A Slut Laments

Sometimes the tide turns slowly. Sometimes it seems to be happening all at once. Apparently, the tide is now turning against what is called sex-positive feminism. 

I have on this blog been stating clearly for many years now that this has been a very bad idea. It is certainly bad for women-- why else would feminists promote it. But it is not especially good for men to be taught to disrespect women systematically. I would add that Camille Paglia, long a proponent of the sexual revolution has also turned against it. 

After Louise Perry’s book The Sexual Revolution Is Terrible for Women, we now have the Substack of one Bridget Phetasy, a woman who used to write for Playboy, among other publications, and who now crosses another taboo by labeling her past sex positive experiences as-- slutty.

She entitled her essay: “I Regret Being a Slut.”

Apparently, the feminist dimwits who declared that it was all a social construction and that women would cease being sluts if everyone ceased calling them sluts were wrong. Human behavior has a rational basis. Women’s sexual behavior was not concocted by the patriarchy to deprive women of orgasms. It was designed to benefit women.

Phetasy writes:

I’m grateful for the ability to control my reproductive cycle and make my own money. But that freedom has come at a price. The dark side of the sexual revolution is that even though it liberated women—unyoking sex from consequences has primarily benefited men.

So, what is it like to be a slut? As the old line goes: How does it feel? It turns out that, for those women who have not drunk the feminist Kool-Aid, it does not feel very good:

But if I’m honest with myself, of the dozens of men I’ve been with (at least the ones I remember), I can only think of a handful I don’t regret. The rest I would put in the category of “casual,” which I would define as sex that is either meaningless or mediocre (or both). If I get really honest with myself, I’d say most of these usually drunken encounters left me feeling empty and demoralized. And worthless.

The aftershocks were terrible, indeed:

I wouldn’t have said that at the time, though. At the time, I would have told you I was “liberated” even while I tried to drink away the sick feeling of rejection when my most recent hook-up didn’t call me back. At the time, I would have said one-night stands made me feel “emboldened.” But in reality, I was using sex like a drug; trying unsuccessfully to fill a hole inside me with men. (Pun intended.)

I know regretting most of my sexual encounters is not something a sex-positive feminist who used to write a column for Playboy is supposed to admit. And for years, I didn’t. Let me be clear, being a “slut” and sleeping with a lot of men is not the only behavior I regret. Even more damaging was what I told myself in order to justify the fact that I was disposable to these men: I told myself I didn’t care.

In other words, sex positive feminism taught her to deny her feelings. It taught her that when she felt disposable, there was something wrong with her. A liberated woman should seize her pleasure where she could, and should ignore the after shocks.

Besides, feminists told her that having sex with a multitude of men who did not care for her and who would never have made a commitment to her was-- hold your breath-- empowering. In short, it would make her feel like a real man. Is this what feminism is about?

I didn’t care when a man ghosted me. I didn’t care when he left in the middle of the night or hinted that he wanted me to leave. The walks of shame. The blackouts. The anxiety.

The lie I told myself for decades was: I’m not in pain—I’m empowered.

In order to remain a feminist in good standing, Phetasy would contort her psyche, to the point where it was no longer hers. She was acting out a role in a historical drama, one that was devised by feminists and other leftists, in order to advance the revolutionary cause. Or some such.

So, thanks to feminism, Phetasy could ignore the message she was feeling on her walks of shame and could declare herself a proud slut, not to mention-- here’s the word again-- empowered:

I doubled down on being a proud slut and internalized the biggest and most damaging lie: that loveless sex is empowering. I basked in the girl-power glow of that delusion for decades, weaponizing my sexuality while convincing myself I was full of the divine feminine.

I was full of shit.

I told myself that because I could seduce a man, I was powerful. But as Perry says in her book, “...women can all too easily fail to recognize that being desired is not the same thing as being held in high esteem.” Deep down inside, I knew that to be the case. But as a defense mechanism, I crafted a man-eater persona. My mantras were rigid.

Better yet, strong empowered sex-positive feminists fell into roles that I described yesterday. They were not going to be wives, so they settled for concubine, mistress and courtesan.

Phetasy explains, adding the moment when she recognized that, from the point of view of one of her hookups, she was not even there:

A lifetime of allowing myself to be the other woman, taken for granted or treated like a doormat under the false pretense of being “empowered” came to a head one night with the arrival of a text message from an on-again, off-again lover.

“Goodnight baby I love you,” it said. Quickly followed by, “Wrong person.”

She said that it was like hitting rock bottom:

Rock bottom doesn’t always look like losing everything or ending up in jail. Sometimes it can be that sick feeling in your gut when you know, emotionally, you’re done. I wanted to be able to have meaningless sex like a guy, but it didn’t work. (After years of writing for Playboy, I’ve learned it doesn’t work for a lot of men either.) For years, I tried, unsuccessfully, not to “catch the feels” (even that expression is so telling about the way emotions are viewed regarding relationships, as if they’re a cold or the flu or some kind of sickness you need to get over).

Having sex like a guy-- was that the standard for sex positive feminists? Denying who and what you were in order to affirm that male sexuality was always better-- was that what it meant to be empowered?