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Sexual & Racial Politics in the Age of Grindr

Much like Facebook and Twitter, Grindr is a community of people interacting politically, revealing how our desires are shaped and politicized by culture.

By Senthorun Raj

Why am I on it? What do I want? Who do I talk to? Which profile picture should I use? Where should I hook up? When am I going to delete this?

For those of us who use Grindr, these questions probably sound familiar. I know that they haunt my subconscious pretty much every time I load the app. Some of my friends even like to joke that I spend so much time talking about Grindr, as opposed to talking on Grindr, that I’m just a “Grindr Academic.” To them, I’m the person who writes about my sex life (like I’m doing right now) and then cites Michel Foucault to give it academic legitimacy. I find the joke endearing. But, we should not trivialize the politics of Grindr.

So, what can this space of hooking-up teach us about sexual and racial politics?

Whether you are cruising for casual sex or complaining about love or procrastinating online, Grindr has rapidly transformed the way we negotiate intimacy and frame sexuality. Erotic, platonic, and/or romantic relationships are now just a “click” away on our smartphones. With millions of users worldwide, Grindr has become a source of sexual sustenance. From the moment I tap on to Grindr, I’m connected to a range of other profiles via my geographical proximity to them. I am enmeshed in a process of—as one user so neatly describes—“window shopping.” What I choose to shop for as I scroll through profiles, however, tends to vary. Some profiles display semi-nude selfies that invite “NSA” (no strings attached sex) while others display a photo of a night out in a club to indicate their interest in “friends, dates and maybe more.”

I can use Grindr to organize casual sex, professional networks, neighborhood parties, friendship, and dating. There are infinite intimate possibilities. In the words of Lauren Berlant and Michael Warner, these new “sexual counterpublics” emerge to facilitate new forms of emotional and sexual labour that do not just revolve around the traditional imaginaries of reproductive or matrimonial relationships.

With such titillating possibilities, I could easily herald Grindr as a transformative and revolutionary space for queer connections. My optimism, however, comes with concern: filters cannot block the everyday cruelties of ignorance and inequality. Grindr, for example, relies on standard categories of defining bodies (ethnicity, height, weight, age) in order to mediate sexual desire. Many of the app users fashion their online identities through both visual and written statements that they are “masc” (masculine) and “str8 acting” (appearing heterosexual). In doing so, Grindr users mimic and reproduce norms of what is socially desirable.

Discussing our desires can evoke feelings of embarrassment or anxiety. We like to protect our intimate attachments from public interrogation. Apps like Grindr, however, blur such distinctions. When “personal preferences” take shape in rhetorical statements like, “Don’t be another old, ethnic, nelly bttm” or “If people can tell you’re gay … you’re not masculine,” private desires are woundingly public. Even if it is a virtual platform, much like Facebook and Twitter, Grindr is a community of people interacting politically.

Grindr users respond to these disaffecting profiles in various ways: some people angrily use the block button, more patient people try to challenge the rhetoric online, and others just take screenshots and vengefully send them to Douchebags of Grindr. For those who have not stumbled upon it, it is a website where we can revel in shaming those who shame. The idea of shaming arrogant Grindr users seems both fair and funny. But, despite this, the public “outing” and breach of privacy involved raise a number of ethical questions about how we should respond to the “Douchebag Politics” we encounter online.

We need to recognize that bigotry is a social malaise—not a personal pathology.  Grindr makes bigotry painfully apparent but this is not unique to the online platform. In making spectacles out of the purported douchebags on Grindr, we can make the more insidious forms of racialized activities seem palatable by comparison. After all, why does using overtly racist words in your profile attract moral opprobrium, while using an automatic filter to exclude certain kinds of bodies does not?

Making spectacles out of unrepentant bigots may satisfy or entertain us, but it does little to ensure that the intimate worlds we are building are inclusive and respectful. Whether we are on public transportation or networking online, racism is a systemic problem that is not just isolated to highly visceral tirades. Isolating people or profiles in order to stigmatize the individual person, rather than challenge the problematic behavior, is counterproductive. It just makes most of us more defensive (no one likes being labeled as a racist or homophobe even if they obviously are). Moreover, this usually limits our ability to confront the more insidious forms of prejudice that underscore such problematic behavior or that which is coded in terms of “preferences.”

