Posts Tagged Naomi Wolf
In my last post, I spoke about desensitising the privacy of our most private parts so that we might be able to talk more openly about violations of them. You might therefore reason that I would welcome the recent celebrations of all things vag: labia cupcakes, hats and wedding gowns, vaginal earring sets, Naomi Wolf’s new one: Vagina: A New Biography.
So maybe I’ll surprise you when I say I don’t.
It’s not that I don’t appreciate anyone jumping into the fold (ha!) of bringing our sexuality out of the shadows, it’s just that it’s all so effortful, so self-conscious, so overdone. It’s all gone a bit vulgar.
To get biological, what separates us from animals is that we have developed a whole host of functions that make it so that our reproductive aims do not have to be the sole purpose of our existence. This has made the hunt and chase of sexual partners fun. Sexuality is a subtext, a whisper, a suggestion. It starts as an unspoken muddle of signals and body language and uncertainty, until you choose — and that’s the best part, the choosing — to make it explicit.
Because we are no longer apes, we don’t need to flash our engorged red bottoms in order to attract our mate. I feel the same about an over the top flashing of a representation of our labias.
To get ideological, I think we feminists have a lot better things to do with our time than all this labial gazing. I don’t care if you call it your yoni, your pussy, your cunt or your mini. Just call it something that means something to you and be good to it. Protect it: keep it healthy and practice some critical gatekeeping. And by all means, if ever someone is reckless with it, whether forcibly or clumsily, treat it like it were any other organ and say so, as loudly as you need to, until you are understood.
That said, to get sartorial, it is an organ. Like all organs, it’s fleshy and not necessarily ugly but by no means the stuff of stylistic depiction (why do you think that artists like Georgia O’Keefe opted for flowers?). I would no sooner go to a wedding wearing a likeness of my stomach or walk around with a small little nose pendant hanging off a necklace than I would swan about with an externalised fanny.
Further, these labial creations are too often made out of felt. Now, I don’t I have to tell you, but felt as a fabric is a real boner shrinker. It’s heavy, obstructive and the last time you probably used it, you were making a costume that involved Elmer’s glue.
And that readers, sums up my point. In a past post on hosiery, I spoke about the need for us to grow up. I fear that these vaginal creations and conversations are silly and ultimately demeaning. I’d rather pay my vagina some respect by demanding it myself.