Who has the authority to tell an individual what has been deemed 'appropriate' for his viewing? Is there a set group that should or should not monitor what is obscene? The debate of censorship, of free-speech, and of pornography has raged on with little progress to show for either end. Leading the attack against porn, specifically, has emerged two unusual bedfellows. These two forces have fought the same enemy, with their own particular arsenals of weaponry, and stemming from completely unique vendettas. But both groups have been mixed together in the flurry of their anti-pornograhic arguments; so is this necessarily a bad thing? Is there actually a mixed message in their initial sole message of banning pornography? In challenging the same nemesis, are these two parties even fighting on the same grounds, for the same goal?
Meet Reverend Jerry Falwell; he probably hates you, if you are any of the following: homosexual, alcoholic, divorcing, non-christian, promiscuous, Mohammad, a public school, a purple-and-triangle wearing child's t.v. star (think TeleTubies), bi-curious, or a feminist. A man quoted as saying "If you're not a born-again Christian, you're a failure as a human being" and "AIDS is not just God's punishment for homosexuals; it is God's punishment for the society that tolerates homosexuals", Falwell holds himself as an example of the Christian Right in its prime. On his agenda, taking down the pornographic empire ranks pretty high. The battle against obscenity and porn hit a personal chord with the reverend in 1982.
As editor of the nationally distributed magazine Hustler , Larry Flynt has never shied away from controversy. Starting his career off as the manager of multiple strip clubs, Flynt then moved on to bigger and better accomplishments with the first edition of his explicit magazine in 1974. Featured in every issue amongst shots of female genitalia and torture scenes, were his infamous satirical cartoons, which alternately portrayed gang bang rapes, abortions gone wrong, racism, incest, and sexual abuse: both towards adult women and minors alike, in a comical light. Apparently Flynt took things too far in one issue of his magazine, publishing a satyrical ad for an alcoholic beverage with Falwell's supposed stamp of approval. The advertisment that later took Flynt to court for 45 million dollars featured the reverend reminiscing over his first time while under the influence.
With his mother.
In an outhouse.
"Mom looked better than a Baptist whore with a $100 donation," boasted the caption under his smiling face. In the end, Flynt won out on the grounds that as an American, the First Amendment covered his rights to free speech.
Since then, Falwell and the Christian fundamentalists have continued to make no secret of their attitudes toward pornography. So what exactly does the Christian Right have against the matter? The moralists have admitted their opposition to any form of pre-or-extramarital sex; what this means is, sex is only for a husband and wife (take note this would mean a man and woman couple) to enjoy with one another. Pornography is wrong then, in the sense that watching it mean sinning against your current or would-be spouse. Pornography, the depiction of sex acts between individuals that aren't married, promotes lust, which is immoral. What is so wrong with porn, then, is that "unnecessary" arousal is wrong.
What strikes me as so nonproductive about this party is their equal disposition towards sexual education in schools. Over one-third of the schools in our country teach abstinence-only; but what does this really teach children? Telling students watching a porno can blind them, or that condoms cause cancer isn't a healthy approach to this. Maybe, instead of closing their eyes to the rise of unwanted pregnancy, and the fact "teens are having often unsatisfying and unsafe sex" (Feminism is For Everybody, Bell Hooks) the fundamentalists should focus more on a proper education for their children. Pretending pornography and sex don't exist while clutching a cross and screaming, "Stay away from my children!" isn't working out too well. Teaching students about STDs, and the existence of pornography, child prostitution, and rape could be an eye-opening and persuasive argument in favor of fidelity. Ignoring these real life situations, however, is not just counterproductive, but close-minded and ignorant. And the masses are starting to see this. "Proponents of pornography, not surprisingly, find it easy to defang these brands of opposition through mockery and exaggeration" (Pornified, Pamela Paul).
What Christian fundamentalists like Jerry Falwell need to consider is how the country is changing. In their attacks against pornography, little has actually been accomplished. "More and more legislators and judges have approached obscenity as a First Amendment freedom-of-expression issue rather than a moral issue to be resolved by society" (Pornography on Trial, Thomas C. Mackey).
