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Most recently in my unending quest to justify the sex industry
to ignorant non-believers, I’ve been thinking a lot
about objectification. To many of our detractors, this is
the cardinal sin of the sex industry: the whittling away
of Woman to one attribute, her sexuality. Not even her sexuality,
which is indeed a many-headed monster, complex and stinkingly
human, but her pussy. They’re just desperate to frame
us with some crime against humanity, thus ‘objectification.’
According to this charge, when men see a naked woman, ALL
they see is her nakedness. However, this totally flies in
the face of the male psyche, with its incredible aptitude
for fantasy. That, in a nutshell, is why porn is so much
more appealing to guys. They see a two dimensional pussy
and then dream up all the qualities and other appendages
of the woman it belongs to. Given the same Christian Dior
ad ripped from Vogue—you know, those ads with
two long limbed girls all sweaty and scantily clad and apparently
hot over each other’s monogrammed boots and purses—most
women will see the boots and purses and fantasize about
taking them home, but most guys will see two sweaty
"Spread
and Smile."
babes and fantasize about
taking them home. Which is worse? Which is more demeaning
to the human in the photo? Which is more objectifying?
So, why do men and women go to strip clubs? Often it is
for entertainment: visual stimulation that is personal,
intimate, and pretty punk rock. They get spontaneity, grace,
joy, and skill—everything you can find at the ballet,
but in a much smaller venue, on a more intimate, real, and
correspondingly unique scale. And there’s a lot more
to see than t’n’a. Dancers talk, they’re
in control, and that’s what’s sexy about them.
I’ve always felt that there are two schools of customers:
guys who go for eye contact and guys who don’t. The
latter has a purely sensualist’s eye and sees a clad
stripper and wants her unclad; his eyes follow your hips
at all times, and he cocks his head unnaturally, signaling
what he wants to see: pussy, no more. The rest is wrapping.
For some reason, this type has always unsettled me somewhat.
Perhaps I hear my foes’ echoes of “objectification”
ringing true?
However, I know lotsa girls who hate eye contact with customers.
“Don’t look at my eyes, look at my pussy!”
It makes the job a hell of a lot easier—and not as
totally nude—when you shield your soul from the prying
eyes of strangers. Just spread it and smile. Or don’t
smile! Just spread it. Easy as pie.
But I firmly believe there are two reasons guys come in:
for a little bit of fantasy and a little bit of soul. A
little bit of lies and a little bit of truth. Probably the
second most-asked question at a titty bar, following close
on the tail of “What’s your name?”, is “No,
what’s your real name?” Who cares! You
saw my pussy, right? But they always want more. They want
to know you, the real you.
Objectification? Maybe initially, but give ‘em a few
sets and most come around. Lord knows there are plenty of
folks out there—men and women—who admire a fine
body and wanna take it home and touch it all over, no more!
But even then, our hearts get the best of us and we want
more. It’s the stuff sitcoms are made of, and what
separates us from higher animals—most of them keep
their friendships and their fucking separate. But we can’t
separate our hearts from our genitals! It’s rather
endearing, really, and makes true “objectification”
in the sex industry impossible.
Now Vogue, that’s another story.
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