Valentine started out as a celebration of <a href="https://theconversation.com/the-real-st-valentine-was-no-patron-of-love-90518">St. Valentine of Rome</a>. As <a href="https://www.birmingham.ac.uk/staff/profiles/tr/moss-candida.aspx">Candida Moss</a>, a scholar of theology and late antiquity, explains, the courtly romance of holiday advertisements may have more to do with <a href="https://www.ox.ac.uk/news/arts-blog/did-love-begin-middle-ages">the Middle Ages</a> than with ancient Rome. </p>
<p>The winged cupid was a favorite of artists and authors in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, but he was more than just a symbol of love to them.</p>
<h2>Born of sex and war</h2>
<p>The Romans’ Cupid was the equivalent of the Greek god Eros, the origin of the word “erotic.” In ancient Greece, Eros is often seen as the son of Ares, the god of war, and Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty, as well as sex and desire.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="An illustration of Greek god Eros, showing a young boy withe wings against a black background." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/445735/original/file-20220210-27-esyybo.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=20%2C104%2C1896%2C1571&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/445735/original/file-20220210-27-esyybo.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=591&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/445735/original/file-20220210-27-esyybo.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=591&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/445735/original/file-20220210-27-esyybo.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=591&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/445735/original/file-20220210-27-esyybo.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=743&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/445735/original/file-20220210-27-esyybo.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=743&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/445735/original/file-20220210-27-esyybo.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=743&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">A painting of Eros from 470 B.C.– 450 B.C.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/cd/EROS_Louvre.jpg">The Louvre via Wikimedia Commons</a>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/">CC BY-SA</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The Greek Eros often appears in early Greek iconography along with <a href="https://www.britishmuseum.org/collection/object/G_1888-1015-13">other Erotes</a>, a group of winged gods associated with love and sexual intercourse. These ancient figures <a href="https://www.theoi.com/Ouranios/Erotes.html">were often pictured as older adolescents</a> – winged bodies sometimes personified as a trio: eros (lust), himeros (desire) and pothos (passion).</p>
<p>There were younger, more playful versions of Eros, however. Art depictions from the fifth century B.C. show <a href="https://art.thewalters.org/detail/2068/red-figure-chous-with-eros/">Eros as a child</a> pulling a cart on a red figure vase. A famous <a href="https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/254502">sleeping bronze of Eros</a> from the Hellenistic period of second century B.C. also shows him as a child.</p>
<p>By the time of the Roman Empire, however, the image of chubby <a href="https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/251403">little Cupid</a> became more common. The Roman poet Ovid writes about <a href="http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.02.0029%3Abook%3D1%3Acard%3D452">two types of Cupid’s arrows</a>: one that metes out uncontrollable desire and another that fills its target with revulsion. Such depiction of Greek and Roman deities holding the power to do both good and bad was common. The god Apollo, for example, could heal people of disease or cause a plague to ruin a city.</p>
<p>Earlier Greek myths also made it clear that Eros was not merely a force for distraction. At the beginning of Hesiod’s “Theogony” – a poem telling the history of the creation of the universe told through the reproduction of the gods – Eros appears early as a necessary natural force since he “<a href="http://data.perseus.org/citations/urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0020.tlg001.perseus-eng1:104-138">troubles the limbs and overcomes the mind and counsels of all mortals and gods</a>.” This line was an acknowledgment of the power of the sexual desire even over gods. </p>
<h2>Balancing conflict and desire</h2>
<p>And yet, Eros was not all about the sexual act. For the <a href="https://history.hanover.edu/texts/presoc/emp.html">early Greek philosopher Empedocles</a>, Eros was paired with Eris, the goddess of strife and conflict, as the two most influential forces in the universe. For philosophers like Empedocles, Eros and Eris personified attraction and division at an elemental level, the natural powers that cause matter to bring life into existence and then tear it apart again.</p>
