Dear Olivia,
You remain anonymous as a sex blogger. My question is, do you think hiding your face makes you complicit in slut-shaming? By playing along with and accommodating the social norms you seek to undermine, you actually reinforce them and undermine your own goals. Concretely, everyone sees you hiding. That sends a certain signal: it’s not safe. Continue hiding. Imagine if gay people followed this model. Everyone would still be in the closet.
Here’s a good example, a closet analogy: revealing clothing. Yes, it’s always ‘dangerous,’ in a very literal sense, to wear a short, low-cut dress out on a Friday night. But it shouldn’t be. And it doesn’t get any less dangerous until people—women—impose their will on the world and say “I’m wearing this and it’s going to be safe to wear this.”
I don’t blame you for being anonymous—everyone has his or her own risk threshold. I just think it’s a little unseemly to posture like you’re fighting some good fight when you’re just free-riding on the courage of others.
Hi, and thanks for your question.
I don’t think I’m complicit in slut shaming by remaining anonymous. Unfortunately my writing a sex column isn’t going to change the fact that I’m writing it in an environment that still is fairly hostile to the subject of sex. And as much as I would like to advocate for more sex positivity, I can’t afford to do it with my entire life, which would be the result of outing myself as the author of the column. Based on how people would react to it, I can’t afford to have this column become a public part of my private life. The fact is that a lot of people aren’t ready for it yet, at least not as a mainstream and acceptable side gig. I’m willing to shed the anonymity on a case by case basis–and in fact several of my friends know that I write this column–but not upfront to the entire internet.
That said, the issue you raise bothers me every day. It’s true that rights (gay rights, civil rights, women’s rights) aren’t always accepted as such, because certain powerful repressive people (namely, white men) stand to benefit by keeping things the way they are. In order to change the status quo, people often have to do something uncomfortable or even dangerous. Change doesn’t just happen.
But I reject the notion that unless you’re a front-line activist, putting everything on the line for what you believe in, you’re perpetuating what those activists are fighting against. You can make your own contribution to change, however small, without necessarily letting it define you and your life. The column itself is only a part of the way that I believe I’m contributing. But because it’s out there on the internet–a place where once you release information it becomes notoriously hard to control–it’s the part of what I do that’s most anonymous. But don’t forget that the column is based on a life that’s mine, which I don’t live anonymously, and with which I constantly push boundaries.
Your example of revealing clothing is a good one. I indeed refuse to let society dictate what I should wear and when, who I should sleep with and when, how I should behave, and why–and I impose my will on the world by doing what I want. My day-to-day life is an active–and, for all intents and purposes, public–struggle for and against the issues I write about. It’s only the venue in which I choose to discuss and share this information that is anonymous.
You draw a comparison with the struggle for gay rights, which does have a lot of parallels. But the difference is that while being gay is a major part of who you are, and hiding it can dramatically affect the quality and truthfulness of your life and identity, the same isn’t true for me and writing about sex. Being a sex columnist is important to me, yes, but it doesn’t define me and my struggle to be accepted for who I am; it’s a tiny fraction of who I am and what I do. Do I wish I could be entirely public? Of course. But it’s not realistic. And I don’t think that anonymity has as negative an impact as you say. I’d argue that writing a sex column, even anonymously, has a net positive impact, especially if you count the positive effects this column has for me personally. The question here, for me, isn’t one of whether to write the column anonymously vs. publicly, it’s one of whether to write it anonymously vs. not at all. Whatever negativity I might be perpetuating with my complicit hiding (although I don’t think that merely participating in a system necessarily means perpetuating it), I’m balancing it out by writing about things that matter, and making a difference for even just a few people. A number of readers have written to say the my articles have given then pause and made them re-evaluate they way they see things, which makes it all seem worth it.
If I came out publicly, the externalities for me (professionally, socially) could be extremely negative, while my positive impact as a sex columnist wouldn’t necessarily increase just because I had a face. It’s a pragmatic cost/benefit analysis that has led me to maintaining the situation as it is. If there were a way for me to make a living on this column, which would obviate the need for me to have a job that actually supports me, then who knows, maybe I would consider writing it as myself, and couching my life in terms of feminism and sex positivity, making that my professional focus. It is a subject that means a lot to me and that I feel very strongly about. Unfortunately, it’s neither a financially sustainable lifestyle for me, nor is writing about sex a passion great enough for me to dedicate my life to as an activist without it being a source of income. Ultimately, this column is just a hobby.
Thanks for your question!
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