‘Am I a bad feminist?’ Exploring tensions between
feminist beliefs and sexual preferences
Master’s Thesis
August 2019
Clara Smidt-Nielsen Student Number: 12220167 Supervisor: Prof. dr. Sarah Bracke Second reader: Dr. Pamela Prickett
Master of Sociology: Gender, Sexuality and Society Faculty of Social and Behavioural Sciences
Acknowledgements
Thank you to my supervisor Sarah Bracke for your continuous enthusiasm, support and guidance, and reassurance when I needed it. Thank you to Pamela Prickett, my second reader, for taking me on despite the odds. Thank you to my family for your encouragement and your interest, I don’t take it for granted. Thank you to my friends for your emotional support and reminding me to enjoy the process of writing this thesis, and to my flatmates who endured every panic, writer’s block and breakthrough with me.
More than anything, thank you to the strong and interesting women who agreed to share their intimate thoughts and stories with me, and who I couldn’t have done this without.
Abstract
This thesis explores the tensions and conflicts felt by sex-positive feminist women between their feminist beliefs and their sexual desires in heterosexual encounters, and how these are negotiated. This was approached through a social constructionist perspective, using semi-structured interviews with fourteen sex-positive feminist women living in Amsterdam. Analysed through the lens of sexual script theory, this research identified three feminist sexual scripts that the respondents drew upon - being sexual, resisting sexual norms, and responsible sex -, both adhering and deviating from them. This research explores the pressure respondents felt to live up to these scripts, what conflicts arose relating to the scripts, and how these conflicts were experienced and negotiated by the respondents. It was found that deviating from the feminist scripts - for instance by having a submissive sexual preference or not living up to their ideals of consent - often caused inner conflict as they questioned whether doing so made them a ‘bad feminist’. For some women, interpersonal and intrapsychic scripts such as trust and communication emerged from their negotiations, and were used to reconcile beliefs which were in accordance with the scripts, with behaviours which weren’t. This research shows that sex is not necessarily rendered conflict-free for sex-positive feminist women, as they face and must navigate normative pressures in sex from both patriarchal and feminist sources.
Page of Contents:
1. Introduction………..1 2. Theoretical Considerations ……….….6 2.2 Literature Review ……….…..6 2.3 Theoretical Framework ………..……12 3. Methodology ……….…..15 3.1 Research Design……….…….15 3.2 Data Collection………15 3.3 Method of Analysis……….19 4. Sexual Scripts ………..………204.1 Traditional and Modern Scripts……….………..…20
4.2 Feminist Scripts ………. ... 23
A. Being Sexual ….………. .23
B. Resisting Sexual Norms ……….. 29
C. Responsible Sex ……….……..45
4.3 An Observation: Spiralling into Unanswerable Questions……….54
4.4 An Ethos: Do whatever you want……….………..54
4.5 Where do feminist scripts come from ………55
5. Discussion & Conclusion ……….…………..61
6. References ……….………….66
1. Introduction
Z: I’m more submissive I guess.
Me: Do you want to be more dominant?
Z: Yeah but it’s not a role I’m really used to in general. I actually don’t want to, but I kind of feel like I have to, for my feminist agenda.
Early on in my studies on gender and sexuality, I interviewed a young woman who is a sex-positive feminist, let us call her Z, and explored how her feminism impacted her sexuality. Contrary to a lot of academic articles which claim that being a feminist makes sex better (Rudman & Phelan, 2007; Schick, Zucker & Bay-Cheng, 2008), I found that her feminism created dilemmas for her in sex. Z clearly has an idea of what being a feminist means she should be doing in sex, and feels pressure to do those things. She feels guilty when she feels she fails at this and follows traditional gender roles instead, by being submissive . Her guilt was neatly summarised by “I feel like I want certain things 1 I should not be wanting”. To counter the guilt she told me of the ways she subverts gender norms - by initiating sex, being open about really liking sex, asking men out on dates and going for the first kiss. Her behaviour in sexual encounters was carefully reflected upon, and emerged as a result of painfully negotiating and balancing her actual sexual desires with the feeling of power she got from reversing gender norms, informed by her feminism.
Z’s conflict centres on being a woman and sexually submissive to a man, which she feels replicates traditional gender roles of heterosexual relationships. Z, who is bisexual, did not have the same inner conflicts when having sex with a woman, a situation in which her desires and actions were not so obviously heteronormative. Here lies my interest in focusing on heterosexual sex, and women’s conflicts around their desires in a heterosexual context. Whilst Z’s conflict revolves around
By saying she was submissive Z was not claiming to be into BDSM, rather she explained that in her 1
experience in sex there is always one person who leads, and one who follows, and out of the two she felt more like the latter, which she called submissive.
When spoken of in the context of BDSM, I will be using the term submissive/submission to refer to the specific role that is played. When spoken of in more general terms, and specifically in the context of my own research, the term submissive will be used in line with Z’s understanding of submissive as the person who follows the others lead. Submissive behaviours and desires by women are generally in line with traditional gender norms, such as letting or wanting the male partner to initiate sex, decide what do, be assertive and pursue her. Submissive female behaviours can also refer to wanting to be desired, seen as irresistible and dominated as a result. Traditionally, as Ogas & Gaddam (2012, p.109) cite author Madame de Staël, “the desire of the man is for the woman; the desire of the woman is for the desire of the man”.
submission, and I believe it is likely the most common source of conflict for feminist women having heterosex, there are many other gendered aspects to heterosex which may generate inner conflicts.
If the sexual liberation of women is crucial to feminism, why did Z struggle with the legitimacy of her sexual desires?
This conflict between sexuality and feminism seems to be in part a legacy of the feminist sex wars of the 70s and 80s, as Edwards (2014) has also argued. The feminist sex wars saw two fiercely opposed sides pitted against each other in debate . The sex-positive feminists embraced any 2 sexuality as long as it was consensual, and the radical anti-pornography feminists condemned pornography and BDSM as internalised misogyny, sexism, and patriarchal oppression (Zambelli, 3 2015), and portrayed ‘sex as danger’ (Edwards, 2014). The ‘war’ seemed to reach a stalemate, with no clear winner. Even amongst sex-positive feminists today, the arguments of the radical anti-porn stance persist, lingering in their thoughts during sex, as is the case with Z. In this research I focus specifically on sex-positive feminists because they hold views on sex that are very permissive and non-judgemental. One might therefore expect them not to have conflicts around sex - this research shows that even the most sex-positive people can need to overcome tensions in the face of confusing feminist messages.
Many sex-positive feminists are writing on blogs and social media about being submissive and proud of it. However, interestingly, it also seems like most of these women have gone through a process of coming to terms with it, as Amanda Chatel (2016) put it for Glamour magazine: “I know what I want in bed and I’m done trying to convince myself it goes against my feminism”. In my preliminary research it thus became apparent that there are several somewhat contradicting feminist discourses about sex and sexuality, which can create ambivalence and confusion for women who identify with, draw on, and are influenced by these different discourses. I will outline below the three feminist discourses I identified. These arose in my interviews, informing the sexual scripts the women negotiated.