<p>In the ancient world, sex and desire were considered an essential part of life, but dangerous if they become too dominant. Plato’s <a href="http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus:text:1999.01.0174:text=Sym.">Symposium</a>, a dialogue on the nature of Eros, provides a survey of different ideas of desire at the time – moving from its effects on the body to its nature and ability to reflect who people are.</p>
<p>One of the most memorable segments from this dialogue is when the speaker Aristophanes humorously describes the origins of Eros. He explains that all humans were once two people combined in one. The gods punished humans for their arrogance by separating them into individuals. So, desire is really a longing to be whole again.</p>
<h2>Playing with Cupid</h2>
<p>Today it might be commonplace to say that you are what you love, but for ancient philosophers, you are both what and how you love. This is illustrated in one of the most memorable Roman accounts of Cupid that combines elements lust along with <a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/3556532?seq=1#metadata_info_tab_contents">philosophical reflections</a>. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/445748/original/file-20220210-47794-1atc7xd.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A painting showing a young woman holding a lamp to view a sleeping, naked Cupid." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/445748/original/file-20220210-47794-1atc7xd.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/445748/original/file-20220210-47794-1atc7xd.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=402&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/445748/original/file-20220210-47794-1atc7xd.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=402&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/445748/original/file-20220210-47794-1atc7xd.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=402&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/445748/original/file-20220210-47794-1atc7xd.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=506&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/445748/original/file-20220210-47794-1atc7xd.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=506&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/445748/original/file-20220210-47794-1atc7xd.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=506&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Psyche lifts a lamp to view the sleeping Cupid.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/35/Vouet-Psych%C3%A9-Lyon.jpg">Painting by Simon Vouet, Museum of Fine Arts of Lyon Collection via Wikimedia Commons</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In this account, the second-century North African writer Apuleius puts Cupid at the center of his Latin novel, “The Golden Ass.” The main character, a man turned into a donkey, recounts how an older woman tells a kidnapped bride, Charite, the story of how Cupid used to visit the young Psyche at night in the darkness of her room. When she betrays his trust and lights an oil lamp to see who he is, the god is burned and flees. Psyche must wander and complete nearly impossible tasks for Venus before she is allowed to reunite with him.</p>
<p>Later authors explained this story as an allegory about the relationship between <a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/20188784?seq=1#metadata_info_tab_contents">the human soul and desire</a>. And Christian interpretations built upon this notion, seeing it as detailing the <a href="https://pillars.taylor.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1181&context=inklings_forever">fall of the soul thanks to temptation</a>. This approach, however, ignores the part of the plot where Psyche is granted immortality to remain by Cupid’s side and then gives birth to a child named “Pleasure.” </p>
<p>In the end, Apuleius’ story is a lesson about finding balance between matters of the body and spirit. The child “Pleasure” is born not from secret nightly trysts, but from reconciling the struggle of the mind with matters of the heart.</p>
<p>There’s more than a bit of play to our modern Cupid. But this little archer comes from a long tradition of wrestling with a force that exerts so much influence over mortal minds. Tracing his path through Greek and Roman myth shows the vital importance of understanding the pleasures and dangers of desire.</p>
<p>[<em>This Week in Religion, a global roundup each Thursday.</em> <a href="https://theconversation.com/us/newsletters/this-week-in-religion-76/?utm_source=TCUS&utm_medium=inline-link&utm_campaign=newsletter-text&utm_content=religion-global-roundup">Sign up.</a>]</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/176760/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Joel Christensen does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
A scholar of early Greek classics explains what the myth of the weapon-carrying god of love, Cupid, a child of the gods of love and war, conveys about the pleasures and dangers of desire.
