I was replying to a question from the inimitable Kelly Diels on “Why do you blog?“, and wrote the following (feel free to read the whole thing — it amuses me — but the part relevant to the rest of this post is at the end, highlighted in bold):
I started blogging because I kept thinking “I want to see feminist writing about parenting a boy-child”, and made the mistake of saying that one day to my novelist friend who triple dog dared me to be the one to do it. So I registered a domain at blogspot.
Six months later, having published not-a-single-word, same writer friend started her own blog, and I thought damnit, if she can, I damn well can too. And I did.
After I started writing my own, I discovered other blogs, and realized mine was hardly a new idea. But by then I had a dozen readers, two dozen posts, and an addiction as bad as nicotine, and slightly less socially acceptable.
Now I blog because I’m a blogger: because I’ve always been a writer, and finally found a style that works for me. I blog for the same reason I did peer tutoring: I learn from teaching, and there’s so much I want to learn, and people keep telling me I’m good at passing it on. And I blog because I want a revolution, I’m adverse to guns, and toddlers aren’t great at protest marches (unless they’re protesting the lack of third bowls of ice cream or fourth green bananas).
And I blog because I am a feedback whore, and live for the new/pending comment emails. They are my crack, as I run this maze, and their erratic, unpredictable nature only serves to solidify my rat-brain’s addiction to trying, trying, trying again.
Plus, I get to meet unbefuckingleavably cool people like you. That’s a definite plus.
Setting aside the mixing of metaphors, I was uncomfortable after I wrote that. Something niggled at me; my crap-I-just-said-something-kyriarchal alarm bells were clanging like anything.
So I asked for opinions and feedback on Twitter (Twitter: 97% inanity, 3% damn good stuff), and a few wonderful people responded right away. Jenny (who guest posted here last week) replied:
I’ve never liked the jokey use of whore. Would need more characters to explain, but it rubs me wrong way. I don’t think prostitutes equal bad, not at all. But whore is a violent, woman-hating word in my book.
Which got me thinking about epithets, and whether or not, and when, to reclaim them, at which point it occurred to me “whore” is not my word to reclaim. I am not a sex worker; while “whore” is hurled as an insult at any woman who steps outside the (contradictory, confusing, and needless to say kyriarchal) lines drawn around “appropriate sexual behavior”, its power to wound is based entirely on it belonging to an even more marginalized group. As a woman, as a person with bipolar and anxiety, as a bisexual person, as a woman of size, there are a lot of epithets that I get to reclaim — bitch, cunt, crazy, fatty, Hot Bi Babe –, and sometimes do, but I am not a sex worker: “whore” is not mine.
I know some people have a problem with the concept of a word being “owned”, and especially with a word being off-limits to them. While this is primarily a position sprouting from the fertilizer of privilege — in that privilege carries, like shit carries tapeworm eggs, the assumption that everything one sees is one’s own for the gorging on — I know there are also legitimate concerns of thought policing, of freedom of speech and of artistic license. How can words be “owned” when words are thoughts, and thoughts are supposed to have freedom? The thing is some words, undesired, never on any must-buy list, have nevertheless been paid for, all too often in blood: a drop here, five liters there, a million times over and a million times again. Some words have been hurled at a people so many times, in anger and hate and casual, careless ease — along with physical violence or as its stand in, its threat — that we who come from those who have given them away have long since given up all right to their use, and those who have received them, like bullets, like knife points, like razor-tipped whips, have the only right to pull them from their bodies and use them — or not — as they choose for once.
This might not seem fair, and to be sure, it is not: it is not fair that at the cost of life, liberty, dignity, respect, and autonomy all one gets in return is the exclusive use — or not — of a word.
And the thing is, I don’t even know that “whore” is one of those words. I strongly suspect it is, but I am not up to date on sex worker activism; I do not read any sex worker blogs regularly; I have no idea what the community consensus — if there be any — is on that word. In the absence of knowing (which itself calls for rectification, and means I have some homework to do), in the presence of concerns, with knowing that the word is an epithet, is used against those who sell sex, and trades on their kyriarchically-low standing to shame and abuse others: why would I use it anyway? It costs me nothing but some minimal intellectual exercise to avoid, which at worst is unnecessary and at best is the bare minimum needed to avoid being an oppressive asshat: why should I not avoid it?
