Musings

3 Reasons to Take a Scandalous Selfie

Kate Sloan

Ah, selfies. Such a polarizing topic. You either think they’re the epitome of narcissism or a radical tool against society’s demand that we hate ourselves. There doesn’t seem to be any in-between when it comes to this issue.

Sexy selfies are even more polarizing than the standard face shots. There’s a media circus of slut-shaming and fear-mongering every time a celebrity’s scantily-clad selfie is posted or leaked. Very little attention is paid to the idea that this sort of photo can actually be a positive, affirming thing for its model.

Before we go any further, let’s get this out of the way: yes, there are definitely risks associated with the existence of sexy selfies in the digital sphere. Hackers exist, as do vengeful exes, technology slip-ups, and other potentially problematic pitfalls. I don’t know a lot about digital security so I’ll refer you to someone who does: Violet Blue. Her book on the subject is invaluable. I actually haven’t even read it yet but she’s Violet freaking Blue so I know it’s a good resource nonetheless.

Now, with that in mind, let’s get to the good stuff: here are 3 reasons why taking a naked or nearly-naked selfie might be a good thing for you to do, if you’re into it.

To document your body as it is right now.

We all age. Our bodies change. They grow or shrink. Old scars fade and new ones appear. The changes are so gradual that you may hardly notice them until you compare in detail.

Maybe this is weird to think about, but how cool would it be to be 75 years old and look back on a picture of your naked bod at age 19? Document your body’s hotness, its quirks, its fleeting state of being. Bodies are ephemeral, but pictures are forever (if you keep ‘em).

To boost your self-love.

If you’re one of the many many folks who struggles with self-love, you might be thinking, “But GJ, looking at my body doesn’t make me love it more! Quite the opposite, in fact!” I feel you, babe. But hear me out for a sec.

Selfies give you almost total control over how you choose to present yourself. You can contort your body into flattering poses, tilt your face at a forgiving angle, squish your boobs together, flex your muscles. You can take dozens of pictures and use only the best one. You can prepare for the picture with all the makeup you want. And once the shot’s been snapped, you can slather it in Instagram filters and Photoshop fixes.

Some people think this is “false advertising” – and indeed, it may not be a great idea to use a contrived, doctored selfie as your dating site profile pic or modelling headshot, since those are supposed to be honest and true-to-life. But if the shot’s for your personal use, or you’re just going to forward it to a beau or put it on a social media site for funsies, it really doesn’t matter if it’s been tampered with. Who cares?

If you feel you can’t fully love yourself the way you look in real life, start by trying to love yourself the way you look in your sleek, perfected selfies. It could be the first step on your journey to loving the way you actually look.

To send to someone cute.

Of course, this is maybe the main reason why people take sexy selfies. The kids are calling it “sexting,” so I hear…

I’ve actually never sent anyone a naked picture of myself because I’m paranoid about them getting leaked, but the great thing is, there are so many flirty, foxy pictures you can take for a partner without even showing your bits. Take them in underwear, in a shirt your lover forgot on your bedroom floor, in a fancy piece of lingerie you’re trying on in a mall fitting room… The sky’s the limit.

Exchanging sexy shots can, of course, be a way of being sexual together even when you can’t physically be near one another. It can also be a fun way to explore your sexuality together if you’re not ready to have sex with someone yet, or not able to for whatever reason.

Do you take scandalous selfies? What makes them fun for you? Got any tips?

Here’s An Idea: Ethical Fetishism + Shoe Sugar Daddies

Kate Sloan

Last week I found myself madly lusting over a pair of shoes. They were gorgeous and I NEEDED them – but they were $275. And as a full-time student and part-time blogger, that ain’t a doable price for me. (I ended up buying a similar pair at a way lower price point – that’s me modeling them above!)