Now on the other side of the pornography equation, we've got the anti-porn feminists. How do these two groups differ? Well, first of all, there are two views on pornography (for now, we're putting aside the pro-sex feminist p.o.v., that's for a completely different essay altogether) that a feminist can hold. Liberal feminists, although oftentimes overlooked in the Porn Wars, are seen as the most realistic. The torn, middle-ground sister to its more radical counterparts (pro-sex and anti-porn feminism), liberal feminists have backed away from the spotlight; personally uncomfortable with porn, these feminists "tend to be intimidated into silence" (Wendy McElroy). But perhaps a more correct term for this group could simply be "anti-censorship" feminists. "Liberal feminist share the general liberal bias toward free speech, but they are in flux on pornography" pro-porn feminist Wendy McElroy explains in her 'A Feminist Overview of Pornography' essay. She continues, "Many liberal feminists commonly reason as follows: 'as a woman I am appalled by Playboy... but as a writer I understand the need for free expression.'" Good point. This does not necessarily mean these women will go out to a strip club and bask in the lap dances; at the same time, they don't deny that censorship could very easily backfire. The very "victims" of pornography that we are trying to save would, in the end, find an equally appalling fate by means of repression.
I will address some of the various outcomes of censorship on feminism a little later on.
The more radical side to the feminist spectrum opposing pornography, the anti-porn feminists, adopted the outspoken Andrea Dworkin as their poster girl early on. As summarized by McElroy, the body of the anti-porn argument lies in that pornography degrades women, the viewing of such materials can lead to violence against women, the material itself is violent against woman as they are "phsyically coerced... and {those} involved in the production of pornography are so psychologically damaged by patriarchy that they are incapable of giving... 'real' consent." Whether or not all these arguments can withstand an examination or not isn't the focus of this particular issue. More on that will be mentioned in an upcoming essay.
One could say the primary reasoning behind the anti-porn movement could be summed up in one simple sentence: "Porn is the theory, rape is the practice." One of the more famous anti-porn feminists, Gloria Steinem, has said of pornography, "It is sex being used to reinforce some inequality or to create one, or to tell us that pain and humiliation are really the same as please." However, feminists aren't exactly opposed to sex in its entirety. Herein lies one of the major differences between the christian moralists and the feminists; where fundamentalists disapprove of sex before marriage, or experimentation even in the marital bed (as all these are violations of God's law), feminists only disapprove of sex in the context that is damaging to women. There is no mention of sexual arousal being wrong. Pornography scholar Diana Russell has said, "This isn't about being against arousal, it's arousal to degrading material that is so destructive." This in turn leads us to the loophole for the feminist libido: erotica.
Yes, erotica is allowed to turn a feminist on. And no, erotica is not the same thing as porn. Gloria Steinem comes to the defense of viewing this material. As the root word of erotica is eros, the passionate love or yearning for another person, Steinem describes the contents to be 'a mutually pleasurable, sexual expression between people who have enough power to be there by positive choice." The terms 'pornography' and 'erotica' are often mixed together, but the difference in their underlying messages means everything. Feminism was meant to embrace women's endeavors, and set them on a level playing field with men in all things economic, political, and social. From that foundation, one can easily say feminism is all for sexual freedom, which in fact has played a major role in the third-wave. None of the ladies want you to repress your sexual desires, but they don't want you to get hurt in the process either; and pleasuring someone with very little done in return is not liberating, or empowering, in any sense. Feminism sees arousal as a healthy thing, and embraces this. The fact of the matter is, for some women, the viewing of pornography isn't even all that arousing. "Playboy, with its airbrushing and fakeness, it 'deeply boring'; the women are made to look like dolls rather than people. Magazines like Maxim are vulgar. 'Women with abs of steel, gorgeous faces, and big round perfect breasts are presented with these lewd schoolboyish headlines' " (Pornified, Pamela Paul). Erotica can also be differentiated from pornos in the higher quality of production, the more developed story line, the credible characters, and bodies and attitudes that more accurately portray the way real women look.
Another alternative to porn is the experimentation with sex toys. "In contrast to the pornography industry, which is still," as Pamela Paul claims in Pornified, "largely controlled by men and primarily serves men, the sex-toy industry is dominated by women and caters to female consumers."
Alright, so once again: Jerry Falwell disagrees with viewing of porn on the philosophy that it is immoral and "wrong" and Gloria Steinem disagrees with viewing of porn, but encourages stimulation and arousal in ways less destructive to both the women being portrayed in the content and in general. Are there any other reasons why the Christian fundamentalists and anti-porn (and liberal) feminists should be given their respective space?