One discourse is the sex-positive feminist discourse which emphasizes women’s sexual liberation; all desires and forms of sexuality are valid, and embracing them is empowering (Bay-Cheng, 2010). This is currently a mainstream feminist discourse, in that it is the ‘type’ of feminism most girls and
For more on the feminist sex wars, see Bracewell (2016) 2
Umbrella term which stands for bondage, discipline, sadism and masochism. See p.10 for a definition of 3
young women are first exposed to in the current climate, and in online spaces. It has even infiltrated pop culture, and is used in explaining Beyonce’s feminism (Dockterman, 2013), and actress/model Amber Rose explicitly advocates for sex-positive feminism with her SlutWalk movement (Finley, 2017). This feminist discourse is particularly prevalent in social media, both in terms of general sex-positivism (Chatel, 2015), but also specifically in relation with submission, be it BDSM or more generally (Madsen, 2017; Tepfenhart, 2016). This discourse draws on neoliberalist notions of individualism and choice as empowering (Aune & Holyoak, 2018).
Another discourse is the radical feminist one in which women’s submissive sexual behaviours are considered a result of patriarchal society, and therefore need to be challenged (Weiss, 2011); women should subvert traditional gender roles in sex by being assertive and taking control. Although this discourse stems from radical feminism, it is also found today in feminist arguments for BDSM, which highlight how women dominatrixes subvert gender roles.
The third discourse I identified is one of sexual equality; a more general discourse found in mainstream popular culture, outside of feminist circles but influenced by feminist ideas. It permeates most of Dutch society, as Hekma (2008, p.47) argues:
the combined forces of democratization and feminism since the 1960s have created a strong push towards equal sexual relations – not meaning of equal value in their variety, but all similar, rejecting social difference in erotic preferences. The inequality that was the norm in the recent past was replaced by a new norm of erotic egalitarianism.
This discourse positions women and men as equal in sex, by alternating or equalising power positions (for example in dominant or submissive behaviours). The discourse positions women as an active sexual subject, focuses on both partners’ pleasure and is based on a norm of reciprocity (Braun, Gavey & McPhillips, 2003; Hekma, 2008).
Despite the sometimes oppositional stances these three discourses appear to take on sexuality, I see a commonality in that they each encourage women to recognise and engage with the politics in sex, in line with the personal is political. Each discourse proposes different means to this end, but always with the same goal of achieving equality and empowering women.
Through these three identified discourses I intuited two potential sites of tension for feminist women regarding their sexuality. I suggest women may feel tension between their feminist beliefs and their sexual preferences, for example, feminists can feel conflicted about wanting to adhere to
traditional gender norms in sex. The second potential site of tension is around the contradictory messages of different prominent feminist discourses on sexuality, for example, some women may want to embrace submissive preferences as a sex-positive statement, but battle with the lingering question of whether those submissive desires are internalised patriarchal oppression.
In times where feminism is growing in popularity and acceptance, there is also a lot of pressure to be a ‘good’ feminist. This is particularly relevant to academic and activist feminists - who I have targeted in thus project - whose beliefs are strongly held and likely to be an important part of their identity, therefore feeling this pressure acutely. The millennial generation of feminists is exposed to a particular feminist environment on social media, through feminist focused Facebook groups, Instagram pages and Twitter accounts, which exacerbate this pressure to be a ‘good’ feminist. Through these feminist social media women are exposed to the different discourses outlined above, which shape how they experience their daily lives, their interactions and personal choices.
Feminist guilt doesn’t appear to be a widely used term in academia , although study participants do 4 allude to the notion (Rubin, Nemeroff & Russo, 2004). It does however come up repeatedly on online spaces, and for example in the popular ‘The Guilty Feminist’ podcast. There are endless ways in which women can, and do, question whether they are a bad feminist; for wearing makeup, high heels or short dresses, following diets, conforming to societal ideals of beauty , etc. Potential 5 issues for feminist guilt also arise in sex, which my research focuses on. Discrepancies between beliefs and actions around safe sex might lead to feminist guilt, as might preferring penetrative sex to other forms of sex and thus adhering to the coital imperative. I particularly expect submissive preferences in sex will be a re-occurring and important site of guilt, because it is the traditional gender role for women in sex. These internal struggles are the price feminist woman may pay for being aware of their oppression as women and of the gender norms that govern their reality - they are aware of these norms, but that does not stop them from existing in a society that is controlled by them, and which measures their success, failures and very existence against them. Feelings of guilt and conflict, and having to reconcile one’s beliefs with both the real world and one’s desires, are increasingly common for feminist women today. Almost every woman I spoke to about my research related to the topic and/or offered to be a respondent.
In academia the notion of feminist guilt is usually used to refer to white feminist guilt about the lack of 4
inclusion of women of colour (Fisher, 1984), which is different to how it is currently used in feminist discussion, and how I use it here.
see Rubin et al. (2004) for an exploration of how ‘participants experienced conflict between their feminist 5
As we have seen so far, feminist women are thus confronted with various feminist discourses on sex to negotiate and make sense of, whilst the pressure to be a ‘good’ feminist follows them into the realm of sex, and induces feminist guilt when they ‘fail’. The coinciding worlds of feminism and sexuality are fraught with complexity and ambiguity.
Research Question
As such, my main research question is:
How do sex-positive feminist women negotiate possible tensions between their feminist beliefs about sex and their actual sexual preferences?
This research question assumes that most women experience some sort of conflict between their beliefs and their preferences, as women’s sexuality, as we have already seen, is extremely complicated terrain - but also leaves the possibility open that women might not feel conflicted.
To answer this question, this research explores what sexual scripts are drawn on, and where the women encounter them. It explores which conflicts arise from these, and how the women experience and negotiate them, and which sexual scripts emerge from this negotiation.
In sum, the aim of this research is to explore whether and how sex-positive feminist women experience potential tensions at the intersection of their feminist beliefs and their sexual preferences. In order to achieve this aim, I carried out qualitative research focusing on women’s lived experiences, specifically by interviewing feminist women about their experiences and thoughts on feminism and sex. I have embedded these within a framework of sexual script theory. My analysis explores the feminist sexual scripts my participants identified and drew upon, conformed to and resisted.
2. Theoretical Considerations
2.1 Literature Review:Some of what I have touched upon in my introduction has already been investigated. In line with my prediction that submission would be an important site of tension, my literature review focuses first on this particular sexual preference, then takes stock of current theorising of heterosex, and finally looks at ‘feminist guilt’.