I think I reached for it there — think that it came so readily to mind as I was firing off a quick reply because I have seen it, heard it, used it so often — because it is “shocking”, because it implies going “so far” as to sell something that “shouldn’t be sold”. This use would be impossible in a society in which sex workers had basic respect, in which sex work were seen as just another service job. Its use here and now both requires and reifies the placement of sex workers as “low”, as “debased” and “immoral”. Since I endeavor whenever possible to avoid doing the kyriarchy’s work for it, but have the writerly desire for such a handy metaphor, I further asked for substitution suggestions. Can there be any metaphor for the concept of “this is how far I’d go!” in a non-hierarchical system? I mused. “Selling the soul” is out, since it is decidedly Christian-centric. What else is there?
Karin offered:
Yeah, not real hot on the use of “whore”. Hm… Thinking something about needy bird babies gaping for parents to feed them or flowers needed to be pollinated by visiting bees to bear fruit. Or service personnel needing visitors to tip them? Like: I do this for free but “tip” me by leaving comments or I’ll starve mentally (or emotionally?) Other idea: didn’t ancient Rome have forums where people gave lectures on town squares? They must have gotten some kind of tribute to eat? Pedagogues, prophets & philosophers?
I’m thinking of putting up some pillars around here, and draping myself in a toga; I quite fancy the idea of myself as an old-time orator in a modern arena. But it doesn’t quite have the connotations I was going for — which, since my word choice relied on debasement and this relies on bartering, may not be a bad thing. The bird image is fun, too. Will cheep for comments? It would certainly go with the Boychick theme. I’m not sure I want to imply my readers’/feeders’ offerings are regurgitation, however.
gudbuytjane suggested “sycophant”, saying “‘sycophant’ is a wonderful word that doesn’t get used nearly enough“, a point which I readily grant her. It brings to mind schoolyard expressions of brown noser, ass-kisser and the like (which may have their own problems), and certainly has the advantage of rolling of the tongue: sic-o-fant. “I am a feedback sycophant. Will yes-sir for pingbacks.” It could work.
And Kate of Rebel Raising (“never understood why selling my body to clean toilets is okay, but selling it for sex is not”) came up with another angle, when I tried out “I could waitress myself for comments”:
“waitress” is low-status and feminised. Can’t use that. “investment banker”?
Which got me thinking about oil corp CEOs, sweatshop owners, cigarette lobbyists: those professions who do, in fact, sell something that shouldn’t be sold, like people and health and the environment. A part of me is thrilled with this idea (I believe I called Kate a genius), for it has a definite appeal: use the highest tip of the hierarchy, which does, objectively, damage those below it (ie everyone) as the metaphor for that-which-no-one-wants-to-do-but-will-for-the-right-price. It flips the hierarchy over, is offensive only to those who can most afford to be offended (for they have all the protections and power and good will of the system already), rather than those who are already most oppressed.
And yet I hesitate. Perhaps because there are those who do those things, who trade in pollution and child labor and human lives, and it is not at all amusing or pleasing to cast myself as one of them. Perhaps because I can see someone saying it and actually meaning it, and the thought is horrific. But isn’t that the point? To name something a little horrifying, to evoke a titter at the thought of someone decent saying they would do that, and for something so little as a few comments on a free blog? So perhaps these are the perfect metaphors.
I’m still not sure, except that I am surely sorry I so casually, unthinkingly used “whore” in the original comment. I shall ruminate on what, if indeed anything, I shall replace it with. In the meantime, I beg you to leave a comment with your thoughts — because I would orate for hours, cheep adorably, call you brilliant, and lobby cigarettes for feedback.
“I am a feedback… investment banker?” On language, kyriarchy, and problematic metaphors
I was replying to a question from the inimitable Kelly Diels on “Why do you blog?“, and wrote the following (feel free to read the whole thing — it amuses me — but the part relevant to the rest of this post is at the end, highlighted in bold):
Setting aside the mixing of metaphors, I was uncomfortable after I wrote that. Something niggled at me; my crap-I-just-said-something-kyriarchal alarm bells were clanging like anything.
So I asked for opinions and feedback on Twitter (Twitter: 97% inanity, 3% damn good stuff), and a few wonderful people responded right away. Jenny (who guest posted here last week) replied:
Which got me thinking about epithets, and whether or not, and when, to reclaim them, at which point it occurred to me “whore” is not my word to reclaim. I am not a sex worker; while “whore” is hurled as an insult at any woman who steps outside the (contradictory, confusing, and needless to say kyriarchal) lines drawn around “appropriate sexual behavior”, its power to wound is based entirely on it belonging to an even more marginalized group. As a woman, as a person with bipolar and anxiety, as a bisexual person, as a woman of size, there are a lot of epithets that I get to reclaim — bitch, cunt, crazy, fatty, Hot Bi Babe –, and sometimes do, but I am not a sex worker: “whore” is not mine.