This is not to suggest we can turn to anti-discrimination law in order to redress our sexual grievances. We should not treat desires as justiciable. There is little value in policing ourselves to desire others on the basis of exclusion. Finding someone solely attractive because of, or in spite of, their difference—whether it is their perceived “Asianness” or a specific body type—turns people into fetish or pitied objects to be consumed.

But, we do need some uncomfortable reflections. We live in a society that privileges certain kinds of body types, genders, ethnicities, and ages. From eroticizing heterosexual masculinity or whiteness to repudiating effeminacy or fatness, Grindr is saturated with social hierarchies that are pervasive in society. Grindr shows us how our desires are shaped and politicized by culture. Few of us would deny that.

While we are often quite willing to confront the scenes of bigotry that our visible to us in public forums, we need to extend this ethic when reflecting on the prejudices that operate at the most banal and emotional level of our lives.

Grindr is a tool for sex. It’s also a tool for politics. In the words of Audre Lorde, “our visions begin with our desires.” So, let’s be open about that. The political is personal.

Complete Article HERE!

What does ‘sex positive’ mean?

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Sex positive. It’s a term that’s been adopted and broadcast by celebrities, feminists and activists alike over the past few years. Joining the ranks are Lena Dunham, Amy Schumer and Ilana Glazer, to name just a few of the celebrities opening up dialogue about sex.

But sex positivity isn’t just another buzzword to look up on Urban Dictionary. It’s a framework that counselors, medical professionals and universities are using to educate and talk with young people about issues relating to sexuality and sexual health.

What is sex positivity? And what does it mean to be “sex positive”?

Carl Olsen, a program coordinator in Colorado State University’s Women and Gender Advocacy Center, says sex positivity is a philosophy — an outlook on interpersonal relationships.

He said the term “sex positive” can be interpreted in different ways. For most, it involves having positive attitudes about sex and feeling comfortable with one’s own sexual identity and with the sexual behaviors of others, and destigmatizing sex.

“Most of our programming lands in the area of consent and prevention,” Olsen told USA TODAY College. “Most of the students here have had zero sex ed or abstinence-only [sex education], and that can lead to uncomfortable situations talking about sex. … We are just absolutely cool with however many sexual partners you have had, however many times you’ve had sex or if you’ve had zero sex at all — as long as it is all done consensually.”

Overall, Olsen says sex positivity is about establishing healthy relationships.

Yana Mazurkevich, an Ithaca College junior and activist, went viral last year for her photo series “Dear Brock Turner.” Since then, Mazurkevich has advocated for sexual assault prevention and awareness. Mazurkevich says she assumes the label of sex positive. To her, sex positivity is putting away shame or feelings of embarrassment in order to learn more about healthy sex.

“It allows you to open yourself up to facts, to educate yourself and pass that along to other people,” Mazurkevich says. “Getting yourself out of your comfort zone and learning how to talk about sex is the most vital thing so that you can be comfortable to open your mouth and not be too scared to do anything or say how you feel.”

What are the common myths or misconceptions regarding sex positivity?

Contrary to what some believe, Olsen said that sex positivity is not about having lots of sex.

At its core is the idea of consent and owning your own sexuality in the most comfortable way possible. For some people this means having lots of sex. But for other people it might mean abstaining — and that’s okay.

In current U.S. culture, and often in the college setting, Olsen said women are shamed for wanting and having pleasure from sex. The “virgin vs. slut dichotomy,” as he calls it, dictates that women can only fall into one category or the other, with stigma attached to both.

A lot of this, he says, comes down to socialization. Men can be socialized to believe that they need to have a lot of sex to show masculinity, while women are socialized to fear or feel shame about their bodies.

According to CSU’s Women’s Advocacy Center, another misconception is that sex positivity is only for women. Sex positivity challenges these notions by encouraging people of all genders to understand their own sexuality and to engage in relationships that affirm their desires. This includes people who want to abstain and those who love one-night-stands. As long as it’s consensual, there is no judgment.

However, some students still find that they encounter criticism for being open about their sexuality.

Mazurkevich says her sex-positive attitude has caused some people to judge her. “I hate the word ‘slut.’ It should be out of the dictionary,” she told USA TODAY College. “I think people should have as much sex as you want as long as they are safe, smart and consensual.”

