Two hundred fifty-six comments came next. Grown women said things like, “40 men? I’ve had that many men in a month. Where’s my book contract?” They did the math and determined that I had only slept with two men a year, which by no means gave me the right to publish a book about promiscuity. “How dare she call herself a slut!” one of the women wrote. “You want a slut? I’m a slut!”
Girls and women like Ramona, and like these commenters, carry pride about their sexual behavior, similar to the sort of studly pride we see in boys. A proportion of our culture, tired of the old double standards about sex, have begun to say, “We can have sex because we want to!” Put another way, “We can have sex like men! We can treat our sexuality like men treat theirs!”
Certainly, I agree with this motive, and oh, how I wish we could. But as Levy argues, empowerment in the form of stripping classes and posing for risque spring-break videos means using the same degrading method a patriarchal society has used to control women to degrade oneself. I would argue that handing out blow jobs like candy could be defined the same way.
“Let’s not kid ourselves that this is liberation,” Erica Jong said to Ariel Levy. “The women who buy the idea that flaunting your breasts in sequins is power—I mean, I’m all for that stuff—but let’s not get so into the tits and ass that we don’t notice how far we haven’t come. Let’s not confuse that with real power.”{46} That power would surely include some sense of ownership over our sexual identities; it would surely include girls’ understanding that sexual desire lives in them, not in boys’ attention to them. Lynn Phillips adds that this notion of empowerment “supports an illusion that young women’s supposed autonomy and entitlement somehow insulate them from the possibility of victimization,” which explains the anger at
I can’t assume anything about how Ramona really feels. Perhaps she truly does enjoy her conquests. But while I applaud the idea of a girl going out there and doing with sex whatever she damn well pleases, I don’t quite believe that such an achievement is uniformly possible. As Jong suggests, we have much too far to go. Our society is still much too steeped in a double standard about sex for me to believe that anyone, particularly anyone so young, can exist so entirely outside cultural expectations. Also, girls having sex with whomever they want, whenever they want, and without the desire for anything more, seems, like Levy noted, to be a little too close to men’s fantasies about girls and women. I’m not convinced that this should be the primary model we put forth for women’s sexual freedom.
REAL EMPOWERED GIRLS
Let’s imagine what empowerment might look like regarding females and sex. Girls and women who wanted casual sex, not love, would be accepted and respected. In fact, girls and women would want casual sex because it would be understood that wanting sex without strings is a perfectly honorable thing for a girl to want on the basis of where she is in her life. It makes sense for a teenager or young woman in her twenties, for instance, to not want the intensity and sometimes burden of a relationship because she wants to focus on other, more important things: personal exploration, travel, career building, and more. Likewise, if she wants to have sex only with someone she loves, then that’s honorable as well, just not more so than the other choice. An empowered girl wears what she wants—she can show off her breasts if she wants to, but she certainly doesn’t have to for her to be sexy. She doesn’t need to lift her shirt or participate in wet T-shirt contests to be sexually powerful. She doesn’t need to have a long list of conquests.
Empowerment has nothing to do with these things. Sexual power is always about a woman’s—and a girl’s —core sense of herself as a desiring, desirable being whom she is entirely in control of. She decides who touches her and when. She decides how much to share her body or not. And no one else has the right to dictate what that says about her, or to shame her, or to silence her. No one else gets to say, “I’m good at this, but because you do it differently, you aren’t.” That, my friends, is empowerment.
THE LOOSE GIRL
A loose girl is not empowered. She doesn’t secretly want to be a virgin. And she’s not just a slut, although she probably embodies some truths behind the slut myth. She falls between and beneath these archetypes, the ones our culture has told girls they can be as sexual creatures. The loose girl has so completely lost herself and her desire in her other wants that sex has become a way to control others, to try to make them want her. And because that authenticity in her relationship to her own desire is so skewed, she almost never gets what she really wants.
For many, many years, I knew that I had a relationship to boys in my life that I didn’t understand. I knew there was something about the way I felt about them, how they made me feel, something about how I had used them in my life, but I couldn’t make sense of it. Nothing in the world spoke directly to what I felt, to the particular way in which I struggled. Yet at the same time, almost every girl who came into my therapy office, almost every grown woman I knew, had those exact same feelings. We had spent our lives desperately pursuing boys or believing entirely that a boy would save us from whatever pain we felt. We searched each room, each party, each sidewalk, each store and bank and post office, for boys who might give us attention. We made the possibility of our sexiness, our attractiveness to males, a project. We could not work out at the gym without the idea that doing so would get us male attention and, therefore, meaning in the world. We could not try on clothes in a dressing room and not imagine what a boy would see. We cultivated our tastes in music, in politics, in religion, all with the idea that this would make us more pleasing to men. And more often than not, that need for attention had turned into sex, usually sex we wanted, but sometimes not.
More important, we lost our connection to our own desires. In fact, our natural sexual desires had morphed with our desire to be wanted, to be chosen, and—yes—to be loved. We gave up more desires than just sexual ones—traveling, friends, career paths, so many opportunities to be more whole.
Why did it take me so long to understand what had happened to me and to so many others? I read as much as I could, I talked to friends, and I listened to their stories. I wrote and wrote and wrote, trying to find what it was I wanted to say. In particular, I wrote one scene—a scene from when I was twelve and went into Manhattan with my two friends to meet boys.{48} We got all the way there and had to leave, so we tried to get all the way back, but our bus took us only as far as a spot that was ten miles from my house. We went to wait in an all-night gas station, and the attendants there, who were probably in their early twenties, promised to take us home when they were done with their shifts, which would be at five in the morning. On the way home, the guy who drove us reached over and put his hand on my crotch. The first time I wrote that scene, I wrote about the shame and humiliation and hurt. Indeed, that was all true. But I also knew that there was something I was missing, something I wasn’t quite getting at. So I rewrote and rewrote and rewrote some more until one day I got to a new understanding, a truer one. Although the scene in that car was one beyond wrong, it was also true that I liked it. I liked the power I felt. I liked feeling wanted and chosen.
When I understood, when I admitted that truth, everything came clear. This was my dirty little secret, the same one so many girls and women shared with me. I had been after something all night. I had wanted this male attention, and now I was getting it. The dirty secret was that I liked it, even as I was ashamed and humiliated, even as I was a victim.
Truths like this one are terribly difficult to find. They are lost inside the noise of our culture that determines who girls are allowed to be. They sit in silence while we struggle to make sense of what we feel. The biggest problem is not that we are silent about teenage girls and sex. Rather, the problem is, as the cultural historian Michel Foucault noted, that we police people—perhaps girls especially—with endless rules about what they can talk about and about what they can claim from their sexuality.{49}
Josie, who is sixteen, identifies herself as a loose girl. When she was little, almost everyone she loved abandoned her. She can’t remember a time when she didn’t believe that if a guy touched her or wanted to have sex