I know some people have a problem with the concept of a word being “owned”, and especially with a word being off-limits to them. While this is primarily a position sprouting from the fertilizer of privilege — in that privilege carries, like shit carries tapeworm eggs, the assumption that everything one sees is one’s own for the gorging on — I know there are also legitimate concerns of thought policing, of freedom of speech and of artistic license. How can words be “owned” when words are thoughts, and thoughts are supposed to have freedom? The thing is some words, undesired, never on any must-buy list, have nevertheless been paid for, all too often in blood: a drop here, five liters there, a million times over and a million times again. Some words have been hurled at a people so many times, in anger and hate and casual, careless ease — along with physical violence or as its stand in, its threat — that we who come from those who have given them away have long since given up all right to their use, and those who have received them, like bullets, like knife points, like razor-tipped whips, have the only right to pull them from their bodies and use them — or not — as they choose for once.
This might not seem fair, and to be sure, it is not: it is not fair that at the cost of life, liberty, dignity, respect, and autonomy all one gets in return is the exclusive use — or not — of a word.
And the thing is, I don’t even know that “whore” is one of those words. I strongly suspect it is, but I am not up to date on sex worker activism; I do not read any sex worker blogs regularly; I have no idea what the community consensus — if there be any — is on that word. In the absence of knowing (which itself calls for rectification, and means I have some homework to do), in the presence of concerns, with knowing that the word is an epithet, is used against those who sell sex, and trades on their kyriarchically-low standing to shame and abuse others: why would I use it anyway? It costs me nothing but some minimal intellectual exercise to avoid, which at worst is unnecessary and at best is the bare minimum needed to avoid being an oppressive asshat: why should I not avoid it?
I think I reached for it there — think that it came so readily to mind as I was firing off a quick reply because I have seen it, heard it, used it so often — because it is “shocking”, because it implies going “so far” as to sell something that “shouldn’t be sold”. This use would be impossible in a society in which sex workers had basic respect, in which sex work were seen as just another service job. Its use here and now both requires and reifies the placement of sex workers as “low”, as “debased” and “immoral”. Since I endeavor whenever possible to avoid doing the kyriarchy’s work for it, but have the writerly desire for such a handy metaphor, I further asked for substitution suggestions. Can there be any metaphor for the concept of “this is how far I’d go!” in a non-hierarchical system? I mused. “Selling the soul” is out, since it is decidedly Christian-centric. What else is there?
Karin offered:
I’m thinking of putting up some pillars around here, and draping myself in a toga; I quite fancy the idea of myself as an old-time orator in a modern arena. But it doesn’t quite have the connotations I was going for — which, since my word choice relied on debasement and this relies on bartering, may not be a bad thing. The bird image is fun, too. Will cheep for comments? It would certainly go with the Boychick theme. I’m not sure I want to imply my readers’/feeders’ offerings are regurgitation, however.
gudbuytjane suggested “sycophant”, saying “‘sycophant’ is a wonderful word that doesn’t get used nearly enough“, a point which I readily grant her. It brings to mind schoolyard expressions of brown noser, ass-kisser and the like (which may have their own problems), and certainly has the advantage of rolling of the tongue: sic-o-fant. “I am a feedback sycophant. Will yes-sir for pingbacks.” It could work.
And Kate of Rebel Raising (“never understood why selling my body to clean toilets is okay, but selling it for sex is not”) came up with another angle, when I tried out “I could waitress myself for comments”:
Which got me thinking about oil corp CEOs, sweatshop owners, cigarette lobbyists: those professions who do, in fact, sell something that shouldn’t be sold, like people and health and the environment. A part of me is thrilled with this idea (I believe I called Kate a genius), for it has a definite appeal: use the highest tip of the hierarchy, which does, objectively, damage those below it (ie everyone) as the metaphor for that-which-no-one-wants-to-do-but-will-for-the-right-price. It flips the hierarchy over, is offensive only to those who can most afford to be offended (for they have all the protections and power and good will of the system already), rather than those who are already most oppressed.
And yet I hesitate. Perhaps because there are those who do those things, who trade in pollution and child labor and human lives, and it is not at all amusing or pleasing to cast myself as one of them. Perhaps because I can see someone saying it and actually meaning it, and the thought is horrific. But isn’t that the point? To name something a little horrifying, to evoke a titter at the thought of someone decent saying they would do that, and for something so little as a few comments on a free blog? So perhaps these are the perfect metaphors.
I’m still not sure, except that I am surely sorry I so casually, unthinkingly used “whore” in the original comment. I shall ruminate on what, if indeed anything, I shall replace it with. In the meantime, I beg you to leave a comment with your thoughts — because I would orate for hours, cheep adorably, call you brilliant, and lobby cigarettes for feedback.