Feminist Iconoclasm and the Problem of Eroticism

Hardy focuses on eroticism as the “public representation of sexuality” (77). He argues that our current understanding of eroticism is incapable of incorporating some of the new social constructions around gender that feminists are trying to adopt. He considers it to be “anachronistic in a world where gender order is being radically challenged” (80). Hardy explains historical influences of hegemonic eroticism, but also emphasizes that the social conditions “exceed historical memory” (81). His timeline helps to explain some of the social uses of eroticism that he describes in a section of the same name. During this process, Hardy discusses the dichotomous relationship between anti-porn, who argue that “sexual violence is culturally procured by the pornographic icon of female degradation” (78), and Anti-censorship, who see “sexual violence as more of a symptom than the source of women’s oppression” (84).

Perhaps one of his most important distinctions between two schools of thought is the separation of the psychoanalytic and social interpretations. He finds fault within the psychoanalytic focus because it “tends to view the erotic only in relation to the psychic” (79), which, he feels, “makes our erotic preoccupation with power seem less threatening and politically problematic” (85).

In responding to a text that has been called “dense” in an email by our professor, I’m afraid I may lack the intellectual capabilities to it justice. I can however focus on what I felt while reading, which I suppose, is all I was asked to do.

Looking historically at the hegemonic relationship between men and women, or this sort of willing(?) power of one sex over the other, Hardy does an excellent job explaining how some of our social constructs of gender (and, from there, sexuality) have been changed throughout time... of course, he sees his own limitations with this approach, which makes me, too, wonder how the original power dynamics came to be. He mentions the “active” and “passive” roles—I won’t elaborate—which make me remember discussion in class about finding new languages for female experience with sexuality. It is, partially, the active/passive language that persisted throughout Greek and Roman society that we base our own understanding of on sex today. What if, as mentioned by Professor Sabo in class, sex didn’t involve a penis “penetrating” the vagina, but rather a vagina “surrounding” the penis? If we were somehow able to attribute an active role to the woman during sex (at that time) perhaps ideas of sexuality would have evolved entirely differently.

Since I’m already speaking in terms of how social change could have altered historical perceptions of sexuality, I should probably look deeper into Hardy’s introduction of “social scripts” language. Hardy perceives scripts as a means of developing an adult gender identity which, he feels, is largely associated with sexual identity (86)... What does this mean? Honestly, I’m not sure, but I come to the following conclusion: if eroticism is “nothing more than an arbitrary and inherently unstable set of conventional significations” (90), it should be possible to change those conventions, especially if they are unstable.

I’m left with the feeling that, if eroticism has historically changed due to social conditions, what is stopping the next conception of eroticism from evolving from our new ways of thinking? Surely, if more and more people start supporting a more egalitarian view of sexuality, there should be a reactive change in public perceptions of the erotic. I think Hardy would argue that this is where the problem lies. He seems to suggest that we need to start in that direction—we need to claim our current position as a “starting point” and work with what we have rather than trying to start from scratch.

In Hardy’s conclusion, he wonders if a new idea of eroticism, born out of the old dichotomy of active/passive and dominant/submissive, will create an new “queer world free of the master categories of gender and sexuality, or simply a multitude of lesser categories in their place” (92). I’m more likely to side with those that think it will create the latter. Based on my own experience, it’s seems natural [my use of natural may only be proving Hardy’s point about our tendency to naturalize] for us to allocate new things to their respective boxes, no matter how small. Where once “feminism” was a box, it has since been divided in “anti-porn,” “anti-censorship,” “anti-sex,” and much more. Of course, that’s one opinion. Maybe the examples I’ve given should not be considered because they are attempts at elaboration, and are not created when such a reality exists.

Raunch Culture. Intro, 1-2

Levy is particularly adept at shedding light on “raunchy” things within our society that I may have not thought twice about. Her approach, while broad, is able to hone in on common threads throughout each example. Many of her examples (possibly all of them) establish a conflict between her own definition of sexual liberation and the definitions of the women participating. From Levy’s perspective, the women participating in the exhibitionist forms of sexuality aren’t necessarily receiving as much liberation as they might expect. Levy’s objections come three-pronged (at least).