Yes.
What it comes down to is, feminists and Jerry Falwellinian-types are nothing alike; it is in fact damaging to the feminist's case to be grouped as such. Because Jerry Falwell, quite frankly, hates feminists. "I listen to feminists and all these radical gals... These women feminists just need a man in the house. That's all they need. Most of the feminists need a man to tell them what time of day is it and to lead them home. And they blew it and they're mad at all men. Feminists hate men. They're sexist. They hate men; that's their problem." Well, that's one way to look at it, Reverend.
While feminism only wants the best for its girls, as a spokesman of the Christian moralists-fundamentalists, Jerry Falwell does a pretty damn good job at swaying one to believe his particular religious party hates women; or at least those who speak out, as opposed to work under their "man"s rule. And really, that's what I, as a feminist, work to accomplish. Fuck your idea of my house needing a man, sir. My boyfriend has more trouble reading the time than me (I've passed the first grade, Reverend, does this make me any less of a "woman"?).
Now I direct my attention to the feminists: never forget censorship is a dangerous thing. Wendy McElroy makes a valid point: "inevitably, censorship will be used against the least popular views, against the weakest members of society... including feminists and lesbians." This means our treasured First Amendment wouldn't save our political beliefs from banishment. And this means you wouldn't be reading these words.
Censorship, when taken too far, can lead to the demise of feminism and any little girl or grown woman who dares to say "no". In attempting to protect women, anti-porn feminists must always take care not to let their self-righteous crusade get the best of them; all the work could easily go awry and backfire. Then, after working so hard to protect other women, no one will be around to protect your feminist views, or you for that matter. And no one should have the authority to undermine an individual's attempts to better their surroundings.
© 2007 Lucia Doyle
I started working on this brat-essay around 4 this afternoon (I've been researching since that time the day before) and I published it five minutes ago, making it around 2 in the morning. So.. love it?
Showing posts with label critique. Show all posts
Showing posts with label critique. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Thursday, April 5, 2007
put me down, punk
Put Me Down, You Punk
When I first began dating my current boyfriend, he came with the disclaimer that it was his way to try his hardest to abide by chivalry. The entire, ‘Damsel in dainty distress’ never really suited me. Maybe it would’ve been fair of me to come prepackaged with a side note in my instructions stating in my angriest, punk-rockiest capitals: I DID NOT COME DISTRESSED, DON’T MAKE ME BE. What’s more, knights in shinning armor aren’t about to come rescue me; not because they all died out, but because they didn’t want to deal with me/the situation when this lady is “distressed”.
Maybe a better way to start off would be with my own disclaimer: chivalry can truly shove it.
According to my friends, this is foolish. Bashing a code of ethics set hundreds of years ago with the “sole intention” of sending a man off to strive towards virtuousness, and the utmost respect of women-- shouldn’t I embrace this golden period for feminism with open arms? No, not exactly. First of all, who said there were only two ways to treat a woman? A man can put on his white trashiest accent and start smacking me... or a man can adorn that shining armor he keeps next to that business suit in his closet, and whisk me away from the fire breathing dragon. Well, I don’t see any dragons around here I can’t handle, and abusing me won’t win me over either.
When I brought up my opposition to the pedestal chivalry wanted to set me up upon, I was shot down immediately. If I cared about women’s rights ever so much, why wouldn’t I want the gals treated well? This logic, I’m afraid, is oversimplfiying the situation/our basic rights as humans; because I don’t feel comfortable being hoisted above all on this ancient pedestal designated for women to sit their pretty behinds on, I’d much rather a man lower me to substandard levels. Well, Mr. Man, what if I’m afraid of heights? Maybe this pedestal of yours is just a little too high. Put me down, you punk.
Is Ani Difranco honestly the only one who understands? In a world of kittens in trees and dainty damsels, what would happen if we let all our shiny knights in on the secret feminists have known for the past fifty years? “Don't you think every kitten figures out how to get down/ whether or not you ever show up.” What’s more, “what if there are no damsels in distress”? This would upset the fabric of chivalry and the “good guys” everywhere: women (and kittens, apparently) aren’t waiting on you to get them. Am I “unfeminist” for refusing to wait? It’s not like me to get into a tree I know I can’t get out of, anyway.
