There’s this idea out there that we live in an age of sexual liberation—at least when compared to the past—but one argument that often suggests the contrary is one related to kink-shaming.
But what does that mean, why is it important, and how does it figure into Accounting for it All?
Namely, kink-shaming is embodied in attitudes that frown upon or openly advocate against the sexual predilections of consenting adults.
To take this one step further, let’s explore the origins of kink-shaming in the modern dialogue.
There’s a tendency among humans—or at least among those in the culture that controls prevailing narratives where I exist—to fear the unknown, to treat “the other” with mistrust. When it comes to something so intimate as a sexual experience with another human being (or one’s self), then, it could be easy to understand one’s wariness in engaging with that “other,” which is, in this case, a sex act with which one isn’t readily familiar.
Beyond this tendency, it’s possible that in an age where dialogue about sex is more easily had than in the past, conversations regarding sex have become more frank, which has led to the detailing of sexual experiences that prevailing narratives would ordinarily regard as beyond the norm. With this increased exposure in a society that has a proclivity for other-ing, perhaps it’s no wonder many discussions surrounding various sex acts reinforce the idea that they’re meant to be regarded with disdain.
Now before an armada of rightfully concerned readers sails onto this page to stick flags in the sand that read, “What about X?!” and “So you support Y?!” let’s be clear: our definition of kink-shaming above grounds itself in the notion that the parties involved are consenting adults, which I emphasize again here for obvious reasons.
Why is it important?
Keeping in line with one of this blog’s guiding philosophies—that consenting adults ought to maintain autonomy over their own sexual affairs—it perhaps comes as no surprise then that we’ll explore kink-shaming, too, through this lens. Simply put, why shame others for something they enjoy to do on their own or with other consenting adults?
That’s not to say all things are right for all people, or that any one person should feel they must try something in order to truly know what’s right for them. On the contrary, one ought to only do what one is comfortable with, and it’s possible to do so without shaming someone else for something in which they might have an interest.
What about Accounting for it All?
This very idea plays into Accounting for it All when an ally of the story’s protagonist finds her opportunities in porn drying up, so to speak. No longer are producers as interested in having her take part in scenes similar to those she’s already done, but there are some producers who are willing to have her participate in scenes that feature sex acts that are not of interest to her.
So how does this character navigate the situation? Is it possible for her to turn down the opportunities without kink-shaming?
It is, and the answer is simpler than you might think: it’s a simple “no.” She expresses that it’s simply not for her and moves on without denigrating the producer, would-be partner for the scene, or would-be consumers for their interests.
Likewise, in our own lives we don’t have to encourage, endorse, or participate in any given sex act, but that doesn’t mean we have to frown upon consenting adults who have given affirmative consent to do so in order to establish our own feelings on the matter.
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