I spent some time complaining on Twitter about this problem, and then my mind wandered to all the fetishists who’ve left me lascivious comments on my clothes, shoes, and hosiery over the years. You might remember from my post on how to be a non-douchey fetishist that I’ve been posting outfit photos online for 8+ years and attract a lot of creeps through that venue. These people are getting off on my pictures – so shouldn’t I be getting some kind of compensation for that “service” I’m (nonconsensually) providing?

Okay, hear me out. My idea is this: an online social platform where you can sign up in one of two categories, fetishist or fashionista. (The names could use some workshopping; ideally they’d both be gender-neutral.) The fashionistas build profiles full of as much or as little personal information as they’d like to share and a gallery of photos that are as sexy or sexless as they feel comfortable being. They attach a wishlist to their profile, filled with clothes, shoes, and other cute things they have their eye on. And if a fetishist takes an interest in a particular fashion fan, he can buy her something from her wishlist. (I’m using those pronouns for clarity’s sake; obviously there are fetishists and fashion fans of all genders.)

The wishlist would hide her address, of course; no one wants to put themselves at risk for being stalked. And when the item of choice arrived, she could try it on, pose for pictures or video, and post them publicly or privately for the fetishist who supplied the money.

There could be a way for fetishists and fashionistas to negotiate the terms of the agreement in advance – e.g. “If I buy you these shoes, you’ll model them in tights, in knee-high socks, and barefoot.” There could be an eBay-esque feedback system to avoid scammers and creeps.

I know that systems like this exist already, but in my experience, they’re usually hypersexual and mostly frequented by camgirls and their patrons. While there’s obviously nothing wrong with sex workers (you go, gals and guys!), not all of us feel comfortable being super sexy online. My half-baked dream for this social network conceptualizes it as a space that is as sexy or unsexy as individual users want it to be, so that everyone feels comfortable and safe.

I just think that there are better ways to manage the relationships between fetishists and the subjects of their affection than the way that those relationships usually go right now. The subjects often (in my experience) feel victimized, grossed out, and used. I know that for myself, when I receive a message from a fetishist telling me he loves me in sheer hose or he wants me to wear heels for him, I feel squicked out but I also always send him a link to my Amazon wishlist, because dammit, if I’m going to fulfill someone’s fetish, he’s going to be the one to foot the bill for it, not me. Of course, I’ve never actually had a fetishist buy me anything, because the ones I encounter all seem to be cheapskates who expect me to be their masturbation fodder at no charge, but… I’m sure there are shoe sugar daddies out there somewhere, right?

I don’t have the know-how to build a website or get it off the ground, but if anyone ever takes this idea and runs with it, just know that I would promote the shit out of it, happily beta-test it, and send the link to every fetishist who’s ever given me “helpful suggestions” for what to wear!

Let’s Talk About Terminology: New Year’s Resolutions

Kate Sloan

A lot of my new year’s resolutions tend to center around language – which I guess makes sense, because I’m a writer and a very linguistically focused person.

Last year I resolved to eliminate ableist slurs like “crazy” and “lame” from my vocabulary. This year my linguistic resolutions are mostly sex-related. Here are some of them; maybe you should make the same resolutions!

• Use the words “vulva” and “vagina” properly, even in situations where the audience/listener probably doesn’t know what the difference is, or has maybe never even heard the word “vulva” before. Take the opportunity to educate.

• Make a point to say “women” and not “girls” to describe female adults. Again: even when it’s uncomfortable or doesn’t fit the speech patterns of other people in the vicinity.

• Say “PIV,” not sex, when referring to penis-in-vagina intercourse. Specificity matters, especially when trying to avoid heterosexism!

• Use the term “sex worker” in lieu of antiquated terms like “prostitute” or “whore.” It’s helpful because it describes the work as work rather than dumbing down sex workers’ entire identities to the work that they do. (Read more about this?)

• Stop using “clean” to mean “STI-free”: people who have STIs are not dirty or immoral. (Read more about this?)