Secondly, respect does not constitute as equality. In fact, putting a woman any higher or lower than the onlooker doesn’t strike me as equal at all; I’d much rather look you in the eye. Equality cannot be gained through women being trodden on, nor can it be gained by keeping our heads in the clouds, where it’s [been deemed] “safe”. I want in on all the action men have seen, good or bad. Maybe I don’t know “what I’m getting into”, but I think it’s up to the individual to truly decide what can be handled by said individual.
A great misconception I’ve seen through interviews and everyday encounters alike is the exact meaning of “equality”. Respect is a building block to our feminist goal, but we can’t stop there.
Gauri is a sweet natured, soft-spoken young lady, in all meanings of the word; a personal acquaintance of mine for five years now, she’s always held herself in a graceful, always respectful manner. She was just recently accepted into Columbia University. When asked of her Indian heritage, she immediately divulged into details of the severe respect and upheld traditions in the Asian home. During the hour long interview, she brought up an abridged version of middle-eastern and asian views of women in the home. “The woman is the most sacred part of the family. And,” she added after a thoughtful pause, “the family should do all they can to protect her.” From our discussion, two things were made clear.
Women are to be treated like gems; they are the center of the family, and whilst the father is typically seen as the head of the household, it’s the mother that must never be spoken back to, or abused in any way. Whatsoever. She is to be protected and cherished.
And pertaining to this point, any woman in general must be respected. Protected from society, and severely respected in her home.
“Would you consider it equality?”
After a pause, Gauri struggled to answer answer; “I wouldn’t consider [the treatment] equality... even though it’s severe respect.” This is not a bad thing, but again, we’re left with that gap.
Really, thank you sir noble knight, for going out of your way to protect me. Compared to other things a man could do to me, that’s really quite sweet. Now, we’ve all been told feminism has reached a stalemate, we’re equal now. So what’s left for a feminist to complain about? The funny thing with this situation is, well, would that nice man who walked you to your door because (although you’ve been living just fine up to this point) your neighborhood isn’t “safe” enough for a lovely lady such as yourself-- would he have walked his close guy friend to the door, then waited expectantly by the door as you went in without turning around [to meet his lips]?
The idea of chivalry is nice; and yes, I would not mind someone “watching my back” every once in awhile, but my girlfriends can do that for me too. And I don’t need a stranger showing me his kindness because he noticed I lack the bulge in his pants.
Respect is not equality, and I for one refuse to settle. Don’t you dare put me up on that pedestal, I just want to carry on a conversation with you at the bar after a long day at work. Eye-to-eye. Nothing higher, nothing lower. Hold the door for me if you wish; only if you would do it for that gruff man on the other side of the bar, or if you truly were listening to our conversation and enjoyed me. But don’t, pretty-please, rush to my dainty aid from across the street when I can step over the puddle just fine, with or without your jacket to trample upon. I don’t need it. Just because I was born with a clit does not entitle you to do everything for me; in fact, I’m pretty well off on my own.
As a young girl-- as a woman-- I refuse to leap into any man’s arms who totes a sword and a white horse. If anything, I might just keep a distance from this creep; I’ve got my own car, I don’t need to ride your stallion anytime soon. If you catch me in a tree, you should probably come right up with me; because if I’m truly that high up, there’s something down there I don’t want near me. Come to think of it, maybe it’s that sword-and-pony guy from before.
Speaking of knights in full-out chivalry mode, let’s take a closer look at the “damsel in distress” ideal. The definition for a damsel is a “young maiden or girl”. Well, what about that raving middle-aged woman in distress? Mid-life crisis can be a bitch too, you know.
(to be continued... because I lost my train of thought)
© 2007 Lucia Doyle
When I first began dating my current boyfriend, he came with the disclaimer that it was his way to try his hardest to abide by chivalry. The entire, ‘Damsel in dainty distress’ never really suited me. Maybe it would’ve been fair of me to come prepackaged with a side note in my instructions stating in my angriest, punk-rockiest capitals: I DID NOT COME DISTRESSED, DON’T MAKE ME BE. What’s more, knights in shinning armor aren’t about to come rescue me; not because they all died out, but because they didn’t want to deal with me/the situation when this lady is “distressed”.
Maybe a better way to start off would be with my own disclaimer: chivalry can truly shove it.