The intersection between women’s feminism and (submissive) sexuality - how these might influence each other, or how they might come into conflict - has been investigated from different perspectives. There are two primary strands of research which have been evolving side by side in the last couple of decades. The first focuses on submission as part of a traditional gender role, and how this is harmful to women, whereas the second focuses on submission specifically as a role in BDSM.
Submission as a traditional gender role
There is a considerate amount of psychological research on female submission in sex; since being submissive (or passive) is traditionally seen as the woman’s role in sex, it has been problematised by feminist researchers. This strand of research has predominantly focused on women who embody submissive gender roles or sexual scripts of passivity, not out of choice but from internalised gender norms. For example, Kiefer and Sanchez (2007) found that “endorsement of traditional sexual roles of male dominance and female passivity relates to greater sexual passivity among college-aged heterosexual women” (p.269), and sexual passivity was related to lower sexual satisfaction and poorer sexual functioning. Women’s associations of sex with submission are related to reduced arousability and reduced ability to reach orgasm (Kiefer et al., 2006), which can lead to lower relationship satisfaction (Sanchez et al., 2012). This strand of research clearly suggests that internalised and unquestioned submissive behaviours by women lead to worse sex. On the other hand, psychological research by Schick et al. (2008) found that feminists have better sex, as defined by more sexual satisfaction and sexual subjectivity, because of their ability to see past gender norms, and to ask for what they want. The assumption here is that feminists are able to cast off traditional norms and expectations, leading to better sex. So what happens when a feminist chooses to embrace the traditional gender role of submission in sex? Sanchez et al. (2012) found that “genuine desire for partner dominance buffers women and their partners from the typically negative
effects of sexually submissive behavior” (p.530). In other words, feminist women who actively chose submissive behaviours did not suffer from the issues generally associated with submission, suggesting that submission may not be inherently detrimental to women.
Submission in BDSM
The other strand of research on submission has focused on BDSM. BDSM stands for bondage, discipline, sadism and masochism, and generally entails a difference or exchange in power between partners, in which one takes the role of submissive and the other dominant (Zambelli, 2015) . 6 Weinberg, Williams and Moser (1984) define dominance as “an appearance of rule over one partner by another” (p.380).
Interestingly, the most common argument used to illustrate the feminist potential in BDSM is the subversion of traditional gender roles, in which women take the dominant role and men are submissive (Ritchie & Barker, 2005). Taylor and Ussher (2001) explored participants understanding of BDSM, and found that some (especially women) practitioners used a feminist discourse which positioned BDSM as “deliberately, consciously antithetical to a sexual hegemonic, namely patriarchal heterosexuality” and “parodying sexual relations considered as traditionally subjugating, oppressive and exploitative of women” (p.302-303). However, this particular argument focuses on agency as resistance, and does not consider the potential agency in women choosing to be submissive (conforming with gender roles rather than subverting them). Many women who engage in BDSM actively choose and prefer to be sexually submissive.
Ritchie and Barker’s (2005) study went on to focus explicitly on the relation between feminism and SM. Their aim was to “consider the role of feminism in women’s sexual lives’’ (p.227) (specifically SM), looking to understand how they understood the two in relation to each other. Ritchie and Barker’s participants claimed that being submissive did not mean having no power, on the contrary, “it’s actually the bottom who has the power” and “everybody knows the bottom really runs the scene” (2005, p.12). They also emphasised the importance of negotiating desires and acts as a way of exercising power. Women also saw a clear difference between fantasy and reality - the fantasy of being submissive in sex was not the same as the reality of a male-dominated world. There was also
Zambelli (2015) claims “the most quoted definition appears to be the one by Weinberg et al. (1984). They 6
rely on the participants’ definition of SM. They identified five features: 1) dominance and submission, defining dominance as ‘an appearance of rule over one partner by another’ (Weinberg et al., 1984: 380-381); 2) role playing; 3) consensuality, that is, voluntary agreement to enter into play and to honour certain limits; 4) a sexual context; 5) mutual definition, namely a shared understanding by the practitioners that their activities are SM.” See Zambelli (2015) for a more in-depth discussion of BDSM.
great emphasis on choice, with “power in choosing to lose control” and “the ability to choose submission was thus central to our participants understanding of SM as empowering and feminist” (Ritchie & Barker, 2005, p.18). This suggests feminist potential in BDSM and in submission more specifically. Their research indicates that feminist and submissive identities can be successfully negotiated, and co-exist.
Edwards (2015) narrows it down further from feminist women doing SM, to feminist women who take the submissive role in BDSM. Edwards’ (2015) study focuses specifically on the (potential) contradictions experienced by women between their understandings of feminism and submissive desires. Edwards collected data from self-identified feminist women through diary entries and follow-up interviews, to examine how women negotiated their understandings of feminism with their sexual submissive preferences, within a theoretical framework of agency and embodiment. She found that some women had feelings of guilt and felt that their submissive choices needed to be justified. Others had found a way to reconcile their feminist beliefs with their sexual practices, and one even felt there was no justification needed. Some women felt that the shared values of BDSM aligned with their understanding of feminism, and one identified that the tension between her submission and feminism laid in other feminists’ understandings of feminism, rather than her own.
Edwards argues that women do not choose submission out of an apolitical and mindless ‘choice feminism’, but rather that it is often a complex and difficult decision with much negotiation. She uses Mahmood’s (2001) model of agency to argue that these feminist submissive women exercise agency by inhabiting dominant heterosexual norms in particular ways. Agency doesn’t just come from resisting dominant norms, which she critiques Foucault and Butler for limiting agency to (as an understanding of agency as ‘freedom from’ (Grosz, 2010)), but can be found in inhabiting and investing in norms, thus actively locating oneself in a particular time and place. Edwards emphasises agency in the form of ‘freedom to’ explore, have pleasure etc., using a rhetoric of choice. Edwards focuses less on the subjective lived experiences of women and more on a theoretical framing of their choices. Situating their choices and negotiations in a framework of agency is theoretically interesting and locating agency in women’s navigation of their sexuality in a patriarchal society is important, but it also leaves a gap for the study of how women actually experience and negotiate the potential contradiction itself. Edwards’ participants talk about the contradiction between feminist beliefs and submissive desires in very abstract terms, whereas I wanted to look at concrete situations and examples in which they are negotiated. Importantly, Edwards situates the conflict as one between feminist beliefs and heterosexuality; my research suggests the conflict isn’t necessarily just between feminist beliefs and sexuality, but can be between different feminist discourses as well.
In the above section I narrowed down the scope specifically to submissive behaviours in sex; I will now broaden the scope to look more generally at the work that has been done on what is broadly referred to as feminist guilt. Feminist scholars and writers have investigated, both in research and through their own experiences, the impact of conflicts between feminist beliefs and actual behaviours and desires (sexual or otherwise).
Feminist guilt & ‘Am I a bad feminist?’