Is there an app for that? You know there is

The University of Oregon has taken a unique approach to using sex positivity as an educational tool on campus. In a joint effort between the Office of Title IX, the Health Center and numerous student groups, the school released a smartphone mobile app titled SexPositive.

The app combines technology and language targeted at 18-23 year-olds to help students make healthy sexual decisions. The goals of the app are to decrease transmission of sexually transmitted infections (STI) and sexual violence, and to increase healthy communication.

“The university takes a broad approach to educating our students about behaviors and choices that may affect their current and future health, and their overall quality of life,” said Paula Staight, health promotions director for the university health center in a statement to the campus community last year. “Being informed and adding to a student’s existing knowledge is a powerful prevention effort.”

How long has sex positivity been around?

The term sex positive has only become widely acknowledged during the past decade, though the foundation has been around since the 1920s, when psychoanalyst Wilhelm Reich, a student of Sigmund Freud, argued that sexuality was normal and healthy, and wrote that a good and healthy sex life led to improved overall well-being.

As feminist movements grew, changed and popularized over the years, the term has been used and molded to help liberate communities from patriarchal or heteronormative assumptions about sex and relationships.

And today, sex positivity is more common than ever. Take for example, the women of Girls or Broad City. Sex positivity has come to be categorized by realistic and unfiltered portrayals of sex and what that means to the young people navigating it.

Complete Article HERE!

Men feel sad after sex too, say researchers

Post-coital blues is a real thing

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While orgasms are (rightly) highly sought after, feeling an unexplainable sadness after sex is something a lot of women experience sometimes. But what many people don’t realise is that the same thing can happen to men.

A group of researchers at Queensland University of Technology suggest that making love can make men occassionally depressed. So depressed in fact, that they suffer something called post-coital dysphoria (PCD).

“Everyone assumes what happens in the bedroom is normal but there are a wide range of responses in the period of time immediately following consensual sexual activity, known as the resolution phase,” explains Robert Schweitzer, study author and a professor at QUT.

“For example, some people like to cuddle, others like to be alone and there are others, as we have found in previous research that experience what is described as post-sex blues.”

He noted that most of the time, the period just after sex elicits good feelings. But it’s also pretty common for some individuals to feel melancholy or tearful after the act.

While researchers seem stumped about the true cause of PCD, some suggest post-sex blues could be the result of negative emotions coming to the surface after an orgasm (or lack of one). But Schwitzer is determined to find out for sure. He’s now recruiting participants for a new study which will survey men and women (of all sexual orientations) to explore their experience directly after sex.

“There is anecdotal evidence that postcoital dysphoria is not uncommon in both men and women. If we can better understand what is happening in the bedroom and the prevalence of post-sex blues, we can start looking at causes and possible solutions,” he added.

Complete Article HERE!

What is sexuality?

By Kim Cavill

What is sexuality? When we talk about sexuality, what do we really mean? Are we talking about how many times a person has sex, or with how many different partners? Are we talking about who a person wants to have sex with?

Sexuality is all of those things…and none of those things. It’s actually a relationship, which means that it’s complicated. Lucky for you, Sex Positive Parents, I’ve got a simple way to explain this complicated relationship:

First, we have a person’s identity. I’ll use myself as an example: I identify as a cisgender female. This means I was assigned the female sex at birth, I have consistently identified as female, I perceive myself as female, and I identify as female today. This is my identity.

Next, we have a person’s sexual orientation, which refers to the identity of the people that person is attracted to. Examples of sexual orientations include, heterosexuality, homosexuality, bisexuality, or pansexuality, among others. I am heterosexual, meaning I am consistently attracted to men and those who are male-identifying.

Lastly, we have a person’s sexual behavior. Sexual behavior is not necessarily constrained by a person’s identity or sexual orientation, or societal perceptions thereof. The Kinsey scale, which is the result of groundbreaking research into human sexuality, speaks to the non-linear nature of sexuality. As an example, a person might identify as a cisgender male, see themselves as heterosexual, and sometimes have sex with other men. Perhaps a transgender woman is homosexually oriented, and sometimes have sex with men. Or, a cisgender, heterosexual woman regularly fantasizes about having sex with women.