Joel Christensen, Professor of Classical Studies, Brandeis University
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/101023
2018-08-16T21:58:13Z
2018-08-16T21:58:13Z
Midlife sex problems? New research says you’re not alone
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/232153/original/file-20180815-2897-q63d7d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">New research suggests that midlife Canadians struggle with a variety of sexual problems, with low desire reported as most common for both men and women.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">(Shutterstock)</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Around 30 per cent of Canadians between the ages of 40 and 59 <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/29753802">report at least one problem in the bedroom</a>. </p>
<p>The most common sexual problem is low desire, according to a research study we recently published in the <em>Journal of Sexual Medicine</em>. Around 40 per cent of the women we asked, and 30 per cent of men, reported experiencing problems with low desire during the last six months. </p>
<p>Many women also reported difficulties reaching orgasm (15 per cent), as well as problems with vaginal dryness (29 per cent) and vaginal pain (17 per cent). Nearly a quarter of the men had difficulty ejaculating and maintaining or acquiring an erection. </p>
<p>These rates suggest that a variety of sexual problems are quite common among midlife Canadians. Our findings are also largely consistent with published research from the <a href="https://jamanetwork.com/journals/jama/fullarticle/188762?%3C/p%3E%3Cp%20class=">United States</a> and the <a href="https://www.bmj.com/content/327/7412/426.full">United Kingdom</a>. </p>
<p>I am a PhD candidate in family relations and human development at the University of Guelph and my research typically focuses on “keeping the spark alive” in long-term relationships. My main interest is the intersection of relational and sexual elements within romantic relationships. </p>
<p>This study was co-authored with Robin Milhausen from the University of Guelph, Alexander McKay of the Sex Information and Education Council of Canada and Stephen Holzapfel from Women’s College Hospital Toronto. It was aimed at addressing a lack of available data on the frequency and predictors of sexual problems among midlife Canadians. </p>
<h2>Novel sex enhances desire</h2>
<p>Individuals who are married are more likely to report low desire than those who are not married, according to our results. Married men are more likely to report ejaculation difficulties. </p>
<p>These are interesting findings, and not unexpected. Other research has shown that sexual satisfaction <a href="https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s10508-015-0587-0">decreases over time in long-term relationships</a>. Together, this suggests that over-familiarity with a partner in some cases may lead to the sexual “spark” burning less bright, which may also contribute to sexual problems. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/232159/original/file-20180815-2909-t5wk32.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/232159/original/file-20180815-2909-t5wk32.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/232159/original/file-20180815-2909-t5wk32.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/232159/original/file-20180815-2909-t5wk32.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/232159/original/file-20180815-2909-t5wk32.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/232159/original/file-20180815-2909-t5wk32.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/232159/original/file-20180815-2909-t5wk32.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">After years of marriage, it can take work to rekindle the sexual spark.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">(Shutterstock)</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Our research also suggests that participating in novel sexual activities may enhance desire by <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/16123844">breaking up routine</a> and therefore enhancing the spark. </p>
<p>We also examined the effect of menopause — finding that postmenopausal women were more likely to report low desire and vaginal pain. This is consistent with other literature showing <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/10993029">declines in desire</a> for postmenopausal women. It complements other research, which suggests that physiological changes like <a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0378512205001854">thinning of the vaginal walls and reduced lubrication</a> that can occur after menopause may lead to vaginal pain. </p>
<h2>When doctors don’t ask</h2>
<p>We conducted this research with a large national sample of 2,400 Canadians aged between 40 and 59. Our findings showed that sexual problems are very common in this age group. This is one of the <a href="https://www150.statcan.gc.ca/n1/pub/91-520-x/91-520-x2014001-eng.htm">largest Canadian demographics and will continue to grow</a>. More national Canadian data is needed to understand the health-care needs for this group. </p>
<p>One important limitation of this study is that we based our research on participant self-reports and did not assess whether they met the diagnostic criteria for a clinical diagnosis of sexual dysfunction (e.g. erectile dysfunction). </p>
<p>Previously published research reveals that more midlife Canadians would like to be <a href="https://europepmc.org/abstract/med/16515749">asked about sexual problems by their doctors, but more than 75 per cent had not sought help for these problems</a>. </p>
<p>Read together with the results of our study, this suggests an emerging health-care issue that requires attention and research.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/101023/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Christopher Quinn-Nilas receives funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada through a scholarship.
The study and study questionnaire were designed by Dr. Robin Milhausen and Dr. Alex McKay in consultation with the Trojan Sexual Health Division of Church & Dwight Canada to better understand the sexual health needs of mid-life adult Canadians. The funder did not restrict the scope or content of the survey, nor did they restrict in any way the publication of the findings.
The Sex Information and Education Council of Canada (SIECCAN) received an unrestricted resource development grant from Church & Dwight Canada.
</span></em></p>
Low libido, problems ejaculating, vaginal pain – these problems are common for midlife Canadians, and some of them are way more likely if you’re married.