Contradictions between feminist beliefs and (hetero)sexuality are not new; Gill and Walker wrote about it in 1992, now 27 years ago. They speak of the contradiction between wanting to reject the beauty ideals imposed on women by society, but simultaneously wanting to feel attractive and desired by men. They speak of narratives/ fantasies of men “sweep[ing] us off our feet” (Gill & Walker, 1992, p.454), thoroughly aware that “we live these desires through the discourses of patriarchal romance, not feminism. And the irony is that we know it - but that does not make the desires go away” (1992, p.455). For Gill and Walker these desires are internalised rather than innate, stem from patriarchal pressures and are therefore problematic. They are honest about the contradictions they experience, and the frustration these give rise to. Although they do not use the word ‘guilt’, their writing conveys feminist guilt from awareness of inhabiting problematic patriarchal norms. In other words:
Feminism has given us a discourse to speak of our oppression, but it has not displaced the other discourses, it has not stopped us wanting (no, craving) things which we know are unsound. (1992, p.454).
Also implicit throughout most of the article is the anxiety or fear that this contradiction between their beliefs and their desires, make them (or us all?) bad feminists, and open to judgement from other feminists, finally vocalised at the very end in “hoping that more ‘right on’ sisters will not judge us too harshly” (1992, p.457).
Edwards (2014) also found that the notion of ‘bad feminist’ reoccurred throughout interviews with her participants, either in constructing narratives around what made a bad feminist, or in feeling like one themselves. Edwards points out “who they feel they had to justify their desires to – other feminists” (2014, p.109). She also clarifies that her findings of how feminist women negotiate their submissiveness “are not intended to produce a set of narratives where participants are defined along a spectrum of what it means to be a ‘good’ feminist or a ‘bad’ feminist” (2014, p.143). A major conclusion of her research is that
an imaginary feminist dogma […] has outlined what a feminist should and should not do. It is interesting to consider if this is not just as potentially damaging as the same patriarchal scripts that seek to constrain women in the same way, through different means. (2014, p. 192).
I am taking Edwards’ (2014, 2015) research as my main starting point. In contrast to her focus on locating women’s agency in being submissive, I focus on women’s lived experience of tensions between feminist beliefs and sexual desires (submissive or other), to provide a more detailed portrayal and understanding of how they negotiate their beliefs, actions and desires. I will also be developing her point on feminist normative scripts constraining women in similar ways to patriarchal scripts - this is where I utilise sexual script theory, as will be explained in my theoretical framework.
Theorising heterosexual sex
Heterosexuality and heterosex have mostly been theorised in feminist psychology, rather than sociology. Fischer (2013) points out that sociologists tend to overlook heterosexuality, focusing instead on homosexuality and lgbt+ challenges to heteronormativity. When looking at heterosexuality, sociologists have tended to focus on sexual orientation and gender identity, largely ignoring the acts of sex. Sociologists who do study heterosex have therefore tended to build on feminist social psychological work, a field which is closely linked.
Hollway (1989) identified three discourses around heterosexual sex: (1) the male sex drive discourse, (“which suggests that men have a biologically insatiable desire for sex, are forever in search of sex, and once aroused are seen as needing sexual gratification via coitus and orgasm” (Beres & Farvid, 2010, p.379)) which I would say is the main one which shapes traditional sexual scripts; (2) the have/hold discourse (“which positions sex within the context of a monogamous relationship, where women are the subjects of this discourse and are seeking committed relationships through sex” (Beres & Farvid, 2010, p.379), which also explains the role of woman as gatekeeper in the traditional script, and (3) the permissive discourse, (“in which sexual activity is good and right for both men and women: and anything goes, as long as no one gets hurt” (Braun et al., 2003, p.238)), which informs both contemporary and feminist sexual scripts.
There is some research on changing norms in sex, and how women are currently resisting the coital imperative and sexual scripts which are not beneficial to them. For example, Lafrance, Stelzl and
Bullock (2017) interviewed women who were resisting the normative practice of faking orgasm. They found that some of the women refused to fake orgasms in order to secure future real orgasms, and others
positioned sexual satisfaction as an ‘equal right’ to which they were entitled. In some instances, women discussed their rights in terms of reciprocity, in which pleasure is given and received. In others, it was positioned as a feminist issue of gender and power (Lafrance et al., 2017, p.210).
McPhillips, Braun and Gavey (2001) also showed that whilst the coital imperative was evident in their participants’ talk about sex, “alternative discursive spaces do exist (albeit in a limited and less accessible form) through which the hegemony of the coital imperative can be challenged” (p.229), with both men and women positioning themselves outside of heterosexual discourses such as the male sex drive discourse, and the coital imperative . Whilst the coital imperative is still very much 7 present (Braksmajer, 2013), there are people who are resisting it and other normative heterosex practices, often citing feminist principles.
Braun et al. (2003) argue that a discourse of reciprocity sounds egalitarian and positive for women’s sexual liberation in theory - and in many ways it did allow the women they interviewed to expect and demand reciprocity in sexual acts - but in reality it also created a lot of pressure for them;
We argue that notions of reciprocity are not necessarily as liberatory as they might seem, as they do not occur in a social or sexual vacuum. In conjunction with other dominant sexual meanings, a discourse of reciprocity produces entitlements and obligations that can render ‘choice’ in heterosex problematic, particularly for women. (Braun et al., 2003, p.237)
Braun et al. found that “expectations of reciprocity may converge with other dominant discourses (such as the male sexual drive discourse, and the coital imperative) to weaken a woman’s ability to finish sex when she would like to” (p.253). The result is that “if she has had an orgasm – or even if she hasn’t, but he has ‘put the work in’ towards this goal” (p.253) she must then reciprocate, whether she wants to or not, usually by engaging in intercourse.
Their male participants positioned themselves outside of this discourse as a result of reading feminist texts 7
My argument parallels Brauns’, in that sex-positive feminist discourses and scripts may theoretically lead to better sex, and in many ways do, but that feminist scripts are not as liberatory as they may seem, as they also create a lot of pressure for feminist women to live up to.
Farvid, Braun and Rowney (2017) have also argued that “practices such as casual sex are contradictory terrains for women. Although permissive and liberal discourses construct women’s casual sex as acceptable, and even desirable, traditional discourses and a sexual double standard, do not” (p.544). The young women they interviewed identified and challenged the sexual double standard, but it “also seeped into women’s accounts when talking about other women” (p.544), meaning they “talked about casual sex and a sexual reputation in contradictory and contested ways” (p.544). Farvid et al. (2017) show that being aware of an oppressive norm and even actively challenging it, doesn’t mean that it is always successfully repudiated, as those norms can be so engrained. I expected my participants would similarly talk about their sexuality in contradictory ways.
