Cover pic is the tweet from Jacq the Stripper who inspired this post. Go follow her on twitter!
I come from a very slut shaming family. Whether it's internalized or externalized, I've been subjected to all sides of it. I remember driving around Baltimore City in My mom's car, trying to space out and stare out the window. That was an exercise in futility because she would disgustedly point out random women on the street to tell me which ones were hookers based on how they dressed or how they stood. I couldn't understand why she cared, but I agreed that it was wrong, for whatever reason. I think I was only eight at the time. Possibly younger. Funnily enough, I also remember My mom's outrage and indignation a few years later when the then mother of three, dressed down in mom jeans and a sweater, was mistaken for a prostitute and propositioned at a rest stop during a family road trip. You'd think that would be enough to make someone stop and think about how they had done something similar; make them mull over how you can't tell someone is a sex worker just by looking at them. But she wasn't dressed like a hooker, so how dare they!
I remember one of the first times that I was slut shamed myself. I was very young, probably around eight or nine, and my mom had run me a bath. I didn't know she did and was....having alone time. She walked in on me and got reasonably freaked out at first. It's weird walking in on your kid masturbating. Especially if they're younger and you didn't know they were exploring themselves. I get it. It's embarrassing the other way around too. But then she grabbed me by my arm and started hitting me. She told me that what I did was disgusting. It was dirty and to never do it again. It took me until I was eighteen years old to learn that just masturbating didn't make me a whore. It took me that long to realize that it was possible to pleasure yourself without feeling extreme guilt, and sometimes crying, afterwards.
Just from these two scenes from my childhood, I guess it comes as absolutely no surprise that I was a slut shamer myself. The only difference with me is that I grew up spending whole summers with my hippie grandmother, so I was a little peace, freedom, and love rebel. This brought very early conflicting thoughts that came into direct contrast with what I was shown and taught about "good girls" and "bad girls". I knew I was a "good girl", but I was just so sex obsessed. I loved the idea of sex and learning about sex and sexuality and expression. I snuck Anais Nin books to read from my grandma's bookshelf when she wasn't around. Gods, these sluts were just so super interesting!
I believed in being kind to others and that everyone should have the freedom to be themselves, whatever that meant. Even if it meant being a slut, I guess. However, that still just wasn't necessarily meant for me. I was not a slut at all, I was a good girl. But what did that mean to me to be good? Was sexual expression the end all-be all to being "good"? I internalized these social constructs and fears about my own sexuality and expression until I had the world's biggest Madonna/Whore complex. I would save myself for marriage, I vowed, no matter what. Even as my grandmother told me there was no shame in being on birth control. She practically pleaded with me in her car to get some sort of contraceptive because I was only human. I was headed into high school and would probably have serious boyfriends. Sometimes things get hot and heavy and you need protection.
Only human? What was she talking about? I had more willpower than that.
In reality my complex and fears were my contraceptive. I fetishized my own virginity. I would make out with my boyfriends and ask them over and over afterwards if that was ok to do. Did he think I was a whore? I almost had panic attacks over it. Then I would have my heart broken as my boyfriends cheated and left me for emotionally stable sluts who didn't have qualms about something as simple as a kiss.
Then, after getting my own computer, I found out about porn sites. Specifically BDSM sites. Being called a slut was a good thing. It was even said lovingly at times. It was fucking hot. A flame rose within me and something in me screamed, "I want to be a slut! I want sex!.....kind of!" These women were so free. And the men were doing the same thing as them, so they were sluts too! I was jealous. I began a love/hate relationship with sex work and sex workers that started to massively break down my slut shaming ways. I went back and forth between admiring them and just rolling my eyes and dismissing them for doing something I would love to do. For being free in ways I wanted to be free. They were like modern day sirens of Greek myths. Smiling and moaning at the camera and being unashamed of every last part of it. Tempting me with every clip, showing me that there was a different way.
This also led me to spend quite a bit of time wondering who these people were when they weren't in front of a camera. What was the life of a slut? Why would they ever go into this business, didn't they know what people were saying about them and not just why didn't they care, but how did they not care? Who were they as a person?
I would soon find out. In my late teens I learned that two of my cousins were strippers. I got angry. Not at them, but at the way that family members talked about them. These were cousins who I admired and adored. They babysat me when I was a kid. Now just because they were strippers they were automatically whores and sluts? Why? To me they were more than just their jobs. They were the beautiful and funny women who hugged me when I was sad, played games with me, and tucked me in for naps. They were people who didn't deserve to be stripped (pardon the pun) of all of their identities just because of a job. Even if they were being sluts that was their choice and, more importantly, their business. The last remnants of my shaming ways was quickly being shed and coming to an end as I staunchly defended them and took my place on the side of the sluts.
A job doesn't make you a slut. Having sex with just your SO, or ten people or more, doesn't make you a slut. A society shaming you for your sexual expression and sexuality does not mean that you are the slut they claim to be. I believe that a slut is a construct made to keep women in line, and it's also a label to be reclaimed. But it's definitely not something to be ashamed of.
Rehabilitating yourself from shaming sluts is an evolution of behavior brought about by introspection. I look at people who shame others for their sexuality now the same way I looked at perceived sluts back then. Sometimes it's with dismissal and rolled eyes. Sometimes with anger and disgust. But I also wonder about what their life is like and why they are like that. I wonder how many of them are internalizing their shame and are jealous of people like us, and the freedom we represent. Like Jacq's tweet said, you can definitely come back from your shaming ways.
I'm a sex worker now and still a virgin. I'm still a good person and I'm most definitely a slut.
It's great.
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