According to my friends, this is foolish. Bashing a code of ethics set hundreds of years ago with the “sole intention” of sending a man off to strive towards virtuousness, and the utmost respect of women-- shouldn’t I embrace this golden period for feminism with open arms? No, not exactly. First of all, who said there were only two ways to treat a woman? A man can put on his white trashiest accent and start smacking me... or a man can adorn that shining armor he keeps next to that business suit in his closet, and whisk me away from the fire breathing dragon. Well, I don’t see any dragons around here I can’t handle, and abusing me won’t win me over either.
When I brought up my opposition to the pedestal chivalry wanted to set me up upon, I was shot down immediately. If I cared about women’s rights ever so much, why wouldn’t I want the gals treated well? This logic, I’m afraid, is oversimplfiying the situation/our basic rights as humans; because I don’t feel comfortable being hoisted above all on this ancient pedestal designated for women to sit their pretty behinds on, I’d much rather a man lower me to substandard levels. Well, Mr. Man, what if I’m afraid of heights? Maybe this pedestal of yours is just a little too high. Put me down, you punk.
Is Ani Difranco honestly the only one who understands? In a world of kittens in trees and dainty damsels, what would happen if we let all our shiny knights in on the secret feminists have known for the past fifty years? “Don't you think every kitten figures out how to get down/ whether or not you ever show up.” What’s more, “what if there are no damsels in distress”? This would upset the fabric of chivalry and the “good guys” everywhere: women (and kittens, apparently) aren’t waiting on you to get them. Am I “unfeminist” for refusing to wait? It’s not like me to get into a tree I know I can’t get out of, anyway.
Secondly, respect does not constitute as equality. In fact, putting a woman any higher or lower than the onlooker doesn’t strike me as equal at all; I’d much rather look you in the eye. Equality cannot be gained through women being trodden on, nor can it be gained by keeping our heads in the clouds, where it’s [been deemed] “safe”. I want in on all the action men have seen, good or bad. Maybe I don’t know “what I’m getting into”, but I think it’s up to the individual to truly decide what can be handled by said individual.
A great misconception I’ve seen through interviews and everyday encounters alike is the exact meaning of “equality”. Respect is a building block to our feminist goal, but we can’t stop there.
Gauri is a sweet natured, soft-spoken young lady, in all meanings of the word; a personal acquaintance of mine for five years now, she’s always held herself in a graceful, always respectful manner. She was just recently accepted into Columbia University. When asked of her Indian heritage, she immediately divulged into details of the severe respect and upheld traditions in the Asian home. During the hour long interview, she brought up an abridged version of middle-eastern and asian views of women in the home. “The woman is the most sacred part of the family. And,” she added after a thoughtful pause, “the family should do all they can to protect her.” From our discussion, two things were made clear.
Women are to be treated like gems; they are the center of the family, and whilst the father is typically seen as the head of the household, it’s the mother that must never be spoken back to, or abused in any way. Whatsoever. She is to be protected and cherished.
And pertaining to this point, any woman in general must be respected. Protected from society, and severely respected in her home.
“Would you consider it equality?”
After a pause, Gauri struggled to answer answer; “I wouldn’t consider [the treatment] equality... even though it’s severe respect.” This is not a bad thing, but again, we’re left with that gap.
Really, thank you sir noble knight, for going out of your way to protect me. Compared to other things a man could do to me, that’s really quite sweet. Now, we’ve all been told feminism has reached a stalemate, we’re equal now. So what’s left for a feminist to complain about? The funny thing with this situation is, well, would that nice man who walked you to your door because (although you’ve been living just fine up to this point) your neighborhood isn’t “safe” enough for a lovely lady such as yourself-- would he have walked his close guy friend to the door, then waited expectantly by the door as you went in without turning around [to meet his lips]?
The idea of chivalry is nice; and yes, I would not mind someone “watching my back” every once in awhile, but my girlfriends can do that for me too. And I don’t need a stranger showing me his kindness because he noticed I lack the bulge in his pants.
Respect is not equality, and I for one refuse to settle. Don’t you dare put me up on that pedestal, I just want to carry on a conversation with you at the bar after a long day at work. Eye-to-eye. Nothing higher, nothing lower. Hold the door for me if you wish; only if you would do it for that gruff man on the other side of the bar, or if you truly were listening to our conversation and enjoyed me. But don’t, pretty-please, rush to my dainty aid from across the street when I can step over the puddle just fine, with or without your jacket to trample upon. I don’t need it. Just because I was born with a clit does not entitle you to do everything for me; in fact, I’m pretty well off on my own.