2.2 Theoretical Framework:
Given that this research is interested in how women’s feminist beliefs affect how they experience their sexual preferences and sex lives, I approach it theoretically using Gagnon’s sexual script theory. Edwards (2014) argues that scripts uphold and perpetuate how femininity is supposed to be done; I propose that certain other scripts uphold and perpetuate how feminism is supposed to be done.
Sexual Script Theory
First developed by Gagnon & Simon in 1976, sexual script theory claims that we follow sexual scripts, much like actors, to know how to behave and interpret meaning in sexual situations. It is a critique of, and an alternative to, the biological model of sex, and claims instead that sex is socially constructed (Gagnon, 2004). Sexual scripts guide us through sexual encounters, prescribing everything from what should be arousing, what should be done, by whom, in what order and how to feel (Gagnon, 2004, p.136). Scripts are not fixed, changing over time as they are shaped by historical and cultural context (Gagnon, 2004). New scripts such as the contemporary sexual script emerge, influenced by critiques of the traditional script and which acknowledges women’s pleasure and a more egalitarian approach to sex (Darrouzet-Nardi & Hatch, 2014).
Scripts operate at three levels: the cultural, the interpersonal, and the intrapsychic. At the cultural level, we find messages about sex and sexuality broadly set out by society. For example, in the traditional sexual script, gender roles inform how to have sex; this script positions the man as the one with sexual urges, and the woman as the gatekeeper to sex (Darrouzet-Nardi & Hatch, 2014). Beres (2014, p.77) states that “cultural scripts relate to gender roles within heterosexuality and how sexuality is supposed to be enacted”. The cultural scripts inform the interpersonal level; this is where the sexual encounter is negotiated between partners, as “interpersonal scripts are developed through socialization and learning in particular circumstances” (Beres, 2014, p.77). The interpersonal scripts consist of the concrete things that happen in a sexual encounter. For example, in following the traditional sexual script, an interpersonal script may dictate that the man is expected to initiate sex, the woman then agrees or refuses, and the priority is his orgasm, mainly through penetration (Darrouzet-Nardi & Hatch, 2014). At the intrapsychic level, Gagnon (2004) speaks of the mental life. This is where our individual thoughts and negotiations take place, as “intrapsychic scripts influence how gender roles are produced at the individual level including sexual fantasies and desires” (Beres, 2014, p.77).
I propose, as an addition to the literature on sexual scripts, that there are specific feminist sexual scripts, shaped by the feminist discourses discussed in my introduction. I suggest feminist scripts take the contemporary script a step further, moving from possibility of, to emphasis on, women’s orgasms, and may include the woman enjoying sex openly, seeking it out (rather than being a gatekeeper), dominating in sex, giving direction, and otherwise turning the traditional script on its head. These feminist scripts operate at a cultural level, with a message on troubling traditional gender roles and norms, and re-centering women’s pleasure in sex. At the interpersonal level the scripts influence how feminist women actually have sex, and the intrapsychic level mediates what happens between the cultural level and the interactions of the interpersonal level; how individual women think of and negotiate the scripts and their desires.
Darrouzet-Nardi and Hatch (2014) used sexual script theory to investigate how women with sexual dysfunctions negotiated sexual scripts, utilising aspects of both traditional and contemporary 8 scripts, all whilst reconciling their apparent contradictions. Women played into the traditional sexual script by feeling guilty for depriving their male partners of penetrative sex (which they
Women who “identified themselves as having experienced sexual side effects while using antidepressants 8
or anti-anxiety medications” (p.5). These sexual side effects were most commonly low libido and anorgasmia, the inability to orgasm.
considered their duty as girlfriend or wife), and simultaneously drew from a contemporary script by feeling bad for not feeling sexually empowered and liberated (which they thought they should be as young women). This shows how women can adhere to the beliefs engrained in different scripts, and evidence that they can integrate both in a narrative that makes sense to them. Similarly, I will show how the women I interviewed use parts of different scripts to create their own, and coherently justify their beliefs and preferences.
I am using an understanding of the self as socially shaped, based on Butler’s (1997) theorising on subjectification. I am looking at a sex-positive feminist subject, which comes into being and is shaped by social regimes such as traditional gender norms and sexual scripts from a young age, and by feminism through academia and/or activism. The subject is shaped by different feminist discourses; this research will examine which particular knowledges and understandings are being drawn on and have an influence in the subjectification of this feminist subject.
3. Methodology
3.1 Research designMy research is qualitative, based on a social constructionist perspective (Crotty, 1998). I carried out fifteen in-depth interviews with feminist women, of which I ultimately used 14 (see case selection below), all of which were audio-recorded. I used a semi-structured format, and open-ended questions to allow participants to develop and share their own thoughts, and to avoid imposing my own voice (Bryman, 2016). In an attempt to capture not only how participants speak of and conceptualise their feminist and sexual identities and practices, but also how moments of (potential or actual) conflict are negotiated in praxis, I asked participants to share specific instances in which they experienced internal struggle - what was the situation which triggered the conflict, what they thought and felt in that moment, whether and how they communicated with their partner about it, how the situation played out etc.
3.2 Data Collection Case selection
My research focused on women living, working or studying in the city of Amsterdam, the Netherlands. I expected the Dutch context of sexual exceptionalism would be interesting, as part of the national identity is built around pride about women’s emancipation and sexual freedom (Bracke, 2011), and is particularly relevant to Amsterdam. However, this narrative did not come up naturally in any of the interviews, and when asked about their reasons for choosing to live in Amsterdam, women had a variety of reasons, of which most were practical; following a partner, Amsterdam being the capital, specific degrees offered at Amsterdam universities. A few non-Dutch women had originally been attracted by the liberal and sexually progressive reputation of the city, but quickly found it to be an exaggeration or untrue, and was therefore not a factor in choosing to remain in the city.