• Be better about gender-neutral and trans-inclusive language. I got called out at a sex toy workshop months ago for fucking up on this, and it’s a shameful moment that still sticks with me now, which makes me think I really need to work on it. People with vaginas are not necessarily women, people with penises are not necessarily men, and calling someone “female-bodied” or “male-bodied” can be problematic because a trans man’s maleness makes his body male and vice versa. (So I’ve been told. I don’t claim to speak for trans and gender-variant folks! Feel free to pipe up in the comments if you have objections or caveats…)

• Check on pronouns before writing about someone. I am usually good about this with people who I know to be trans and/or gender-variant, like Jiz Lee (who uses they/them) and Roger Wood (who I think uses he/him?). I start getting into trouble when I perceive someone as looking relatively gender-normative and then assume I don’t need to research their pronouns. (For example, did you know that Courtney Trouble prefers they/them?) I need to get better about checking the pronouns of every person I write about!

What are your sex-related new year’s resolutions for 2014? How do you plan to see ‘em through?

Let’s Talk About Terminology: Women

Kate Sloan

I’ll keep this post short and sweet, because I think it’s pretty self-explanatory.

Female adult humans are called women.

Do not call us “girls.” Do not infantilize us. Do not make the mistake of believing someone is “overreacting” if they take issue with being called a child.

Especially do not call us “girls” if you choose to use the word “men” in the same sentence. Do not juxtapose those two things if you do not mean them literally. Talking about female adults? “Women” is the word you are looking for.

Sometimes I like to be snarky in my enforcement of this language rule, so I trawl sex forums looking for threads with titles like, “Do girls like giving blowjobs?” and “How do girls feel about pubic hair?” and I reply (momentarily setting aside the fact that those posts try to generalize all women), “I certainly hope you’re not having sex with girls.” Or, sometimes, “I don’t know about girls, but I know some women who like giving blowjobs.”

As with any challenge to the status quo of misogynist language, there is always pushback. People scream, “You know what I meant!” And yes, I do know what was meant. I also know what was achieved: infantilization of women and the continuation of a verbal system that supports it.

Check your language. Make sure it’s not laced with oppression and archaic assumptions, ‘cause that shit’s gross.

And for those of you who pointed out that the word “girl” is in my blog name… Yep, you got me! It’s being used in a different context there, and there is a difference between “girly” and “girlish,” but yeah, this shitty language convention is extremely widespread, sometimes to the point that even feminists might not notice it!

Let’s Talk About Terminology: Sex, “Sex,” and Sex

Kate Sloan

If I said to you, “I had sex last night,” what would you think I meant?

Intercourse? Oral? Fingering and handjobs? All of the above?

As I am a woman partnered with a man, I think most people would assume I meant intercourse. They might suppose other sex acts were involved, but “intercourse” and “sex” are pretty well equated in the heteronormative world.

It’s frustrating, though, because not only does it shut out queer folks for whom penetrative sex might not be a part of their sexual repertoire, but it also verbally limits those of us who have opposite-sex partners. Are we supposed to believe that the centre and end-goal of sexytimes is always penetration? Because let’s face it: it isn’t!

Like Dan Savage says: “sex” is oral sex’s last name. Same deal with other kinds of sex, like manual sex (fingering and handjobs), anal sex, even intercrural sex. These are all sexual acts and can be just as intimate and fulfilling as penetrative sex – so why separate them out?

In reading my blog, you might have noticed that I do my best to always say “intercourse,” “PIV sex”† or “penetrative sex” when that’s what I mean, rather than using the word “sex” to refer to that particular act. I think it’s more precise and also helps abolish the gross heteronormativity that pops up in so much of our sexual language.

Some people think it’s awkward to use terms like that. If you decide to take up the mission of using specific words for different acts instead of just “sex,” be prepared for people to think you’re weird. There will always be pushback when you challenge established limitations, but be brave and persistent and maybe one day we’ll live in a world where our sexual language is wonderfully inclusive and deliciously accurate!

† “PIV” = “penis-in-vagina.”