Christopher Quinn-Nilas, Ph.D. Candidate, Department of Family Relations and Applied Nutrition, University of Guelph
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/75438
2017-04-07T14:14:02Z
2017-04-07T14:14:02Z
Painting in circles and loving in triangles: the Bloomsbury Group’s queer ways of seeing
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/164471/original/image-20170407-29396-2hail7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Duncan Grant © Tate</span></span></figcaption></figure><blockquote>
<p>Dearest, at this moment I would give my soul to the Devil if I could kiss you and be kissed.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In the summer of 1908, the Bloomsbury artist Duncan Grant wrote anguished letters to his sometime lover and lifelong friend, the economist John Maynard Keynes. In the infancy of their romance, the pair had been forced to spend time apart while Grant holidayed with family friends, a period of separation which served only to deepen their emotional closeness. Absence, after all, makes the heart grow fonder. </p>
<p>Grant’s letters expose a longing for the comfort of commonality, the security we find in shared experiences. He needed the company of someone who understood what it meant to be a gay man living in Britain before decriminalisation in 1967. “How much I want to scream sometimes here for want of being able to say something I mean,” one letter reads: “It’s not only that one’s a sodomite that one has to hide but one’s whole philosophy of life; one’s feelings for inanimate things I feel would shock some people.”</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/163902/original/image-20170404-5702-cqu8xx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/163902/original/image-20170404-5702-cqu8xx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=449&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/163902/original/image-20170404-5702-cqu8xx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=449&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/163902/original/image-20170404-5702-cqu8xx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=449&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/163902/original/image-20170404-5702-cqu8xx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=564&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/163902/original/image-20170404-5702-cqu8xx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=564&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/163902/original/image-20170404-5702-cqu8xx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=564&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Duncan Grant,
Bathing, 1911
.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">© Tate</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>These letters are revealing of the ways Grant linked his sense of alienation, at the hands of his sexuality, to a broader sense of difference relating to the way he perceived the world around him. He understood his queerness as a central organising structure of his vision and his personhood; his “whole philosophy of life”. By making an explicit connection between his sexual alterity and his way of seeing, he leads us to consider: in what ways do our sexual pleasures and fantasies inform the way we see the world?</p>
<h2>Queer British Art</h2>
<figure class="align-right ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/163897/original/image-20170404-5736-179bmi6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/163897/original/image-20170404-5736-179bmi6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=745&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/163897/original/image-20170404-5736-179bmi6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=745&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/163897/original/image-20170404-5736-179bmi6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=745&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/163897/original/image-20170404-5736-179bmi6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=936&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/163897/original/image-20170404-5736-179bmi6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=936&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/163897/original/image-20170404-5736-179bmi6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=936&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Angus McBean, Quentin Crisp, 1941, National Portrait Gallery.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">© Estate of Angus McBean / National Portrait Gallery, London</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>This question, and the broader connections between art and diverse gender and sexual identities, takes centre stage in Tate Britain’s <a href="http://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/tate-britain/exhibition/queer-british-art-1861-1967">Queer British Art</a> exhibition. The landmark show explores how artworks and objects can evoke the contradictory and overlapping experiences of queer intimacy and desire. It begins in 1861, when the death penalty for sodomy was abolished, and moves through the century to the partial decriminalisation of sex between men in 1967. </p>
<p>Some of the artists and subjects in the show were directly affected by legal persecution, including Oscar Wilde, Simeon Solomon, <a href="https://www.brainpickings.org/2016/11/09/well-of-loneliness-trial-of-radclyffe-hall-virginia-woolf/">Radclyffe Hall</a> and Angus McBean. At the same time, other artists encoded their sexuality and found innovative, playful and beguiling ways to express their queer identities and desires. In any case, the exhibition is revealing of how queerness resides at the heart of British art history, as well as some of its more obscure margins.</p>
<figure class="align-left ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/163899/original/image-20170404-5736-10za2sy.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/163899/original/image-20170404-5736-10za2sy.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=522&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/163899/original/image-20170404-5736-10za2sy.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=522&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/163899/original/image-20170404-5736-10za2sy.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=522&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/163899/original/image-20170404-5736-10za2sy.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=655&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/163899/original/image-20170404-5736-10za2sy.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=655&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/163899/original/image-20170404-5736-10za2sy.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=655&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Simeon Solomon,