I recruited respondents who identified as women and who have sex with men, formulated as such so as not to exclude women who identified as bisexual, pansexual or other, since I was interested in sexual scripts of heterosex, rather than sexual orientation . I recruited women who were mostly in 9 their 20s and 30s, an age range particularly vulnerable to the pressures of social media. I focused on feminists with an academic or activist background as they are more likely to have in depth
I also thought it might be interesting to explore whether women’s experiences of sex differed
9
knowledge of different feminist theory and discourses, and are also most likely to be aware of potential discrepancies between their feminist beliefs and sexual desires. I recruited feminists who were sex-positive, both in a general sense, e.g. who encourage sexual pleasure, experimentation, safe sex and sex education, and who believe sex shouldn’t be taboo (‘What does “sex-positive” mean’, n.d.), but also whose beliefs aligned with the more theoretical stances of sex-positive feminism, in the sense that they were supportive of sex workers, bdsm and (to some extent) pornography. I decided not to use one of the interviews I conducted as she tended more towards radical feminist views, which didn’t fit my criteria of sex-positive feminist .10
Recruitment and Sampling
I carried out purposive sampling, as I was looking for specific respondents (Bryman, 2016). My recruitment post (see appendix A) specified that I was looking for sex-positive academic or activist feminist women who were willing to speak about their experiences and thoughts about sex and feminism. I was planning on utilising a range of platforms to find participants, but ended up only using the online platform of Facebook as it was the first place I reached out, and I was quickly inundated with responses. I posted a call for participants on my own private Facebook page and encouraged my friends and acquaintances to share my post, and I posted the same call on The Feminist Club Amsterdam (FCA), the main online feminist group in Amsterdam, which currently has 2,380 members. The FCA is where the majority of my participants saw my post. My post also ended up in different Dutch feminist groups on Facebook as a result of people sharing it forward, from which I got at least one participant. I had 40+ women contact me about being interviewed, which I believe reflects the need and want for conversation around female sexuality. Many were living in Utrecht and Rotterdam, but as there were enough to allow me to do so, I only selected women who were based in Amsterdam. I also selected the women who were certain that they fit in
She replied to my post which stated my criteria that respondents be sex-positive. She was sex-positive in 10
the sense that she believed it was important to talk about sex openly, and that women shouldn’t be ashamed of their sexuality, but she also said she was more ‘sex-neutral’, and didn’t identify with either radical or liberal (sex-positive) feminism. She was extremely uncomfortable with the idea of replicating power dynamics through BDSM, and she was anti-porn and anti- sex work - all of which are conflicting stances to those of sex-positive feminism, and ultimately led me to exclude her from my analysis of sex-positive feminists views and experiences.
The specific things she enjoyed her partner doing, like being assertive, taking the lead and making decisions in sex, are things the other women qualified as submissive - a term which she shied away from in qualifying her desires or actions. So despite similar desires, she used different terms and situated herself differently. She did however express similar conflicts to the other women, as she felt guilty for letting her male partner take the lead. She also shared the same doubts as other participants about power imbalances in being sub/dom. The difference is that she rejects submission entirely, whereas the explicitly sex-positive women were to varying degrees comfortable with being submissive.
my criteria of academic or activist feminism, or gave me concrete examples in our online conversations. Many of the women who originally reached out to me didn’t reply later on, so those women who I eventually interviewed were those who fit my criteria, responded and had availabilities I could match.
Demographics
The fourteen women whose interviews I used for my analysis all agreed with or endorsed sex-positive feminism, although most did not label themselves as sex-sex-positive feminists . They were all 11 cisgender women, of which twelve were white, one was Asian, and one was mixed (Asian-white). Five were of Dutch nationality, six were of other European nationalities, and three were from the USA. They were all currently living in Amsterdam, the Netherlands. Seven were studying at university (two in bachelor programs, five in masters programs, either at the UvA or HvA) and seven were working, although all had university education. Ten of the women were in relationships at the time of the interview, five of which were open relationships of some form, and four women were single. Six women identified as heterosexual, two as mostly heterosexual, and six identified as either bisexual or pansexual. Ages of participants ranged between 20 and 42, with a median age of 26. Only one had a child, and one was pregnant. Although I had wished for more ethnic or racial diversity in my sample, I think the very white (also middle class and university educated) sample is fairly representative of Amsterdam’s rather heterogenous academic and activist milieu.
Interviews
Interviews were carried out where participants felt most comfortable; two in their homes, two on uni campuses, and ten in cafes that seemed quiet and private enough to speak openly. Interviews lasted between one and two hours. I followed a semi-structured format (see appendix B for interview guide). I asked them about feminism, about sex, and about how these influenced each other. I had prepared prompts/topics to generate discussions if necessary, such as consent, safe sex and BDSM. I asked explicitly if they felt conflicts or discrepancies between their feminism and sexuality. This did lead the women to focus on negative sexual experiences, which is an incomplete and unfair representation of their sexual lives - this research is therefore to be read with that in mind. I led the interviews in a conversational and informal manner, leading to many natural and comfortable conversations, which I believe allowed the women to be genuine in what they shared.
This was often because they did not feel like they understood the term well enough to use it as a label. For 11
instance Amy said she agreed with what she knew of sex-positive feminism but admitted “I feel like I have to do more research honestly to fully adopt it.”
Ethics
Since my position as researcher created a power imbalance with participants (Elmir et al., 2011), and because of the sensitive nature of my research, I was very intentional in my attempts to present myself as an equal, and as un-intimidating as possible. For this reason, I opted not to have my participants sign a consent form, which I thought would set a formal tone, and chose instead to get consent verbally at the start the interview (see appendix C for approximate wording). I let my participants know they had the right to withdraw from the research at any point during or after the interview, and I made it clear that they could refuse to answer any questions they felt uncomfortable with, and they could ask me not to include specific information they shared (which three participants took me up on). I specified that the thesis would be made public and that they would be anonymous, as I would be using pseudonyms and changing or omitting any identifying information in my thesis (Sieber, 1992). I stored the data (recordings and transcripts) in password protected files on my computer.
Since sex can be an intimidating and sensitive topic to discuss, I made my own positionality as researcher explicit, openly sharing my own experiences and conflicts to create rapport and to make participants feel comfortable sharing about themselves (Elmir et al., 2011; Peters et al., 2008). I was aware there was a risk that me sharing my experiences and thoughts could skew the participants responses. I therefore tried not to share too much initially, waiting a bit to share personal stories or opinions, which was then a good way of eliciting further stories, thoughts and opinions, much as in a focus group (Bryman, 2016). In any case, I am very conflicted myself and do not hold strong opinions on many of the topics which came up, so it was easy for me to validate what they shared with me, and my personal disclosures seemed to make participants feel comfortable sharing a variety of experiences and feelings - several participants thanked me for sharing stories of myself, and told me it made them feel safe and comfortable. I tried to make it very clear that I did not have any answers to, or judgements on, the conflicts they voiced, and I affirmed that their personal experiences were valid (Elmir et al., 2011). As a white, university educated, feminist, middle class, cisgender woman in my 20s, my position greatly resembled that of most of my participants, which likely made them more comfortable as well. It certainly also meant I came in with some assumptions that they would feel similarly to myself, which I had to take a step back from and look critically at when I encountered women with different or unexpected sentiments.
3.3 Method of Analysis
Having transcribed all of my interviews and thus become very familiar with them, I started my analysis by creating a very tentative list of codes. Keeping these in mind, I then went through all of my interviews with a process of open coding, reading through every line (Strauss & Corbin, 1990), using Atlas.ti. I paid particular attention to identifying scripts, according to my theoretical framework of sexual script theory, as well as anything interesting or notable. Thus my approach was a mixture of inductive and deductive (Bryman, 2016). For example, ‘sexual assault’ was not a theme I had been expecting, but I coded it as it came up frequently and played an important role in several women’s stories. As I went through, I used axial coding, adding and changing codes according to what themes were emerging (Strauss & Corbin, 1990). I disregarded codes which came up extremely infrequently, or which were interesting but fundamentally irrelevant to my research topic. I ended up with 90 codes, organised into main- and sub-codes, according to emergent themes. For example, a main code was ‘feminist script’, with sub codes such as ‘lots of sex’ and ‘being dominant’. I wrote memos as I went through the coding process, linking different codes as connections and themes started to become apparent to me (Bernard & Ryan, 2010).