Sexuality is the relationship between identity, orientation, and behavior. For some, those things stay pretty consistent through time, which means their sexuality is fairly static. For others, however, those pillars may shift or evolve, making their sexuality more dynamic.

Why am I telling you about this? Because it’s important to focus less on labels and more on specific behaviors when we talk to our kids about sex and relationships. Focusing on behaviors allows for human difference and it also prevents leaving inadvertent gaps in traditionally heteronormative sex ed conversations (which unplanned pregnancies and STI’s are all too happy to slip through).

In practical terms, focusing on behaviors looks like this:

“You should to wear a condom because the birth control pill doesn’t protect against STD’s” becomes:

“You should wear a condom during any kind of sexual activity, including oral, anal, and vaginal sex.”

“You need to be serious about saying no because guys only want one thing” becomes:

“Healthy relationships involve mutual respect where no one feels pressured and sex is always consensual.”

“You don’t have to learn about anything except for condoms because you’re gay” becomes:

“There are a lot of different STD prevention and contraception options on the market and it’s good to be aware of what they are, how they work, and where you can get them.”

Complete Article HERE!

Intersex people have called for action. It’s time to listen.

The broader queer community needs to get serious about fighting with, and for, intersex people.

By Simon Copland

In early March, more than 20 intersex advocates from Australia and Aotearoa/New Zealand came together for a groundbreaking retreat in Darlington, Sydney. The gathering, a first of its kind, produced a declaration of the policy goals for intersex people in the two countries, one which queer people and allies alike must take listen to.

The Darlington Statement’ presents policy demands across a range of key areas, including health, sex classification, marriage, and anti-discrimination legislation.

At its core is a focus on the continued practice of normalisation surgeries facing intersex people. The statement contains an unambiguous demand for the “immediate prohibition as a criminal act of deferrable medical interventions, including surgical and hormonal interventions, that alter the sex characteristics of infants and children without personal consent.” This demand follows the ‘Carla case’ in Australia last year, in which the Family Court of Australia stated that parents could authorise the sterilisation of a 5-year-old child, despite medical evidence that did not support the decision.

The other key focus of the document is the continued practice of official gender and sex classification, which the document argues are “upheld by structural violence”. Contrary to a lot of current policies, the Darlington Statement argues that “attempts to classify intersex people as a third sex/gender do not respect our diversity or right to self-determination.” Instead, the Statement proposes a range of potentially radical measures, with a final goal of the elimination of sex and gender on birth certificates and other identification documents. While current classifications exist, the statement argues that sex/gender assignments must be regarded as ‘provisional’, with the ability of people to be able to change their classification “through a simple administrative procedure”.

Beyond these two big ticket items, the Darlington Statement also discusses a number of other key issues, including legislative protection from discrimination and harmful practices on grounds of sex characteristics, an end to genetic discriminations such as higher life insurance premiums for intersex people, the right for all people to marry and form a family regardless of sex characteristics, and for an official apology and reparations from state and federal governments for the treatment of people born with variations of sex characteristics.

The Darlington Statement presents the first comprehensive policy platform for intersex people in Australia and Aotearoa/New Zealand. In doing so, it is an essential document for a community whose continued discrimination and oppression is finally starting to receive some international recognition and action.

For the rest of us, however, the question is whether we will listen. While intersex people long ago entered the ‘LGBTIQ acronym’, discussions around intersex issues have remained largely non-existent, with young intersex children continuing to face intrusive and unnecessary medical interventions. Simultaneously, debates on sex and gender classifications have often ignored the voices of intersex people, particularly concerning the challenges behind legislation that provides for third sex classifications on birth certificates and other official documents.

This reality was noted in the Darlington Statement itself. The document said:

“Intersex is distinct from other issues. We call on allies to actively acknowledge our distinctiveness and the diversity within our community, to support our human rights claims and respect the intersex human rights movement, without tokenism, or instrumentalising, or co-opting intersex issues as a means for ends. ‘Nothing about us without us.’”

This is the challenge that we as a broader queer community must now finally face. The Darlington Statement is not just a policy platform, but also a call that if we are to include intersex people into broader queer politics, we must be serious about fighting with, and for, intersex people.

The Darlington Statement gives us a clear outline of what needs to be done. It is up to us a community to take it seriously.

Complete Article HERE!