Sappho and Erinna in a Garden at Mytilene,
1864.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">© Tate</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The Bloomsbury Group sit relatively comfortably within the canon of 20th-century British art and culture. The closely-knit network of artists and intellectuals was bound together by political ideals and personal affections, as well as aesthetic tastes, and together they stood firmly at the forefront of the British avant-garde until the outbreak of World War II. </p>
<p>Largely comprised of queer women and men, including the writers Virginia Woolf, Lytton Strachey and E M Forster, along with the artist Dora Carrington, the Bloomsbury Group was committed to the redefinition of personal relationships as they were understood and represented in pre-war England. They regarded the conventions of the previous generation with critical suspicion. Each associate of Bloomsbury sought liberation in sexual, social and artistic terms.</p>
<h2>Loving in triangles</h2>
<p>As Dorothy Parker’s famous remark goes, the Bloomsbury Group “lived in squares, painted in circles and loved in triangles”. Though she pursued relationships with women, Carrington loved and was loved by Strachey, who was almost exclusively attracted to men. Meanwhile, a select few of Duncan Grant’s male lovers made visits to Charleston in Sussex, where Grant lived in a domestic partnership with Vanessa Bell and her children.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/164470/original/image-20170407-29386-119x8o9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/164470/original/image-20170407-29386-119x8o9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=414&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/164470/original/image-20170407-29386-119x8o9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=414&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/164470/original/image-20170407-29386-119x8o9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=414&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/164470/original/image-20170407-29386-119x8o9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=520&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/164470/original/image-20170407-29386-119x8o9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=520&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/164470/original/image-20170407-29386-119x8o9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=520&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Duncan Grant, Erotic Embrace, c. 1950.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">© Tate</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>These unconventional lives and arrangements are immortalised in their artwork. Carrington’s Lytton Strachey (1916), for instance, captures the life Carrington and Strachey created at Tidmarsh Mill House, and latterly Ham Spray House in Wiltshire, where they lived with Carrington’s husband and Strachey’s object of desire, Ralph Partridge. Writing in 1921, Carrington addressed Strachey: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>You never knew, or never will know the very big and devastating love I had for you. How I adored every hair, every curl on your beard. How I devoured you whilst you read to me at night. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>Her encyclopaedic knowledge of his face, mapped out in the minutest detail, is betrayed in this extraordinarily attentive portrait, an intimate testimony to the love of her life.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/164469/original/image-20170407-29396-1hpnxmr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/164469/original/image-20170407-29396-1hpnxmr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=499&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/164469/original/image-20170407-29396-1hpnxmr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=499&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/164469/original/image-20170407-29396-1hpnxmr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=499&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/164469/original/image-20170407-29396-1hpnxmr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=627&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/164469/original/image-20170407-29396-1hpnxmr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=627&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/164469/original/image-20170407-29396-1hpnxmr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=627&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Dora Carrington, Lytton Strachey, 1916.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">© Tate</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The Tate’s show, which my research has informed, rightfully positions Bloomsbury at the centre of Britain’s queer history. The political, sexual and artistic frustrations motivating the artists of Bloomsbury to create still exist today, albeit in mutated forms. </p>
<p>From Virginia Woolf’s genre-defying Orlando to Duncan Grant’s private erotica, the objects Bloomsbury left behind speak on behalf of those whose voices have been silenced in the mainstream. Their queer art provides tender pockets of shelter in a still-hostile world, and their work ceaselessly reverberates with the force of resistance.</p>
<hr>
<p><em><a href="http://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/tate-britain/exhibition/queer-british-art-1861-1967">Queer British Art</a> is at London’s Tate Britain from April 5 to October 1 2017.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/75438/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Eleanor Jones receives funding from Arts and Humanities Research Council and works for Tate Britain. </span></em></p>
In what ways do our sexual pleasures and fantasies inform the way we see the world?