Sex has become something commercial and, in Levy’s eyes, this cheapens the expression many of these women are seeking to promote. How can you possibly be liberated by something that is inherently exploitative? Levy would agree that commodification is not synonymous with liberation, suggesting that they are even exclusionary, saying, “raunch culture is not essentially progressive, it is essentially commercial” (p. 29). Sadly, it is also this commercialism that has led to a prescribed form of sexuality. And what is sexy? Answer: whatever can sell. Breast implants, hair color, make-up... all those things that help women to a specific kind of beauty.

Another of Levy’s objections is one of contradiction. Many of the activities considered to be acceptable forms of sexual expression are exactly the types of things that earlier generations were fighting against. Where some feminists tried to ban pornography, many women are now considering pornography a type of liberation—a way to take charge of their sexuality. To Levy, this approach shifts objectification of women by men, to objectification of women by themselves.

Let’s assume for a moment that “raunch culture” is the proper form of liberation; Levy’s argument in chapter two shows the current flaws in such an expression. Sexual expression, or even sexiness in general, is still the domain of women. It’s heavily one-sided. When referring to Katie Couric Levy says, Referring to Couric – “Proving that you are hot, worthy of lust, and—necessarily—that you seek to provoke lust is still exclusively women’s work” (p. 33). And it’s true. It’s not often you hear of a man trying to “show more leg” in an attempt to seem appealing as well as professional.

This is something that we hear over and over again. The women in Playboy, for example, are mentioned as having lives that are separate from their photo shoots. Professional lives. The shoot, for them, is supposed to be a means of expressing that they can be sexy too, or in addition, to their normal life. As real women they are able to be both professional in their conduct and in charge of their sexuality. Levy is quick to point out that this “I can be sexy too” mentality doesn’t really live up to the expectations of the posing women. In a magazine no one will see the real women—it doesn’t extend to the readers that are unaware of the woman’s personal life, they only get the part of the women presented on the page. The product, then, is unbalanced. It only providing the reader with “sexy” and no “too.”

After reading, I'm left with the feeling that any outward expression of sexuality is a potentially hazardous thing. I don't believe this to be Levy's intention. To what extent are we (or perhaps just women) allowed to publically display their bodies? Maybe that's not the proper question... What reasoning would a woman need to embrace certain parts of "raunch culture" without perpetuating many of the problems that Levy points out? Should she ever?

Excitement

I’m really excited to be taking this class. I’m not entirely sure what to expect from it, though. I’m mostly looking forward to discussions. Many other courses for women’s studies are popular as interest courses (i.e. Human Sexuality, Intro to Feminist Theology) and draw in many people trying to get GEs out of the way. It’s not very conducive to conversation. A class full of Women’s Studies majors seems promising.

The readings look like they’ll keep me interested throughout the semester. A lot of them I would have read on my own time (if I had the luxury of leisure reading). I was happy to see that I already owned some of the books though, sadly, didn’t get a chance to finish one of them yet. There’s nothing like mandatory reading to coerce me to start paging through books that I actually want to read.

I’ve been lucky enough to take a large amount of WS courses here and I think a majority of them will help me with this class.
- Intro to Feminist Theology helped me learn deconstructive criticism methods, finding the flaws in how we use language—which is tremendously helpful for various types of feminist analysis.
- Philosophy and Feminism brought me up to date with major legal issues surrounding women’s rights as well as a deeper understanding of the different schools of feminist thought. (ex. Radical vs. Liberal)
- Media in Contemporary Culture promotes viewing media with a skeptical eye. This approach is extremely beneficial when talking about modern influences and the subordination of women.
- SARN, and the training that comes with it, will hopefully give me a little insight about modern “domestic” issues and how we (society) address/perpetuate common forms of oppression.