As a young girl-- as a woman-- I refuse to leap into any man’s arms who totes a sword and a white horse. If anything, I might just keep a distance from this creep; I’ve got my own car, I don’t need to ride your stallion anytime soon. If you catch me in a tree, you should probably come right up with me; because if I’m truly that high up, there’s something down there I don’t want near me. Come to think of it, maybe it’s that sword-and-pony guy from before.
Speaking of knights in full-out chivalry mode, let’s take a closer look at the “damsel in distress” ideal. The definition for a damsel is a “young maiden or girl”. Well, what about that raving middle-aged woman in distress? Mid-life crisis can be a bitch too, you know.
(to be continued... because I lost my train of thought)
© 2007 Lucia Doyle
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Guys Gone "wild" ((dirrty))
“Dude, Where’s My Pants?” is filled with some of the downright sexiest studs we’ve ever seen on Spring Break. From naked second story jumps into hotel pools, to pizza deliveries in the buff, guys don’t get any sexier than this.” No bra-burning way.
Oh my, ladies, could it be there is some fantastic place filled to the testestrone brim we haven’t heard of? With staked, baseball-capped “studs” full of cheap beer and wielding four inch weapons of sexy destruction deep in their swim trunks? Really all we need to witness this cock-rock show is a camera, our most encouraging baby talk, and a few of our sexiest girlfriends? This is just too great, slow down a minute there.
Toting names like ‘Hunt Hotel’ and ‘Guys Gone Wild: American Jock’, of course multi-dimensional ladies with any self-respect would take this gift to woman-kind graciously. Holding the claim we’ll never find guys sexier than those willing to masturbate for another baseball hat to add to the collection, how could we turn this down? No, first the male-dominated industry of sex gets it wrong with Elexa, the condom geared to every chick-flick lovin’, ice-cream-when-our-man-leaves-us munchin’ typical woman’s needs; (an overly sentimental product that holds our manicured hands as we cross into big, bad sex.) And now they want us to watch the only representation of our fantasies played out onscreen: the “American Jock” drunk off his ass. Funny, after all those cat-calls on the street I imagined he’d be a little bigger than what we’re finally offered.
No wait, I’m not being fair. You can’t judge a porn by its cover, right? You can witness thirty second clips of all the action off their website, maybe you should check that out first. “That’s huge... can you put it around your arm-- can you make it a watch?” entices the overtly over-sexed girl behind the camera. Three-inch drunk frat king giggles, proud of himself, and tries her suggestion. Reality hits him.
“No, I can’t do that.” The boy’s got a point.
“Yeahh, you did!” encourages an equally drunk girl from somewhere in the distance. And we endure another twenty-nine seconds of hopeless encouragement.
The young man on screen is a heavily tanned, rather stacked specimen; his face turns, to my personal amazement, even more tan under his backwards hat as he works with what he’s got. The clip goes on longer than it should’ve really, and with nothing better to do with myself, I focus my attention on the sole tattoo on his chest. All the “Guys” have some tattoo or other and several beach tags on each wrist.
One clip features another tattooed badass lying back, eyes closed to the buzzing room. When he finally ejaculates, the side conversations in the hotel room have already come to a climax of their own. A girl takes a break from her friends to pay attention to him. “Your body is really hot,” she tries. “Wow” (surprising herself) “it’s growing!” Now his penis has gained another quarter inch and the camera crew is pleased, as they adorn him with more compliments.
“Guys don’t get any sexier than this.” Says who? These American Jocks, “Bad to the Bone”, adorning hats and tats, is this as good as our libidos will ever get?
Apparently the average viewer agrees. Every male reviewer from amazon.com-- who, as it just so happens to be, is the only viewer, gave one tape just two and a half out of five stars. While Girls Gone Wild: the better known, and apparently critically acclaimed counterpart to the GW franchise, gained four stars on the same ratings system for the ‘Best of Blondes” tape.
So, who, then, is supposed to bite this buffed-out bait?
“Based on the reactions I’ve gotten, college-age girls, maybe older,” Bill Horn of Mantra Entertainment (creator of the GW empire) explains. “I think it’s going to be a big gag gift, bachelorette kind of gift.” Now I get it: women-friendly porn, geared towards the softer sex, is actually supposed to be quite funny. Is this what the female libido is, a joke?
Well, ha...ha.