Eleanor Jones, PhD Candidate, King's College London
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/25463
2014-04-28T15:02:02Z
2014-04-28T15:02:02Z
Hair removal prompts endless questions but rarely answers
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/47165/original/hnz3b82q-1398692616.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Ben Hopper, 'Natural Beauty'. </span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">© Ben Hopper</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Recently, thanks to celebrities Cameron Diaz and Gwyneth Paltrow, women’s removal or non-removal of pubic hair has become a flashy item in the news and is all over the internet. Details and articles are flying around. Diaz claimed to have changed her mind about the removal of pubic hair. She says that previously she found the pubic hair of (according to media speculation) her friend Gwyneth Paltrow <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-2315385/Did-Cameron-Diaz-Gwyneth-Paltrows-70s-vibe-pubic-hair-forced-bikini-line-trim.html">unattractive because when bathing it “swayed” like “seaweed”</a>. </p>
<p>But then in her recent publication <a href="http://books.google.co.uk/books?id=RRI-ngEACAAJ&dq=The+Body+Book&hl=en&sa=X&ei=TEFeU4bkE8Wu7AasxoDoBQ&ved=0CDEQ6AEwAA">The Body Book</a> Diaz urged women not to remove their pubic hair, at least not “permanently”, in case they changed their minds at some point. She also argued that pubic hair, in her view, has “<a href="http://uk.eonline.com/shows/chelsea_lately/news/517247/cameron-diaz-talks-to-chelsea-handler-about-vagina-health-and-pubic-hair-preservation">purposes</a>”. </p>
<p>And then we have riveting articles from sites such as <a href="http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2014/04/10/waxing-damned-if-you-do-and-damned-if-you-don-t-how-pubic-hair-became-political.html">The Daily Beast</a>, who have asserted that this debate announces that “the decision to ‘grow out the lady garden’ rather than succumb to landscaping has become a feminist issue worth debating.”</p>
<p>The terms of this debate imply, of course, that the removal or non-removal of body hair, including pubic hair, used somehow to be not worth debating as a feminist issue and was not “political”. So why is a topic such as this seen to be “important”, and by whom? Certainly, the removal of body hair is a huge industry in financial, commercial and marketing terms alone, but it also figures largely in narratives of the body, in terms of ideas of beauty, cleanliness, sexuality, gender, shame, and desire. </p>
<p><a href="http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2014/04/10/waxing-damned-if-you-do-and-damned-if-you-don-t-how-pubic-hair-became-political.html">The Daily Beast article</a> itself points this out by drawing on a further recent debate around pubic hair, namely the controversial – as it has turned out – new advertisements for Veet hair-removal cream. The campaign is delightfully titled “don’t risk dudeness”, and as the Daily Beast puts it, “depicts women who don’t shave every day as repulsive hairy men”. </p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/UxCHLXQffsg?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
</figure>
<p>Yet, interestingly, while there are thousands of books on body weight and shape, there has almost never been anything written about body hair. The only writing beyond the media that exists are some remarks in feminist texts resisting body hair removal as being “not natural”, a small amount of medical writing on what is termed “hirsutism” or “excess body hair”, and a larger amount of fetishistic pornography about either “hairy” or shaven bodies. I have edited the <a href="http://books.google.co.uk/books?id=yt0qnwdZRCcC">only volume</a> to focus wholly on this issue. </p>
<p>So this is a topic that is either conceived of as too trivial to be able to say anything substantive about or too dangerous and disgusting. It elicits a continual cycle of interest because of both that triviality (“not political”) and its “disgustingness”. Sit down any group of people (men or women) and they always have views on this topic. This is confirmed by the huge amount of articles (like this one) that erupt every time something about body hair appears in the media.</p>
<p>And almost any time hair removal in women is questioned in any way, it is almost always in terms of claims that it is the first time somebody has thought of raising the issue of why we remove body hair, and whether we should. This is a topic that is rediscovered endlessly. </p>
<p>For example, the most popular magazine for young women in Britain, Glamour, included a piece in their May edition by its regular celebrity columnist Dawn O’Porter, titled “I want my vagina to look like a vagina”. </p>
<p>O’Porter claims that “my bikini line has become quite the conversation starter of late” because she has decided that “the big bush is making a comeback”, and cites Diaz and Paltrow in support of this. But at the same time, O’Porter asserts that her “re-evaluation” of hair removal only relates to pubic hair, and that “I have never had an issue with general hair removal. For me, shaving my legs and armpits is worth every effort.”</p>
<p>For me, this is why body hair and how it is removed or not removed remains fascinating. It raises questions which relate to every way the body is gendered, defined and produced. And this raises in turn questions of what and how we constitute “choice”. We choose to remove – or not to remove – body hair. But why? </p>
<p>It turns out that the more you ask that question, the more nobody actually knows. The responses are always the same, namely that it is because it is in some way attractive to remove or not to remove body hair – whether to somebody else or “for myself”. But why and how the removal of body hair (“smoothness”) is “attractive”, and how it constitutes a separation between masculinity and femininity is a question that almost nobody can really explain. </p>
<p>This, of course, is not only true of body hair, but of any productions and constitutions of gender, sexuality and the body. Desire, it turns out, does not allow itself to be so easily regulated by choice and will.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/25463/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Karin Lesnik-Oberstein does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
Recently, thanks to celebrities Cameron Diaz and Gwyneth Paltrow, women’s removal or non-removal of pubic hair has become a flashy item in the news and is all over the internet. Details and articles are…
Karin Lesnik-Oberstein, Professor in English Literature, University of Reading
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.