In this chapter I have laid out the foundations for my research and analysis, using a social constructionist perspective, in interviewing fourteen women about their views and lived experiences with heterosex and feminism. The interviews were subsequently analysed through a process of open and axial coding, with special attention paid to sexual scripts. The next chapters will cover the results of my analysis.
4. Sexual Scripts
This chapter will explore a number of scripts I identified being drawn upon or mentioned throughout the interviews. First I look at the traditional sexual script, then two modern scripts, all of which my participants simultaneously criticised and drew upon. I briefly look at how the discourses of reciprocity and equality are found throughout different scripts. The main part of this chapter focuses on three feminist scripts which my participants drew upon, and the potential tensions which arose within, or were caused by, each of these.
4.1
Traditional and Modern Scripts
One script which came up very frequently was the traditional sexual script. In this script, sex is all about male pleasure and male orgasm. Whilst there is an assumption that women can orgasm through penetration, sex is not about a woman’s pleasure or her orgasm. Part of this script is the discourse that men are extremely sexual and want sex all the time, and it is women’s role or duty to give it to them when they want it, particularly in the context of a relationship. In this script, a man can insist on sex until the woman agrees, and in following this script, women often do things they don’t want to. The script for a sexual encounter is kissing, then short (if any) foreplay, and finally penetrative sex which ends with the male orgasm. The man’s role is to be dominant, and the woman is submissive. Painful sex is normal for women, who endure it without complaint, and there is little to no communication around what each person (especially the woman) likes and dislikes. Fellatio is normal and expected, whilst cunnilingus isn’t. All of these aspects of the traditional sexual script were identified by my participants; a script which they understood to be the standard for most people. These articulations of the traditional sexual script concurs with previous literature on the topic (Darrouzet-Nardi & Hatch, 2014).
All of the women were very critical of this script. A lot of women said they had previously followed it when they were younger, and their default had been pleasing a man:
I think back in the day with guys, I was always concerned about their pleasure, and I never thought about myself. And now I sort of became very egoistic and sort of thought, you know what, I'm just gonna do my own thing, and sort of make sure that I'm having a good time as well. (Laura)
The women were usually able to reject the script as they had learned from (both good and bad) experiences over time, and learned through feminist texts and discourse to prioritise their own pleasure. Some still drew upon aspects of this script, despite being aware and critical of it in other aspects. For example, when I mentioned pain in sex as a result of sexual dysfunctions, Stephanie 12 admitted she had accepted that pain was part of the deal with sex:
For me, I just thought like, because sometimes it’s painful and sometimes it’s not, and I just thought it was the luck of the draw. But I guess not.
I identified two modern scripts, which have arisen, at least in part, as results of critiques of the traditional sexual script. One of these is the contemporary script, as identified by Darrouzet-Nardi and Hatch (2014, p.4), and described in my introduction. One dimension of this contemporary script which my participants identified is the prescription that women should be having lots of sex, or lots of casual sex. This idea stems from women’s sexual emancipation as a feminist project, but has been coopted by patriarchal society, as women are seen as more available for sex. This means non-feminist men will also have this script, and can be used alongside traditional sexual scripts. This script is often felt by women as societal pressure, for example, Isla says:
There’s a lot of pressure, I feel, from society to be having sex all the time, actually. Like as a young person, I feel like people expect you to just always be having sex and like you're so free and bla bla bla.
Isla was raised in a working class household in Scotland in which sex was very taboo and feminism wasn’t spoken about. The main place she got messages about sex was at school, where she was confronted with a lot of pressure to be having sex- pressure which also followed her to university. For her, now, sex positivity is about unlearning this norm of having sex when she doesn’t want to.
Another dimension of the contemporary script which my participants identified is the prescription for the woman to orgasm, as a sign of the man’s sexual prowess and skill (Darrouzet-Nardi & Hatch, 2014), which Potts (2000) calls the orgasm imperative. This leads (at least in part) to the current norm of women faking orgasms (Darrouzet-Nardi & Hatch, 2014; Jackson & Scott, 2007;
Stephanie was the youngest of my participants, aged 20, and had just undergone a self-declared 12
transformation from being very insecure and self-objectifying, to very sex-positive, unashamed and confident, as she moved to Amsterdam and surrounded herself with sex-positive friends.
Fahs, 2014), to spare the man’s ego. Some of my participants had faked orgasms in the past, due to this pressure to orgasm.
Anal sex is also slowly and to a certain (limited) extent being incorporated into the contemporary script, due to its frequent depiction in porn. As a ‘sexually liberated’ woman, there is an increasing expectation to be having anal sex. Five of the fourteen women mentioned its rising popularity and normalisation. Tess attests to this:
Pressure, that’s often the difficult part. I noticed that with myself as well, when some guy is like, Oh, you want to do anal? like nah, you sort of doubt for a moment like, oh, maybe he would like me if I did, but then I still say no and it's always fine. But yeah, there's some things you're like, should I do it? Because they want it, maybe it will be fun.
Another modern script is what I coded as the dating script; the expectation for young people and young women to constantly be dating, hooking up, or having a friends-with-benefits situation . In 13 other words, there seems to be an expectation to be engaging in casual sex when single, which interlinks with the ‘lots of sex’ dimension of the contemporary script, mentioned above.
The two discourses of reciprocity and equality in sex came up often in the interviews, as elements in different scripts. They appeared in the context of modern scripts, but especially as part of feminist scripts. The discourse of reciprocity in heterosex especially has been researched (Braun et al., 2003; Lewis & Marston, 2016). These two discourses are similar and can overlap, but are not quite the same. The discourse of reciprocity was often used in talking about orgasms and oral sex, whilst equality was often talked about in relation to power relations in sex, about being submissive/ dominant, who takes the lead etc. For instance, in “[I should be wanting to have] equal sex, in which it's maybe less about one person dominating the other, or you dominate once, I dominate the next time, you know, like an equal distribution of power”, Amy utilises a discourse of equality.
This may be specific to university students, or women who have recently left university
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education, as was the case for many of my participants. This is somewhat in accordance with what X suggests.
4.2 Feminist scripts
A. Being Sexual
I identified three feminist sexual scripts in my interviews. The most prevalent script was coded as ‘being sexual’, in which I identified three dimensions. This script recognises and empowers women as sexual beings; enjoying sex and having sexual urges. Anneke embodies this:
I think it's really important that men feel that women can be very positive and that they know that women have the same sex life and desires and not just want to please the man. […] So it's really important that guys just hear women talk about it. Openness. It’s power, it’s taking power back.