If you want to watch some good female-gear porn: American jerks jumping out of buildings into pools naked, delivering your pizza naked, or just plain masturbating in front of an entire camera crew naked, ignore anything I just said. In your case, “Guys Gone Wild” could be just what you needed. What’s $19.99, anyway? In my opinion, you might as well save yourself the money; after all, how much masterminding did it take to pool together enough cash for a six-pack, and ditribute it to boys with six-packs? Ingenious. The product really does just sell itself.
_March 1, 2007 © 2007 Lucia Doyle
Oh my, ladies, could it be there is some fantastic place filled to the testestrone brim we haven’t heard of? With staked, baseball-capped “studs” full of cheap beer and wielding four inch weapons of sexy destruction deep in their swim trunks? Really all we need to witness this cock-rock show is a camera, our most encouraging baby talk, and a few of our sexiest girlfriends? This is just too great, slow down a minute there.
Toting names like ‘Hunt Hotel’ and ‘Guys Gone Wild: American Jock’, of course multi-dimensional ladies with any self-respect would take this gift to woman-kind graciously. Holding the claim we’ll never find guys sexier than those willing to masturbate for another baseball hat to add to the collection, how could we turn this down? No, first the male-dominated industry of sex gets it wrong with Elexa, the condom geared to every chick-flick lovin’, ice-cream-when-our-man-leaves-us munchin’ typical woman’s needs; (an overly sentimental product that holds our manicured hands as we cross into big, bad sex.) And now they want us to watch the only representation of our fantasies played out onscreen: the “American Jock” drunk off his ass. Funny, after all those cat-calls on the street I imagined he’d be a little bigger than what we’re finally offered.
No wait, I’m not being fair. You can’t judge a porn by its cover, right? You can witness thirty second clips of all the action off their website, maybe you should check that out first. “That’s huge... can you put it around your arm-- can you make it a watch?” entices the overtly over-sexed girl behind the camera. Three-inch drunk frat king giggles, proud of himself, and tries her suggestion. Reality hits him.
“No, I can’t do that.” The boy’s got a point.
“Yeahh, you did!” encourages an equally drunk girl from somewhere in the distance. And we endure another twenty-nine seconds of hopeless encouragement.
The young man on screen is a heavily tanned, rather stacked specimen; his face turns, to my personal amazement, even more tan under his backwards hat as he works with what he’s got. The clip goes on longer than it should’ve really, and with nothing better to do with myself, I focus my attention on the sole tattoo on his chest. All the “Guys” have some tattoo or other and several beach tags on each wrist.
One clip features another tattooed badass lying back, eyes closed to the buzzing room. When he finally ejaculates, the side conversations in the hotel room have already come to a climax of their own. A girl takes a break from her friends to pay attention to him. “Your body is really hot,” she tries. “Wow” (surprising herself) “it’s growing!” Now his penis has gained another quarter inch and the camera crew is pleased, as they adorn him with more compliments.
“Guys don’t get any sexier than this.” Says who? These American Jocks, “Bad to the Bone”, adorning hats and tats, is this as good as our libidos will ever get?
Apparently the average viewer agrees. Every male reviewer from amazon.com-- who, as it just so happens to be, is the only viewer, gave one tape just two and a half out of five stars. While Girls Gone Wild: the better known, and apparently critically acclaimed counterpart to the GW franchise, gained four stars on the same ratings system for the ‘Best of Blondes” tape.
So, who, then, is supposed to bite this buffed-out bait?
“Based on the reactions I’ve gotten, college-age girls, maybe older,” Bill Horn of Mantra Entertainment (creator of the GW empire) explains. “I think it’s going to be a big gag gift, bachelorette kind of gift.” Now I get it: women-friendly porn, geared towards the softer sex, is actually supposed to be quite funny. Is this what the female libido is, a joke?
Well, ha...ha.
If you want to watch some good female-gear porn: American jerks jumping out of buildings into pools naked, delivering your pizza naked, or just plain masturbating in front of an entire camera crew naked, ignore anything I just said. In your case, “Guys Gone Wild” could be just what you needed. What’s $19.99, anyway? In my opinion, you might as well save yourself the money; after all, how much masterminding did it take to pool together enough cash for a six-pack, and ditribute it to boys with six-packs? Ingenious. The product really does just sell itself.
_March 1, 2007 © 2007 Lucia Doyle
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