Some women I interviewed felt liberated and validated by this script. For example, Tess said:
I think [feminism] made me more open to think about [sex], like, at all. I guess, as a teenager when you're sort of exploring all that stuff, you feel ashamed of it in a way, because you don't see it in the media all the time and it’s a very taboo subject. And then feminism showed me like, Oh, no, it is a normal thing to do, like girls masturbate, they have sex, enjoy sex, that's fine. And then I was like, oh, true!
Others, however, felt pressure to be sexual, and like they were failing when they weren’t. Isla thought there was something wrong with her for not feeling sexual attraction for a while:
I was thinking like, Oh my god, why am I not feeling anything? Guys were asking me out and I just was like, nooo, and like on nights out as well, guys were hitting on me and just nothing. Literally nothing. Didn't want anything to do with it. And sometimes even if people would speak about sex I'd feel repulsed. Like I’d think about me doing it and being like, Oh God, (disgusted). [Then I met someone and] he was just super witty and made me feel really good and always looking at my eyes when I was speaking and then I think that sort of reignited my, or like made me realize that there’s nothing wrong with me actually, I just need to have a connection with someone and I haven't had a connection with someone for a few months and there's nothing wrong with that, and that's okay.
How reassured and relieved she is to regain some sexual interest shows how conflicted and perhaps ashamed she is when that sexual urge is absent. Lack of desire is something a lot of women struggle with, and frame as problematic. The women in Hayfield and Clarke’s (2012) research similarly “reported a lack of sexual desire, but positioned themselves as wanting to want sex, or ‘desiring desire’” (p.67), and also reported feeling like something was wrong with them.
After a sexual assault, Tess felt pressured to be sexual again:
At that point, when I didn't feel comfortable having sex because of what happened, I was like, oh, but I'm a feminist, and I should like find it an empowering tool again, and just do it again. And, you know, like, get over it. Because there's way stronger women out there. And then I guess I did feel that pressure of like, oh, you're not even trying to be as into sex as you used to be.
The pressure is not felt from others directly, but from her own idea of what a feminist woman should be like.
a) Lots of sex
Katrien points out one dimension of the ‘being sexual’ script: having lots of sex;
I think there's a general idea that feminist sex is about like, really knowing what you want and going for it and so owning your sexuality […]. And also I think there's a lot of, especially in the group of people that surround me, there is a lot of- like the sex-positive idea that women are having a lot of sex and that’s empowering, and women should do whatever they want. [italics are mine]
This is different to ‘lots of sex’ identified in the contemporary script, which is felt as societal pressure by some of my interviewees. The feminist ‘lots of sex’ element is explicitly feminist, and comes from feminist sources rather than broader societal ones.
The line between the contemporary and feminist pressure to have ‘lots of sex’ can at first glance seem blurry, as the pressure is felt as the same by the women who are exposed to it. The difference between the two seems to be who it is being perpetuated by, and the different assumptions about sex they hold. The contemporary ‘lots of sex’ is built on a post-feminist understanding that men and women equally enjoy sex and can equally take part in it, lumped
together in a gender-neutral category of ‘young people’, whereas the feminist ‘lots of sex’ is specifically based in an understanding that women enjoying sex is still somewhat revolutionary in a patriarchal society. Isla is quoted earlier using it as part of the contemporary script, in which she feels society expects her to be having lots of sex because that is what young people do, but she also utilises the explicitly feminist version later on in the interview:
I feel like it also comes from within feminism. And that's what I mean, like the stereotype of sex positivity is that you're a young liberated woman, you should be having sex all the time. […] And I do sometimes still get that sort of attitude from other feminist girls that I speak to, who will always be speaking about sex in a really open way, which I'm also like, I speak openly about sex, I don't shy away from it. But I remember, it was probably just a month ago or something, and I was with some girls from a course, also all self-identified feminists. And they're having a lot of sex right now and they were speaking about it and that was fine and I was joining in and then they just asked me like so, when did you last have sex? […] I was like, oh December with my ex. And then they all were like, Oh my god, like, and then they started making desert jokes for the rest of the night. Like I was in the desert like oh, Isla needs to find someone to have sex with. And I was like, but I'm fine… Like, I don't mind. And then that also made me feel a bit embarrassed as well.
Isla is facing pressure to be having lots of casual sex from all sides - from non-feminist and feminist sources alike, a pressure she clearly finds uncomfortable and problematic, and has taken a long time to identify and fight against:
Definitely during my undergrad, I feel like I forced myself to have, not forced myself to have a lot of sex with people but like, kind of just did it, without thinking about the repercussions and yeah, just kind of, not going with anyone but do you know what I mean? So then on the surface that looks more sex-positive. I was having more sex and like, really carefree or something. (Isla)
The constant pressure also means that she must continuously put work and effort into not letting the pressure affect her negatively, even now that she has identified it:
Even now as well I'm like, Oh my god, am I wasting my 20s? Should I be having more sex? [laughs] But I don't know. I think it's just coming from everywhere. And I suppose, I think
girls have a tendency to talk about sex, which is good. But then that can also influence you as well. Like, oh, they sound like they're having a lot of sex, I should do it too. (Isla)
Whilst being open and talking about sex is a generally agreed-upon core aspect of sex-positive feminism, she shows how normative pressure amongst sex-positive feminists can also be damaging.
b) Importance of orgasm
A second dimension of the feminist ‘being sexual’ script is about having, or prioritising, the female orgasm in sex. Again, this is similar to the orgasm imperative in the contemporary script. Here the difference between the two is clear: a woman’s orgasm in the contemporary script is meant to prove and glorify the man’s sexual prowess, reinforcing his virility - the orgasm is more about the man giving it than the woman having it. In the feminist script, the emphasis is entirely on the woman achieving orgasm for her own pleasure, and she refuses faking an orgasm as an alternative, since it does not benefit her. Anneke, utilising a discourse of reciprocity, makes it clear to every new partner that her orgasm is important and should be his goal:
So with every new relationship you have to start the whole process, not with every man but, ‘no my orgasm is just as important as for you’. Well, I can enjoy sex without an orgasm, but that’s not the starting point. (Anneke)
However with this orgasm imperative also comes a lot of pressure for women, which is complicated by factors such as pain during sex, and that women often need more time and skill to orgasm, as Britt expressed:
But I think one of the downfalls of kind of the way that the sex-positivity feminism has really come up is it means you have to have an orgasm during sex. And that also can be really limiting for some people. And the reality is that - especially women who might have a little bit harder time to have an orgasm - you can still have a really great sexual experience without orgasm. And also just because you, even if you try and you didn’t, doesn't mean that it was a terrible sexual experience, or even an invalid sexual experience or a failed [one], because it puts a lot of pressure on women to actually finally finish.
