My job is not an invitation!

My short skirt is not an invitation!

Many of you will recognize this quote from Eve Ensler's The Vagina Monologues and will think about what it means to live in a culture where rape or sexual harassment is thought to happen simply "because" of a woman's attire, behavior, location, or state of sobriety. Some of you will also recognize that, violent harassment aside, a woman's attire, her stride, her smile, her mere presence still invokes "harmless" (*read this and this*) attention from the (usually) males who encounter her - attention in the form of sideways glances, cat calls and gropes. Most frightening is that we live in a society where getting cat-called on the street, or groped in a bar is supposed to be taken as "flattery". I don't know about you, but I'm not flattered. I also know that this supposed "flattery" is really a cover up of a bigger social narrative about the value women hold in society.

Now let's be clear: I love a compliment as much of the next person. I even enjoy when a compliment is geared towards my looks and/or sexual appeal - if, that is, it is carefully crafted, and uttered within an appropriate context, and I can confidently surmise that my appearance aside, the person uttering the compliment isn't blind to the fact that I have other desirable attributes and traits as well that aren't physical, or even tangible in nature. But stepping outside those (what should be common sense) boundaries, sets you up for trouble. Outside the safety zone of flirtation, consensual desire and honest respectful, attraction, those "compliments" are simply a means to reduce women to what some consider women's most essential bits - their body, their sexuality. These catcalls and gropes speak nothing to a person's actual feelings towards their target, but do speak volumes about feelings towards women in general; namely, that they don't merit being treated with respect, their body is solely for sexual pleasure. Let's be honest, a cat call is really a perpetrator yelling, "I have a right to touch, whistle, or call out to you. I, effectively, own you."

The heart of this narrative centers around the belief that women were created to satisfy men's baser urges. I'm not saying all men think this way or all men grope, catcall or harass. Far from it. I simply am reminded that my sexuality is not my own whenever I..well, whenever I go out in public. But, this post, believe it or not, isn't about societal misogyny or patriarchy. This post is about sexuality. Female sexuality, in particular (though you will notice the theme of misogyny still runs through it as it's impossible to talk about sexuality and sexual ownership without acknowledging those parameters.) This post is about Female sexuality that has become over exposed due to those very parameters and seemingly too overwhelming for some to comprehend as a result. This post is meta-sexuality! It's female sexuality inception! That's right folks, this is about a sexual female who is a sexuality researcher who studies female sexuality (mind explodes). I can tell you are excited, but are unsure what this has to do with short skirts and inappropriate comments from the opposite sex....

Allow me: It turns out that the ideology of women's sexuality as her most important attribute, isn't contained to the usual public places (streets, bars, clubs), nor is it accessed or abused solely dependent on what women are wearing, saying, drinking, or doing. As it turns out, a woman's own scholarly interests, her deeply banal career aspirations, are fair game to be used for exploitation as well. Fancy that!

I recently attended a sexuality conference (no surprise there - I study sexuality - I swear I wasn't out of place), and despite being in an academic setting, surrounded by peers in my field, PhD's in hand, clinical therapist designations as far as the eye could see, there were still attendees who thought that my academic interests were an invitation.

An invitation to ask about my sexual interests (outside of the office), an invitation to smile at me a little too long, an invitation to stick their hands in the pocket of their pants and thrust their crotch at me suggestively, an invitation to wink at me, or to leer. An invitation to tell me all about their sexual exploits in graphic and horrifying detail (P.S. I hope that woman got counseling after her experience with you, sir). Let's be clear: If I am doing a survey on sexual exploits, and you meet my demographic, and you were randomly selected and consented to participate, and ethics approved my questionnaire, then you STILL would not be invited to share those stories with me the way you did.

I don't know how many times I have been asked what I am studying only to be met with a "yeah baby, hows your homework going, need a tutor?" or "ohhh that's hot",  or the most popular, "I bet you must be a freak in bed" (does attending chef's school mean you're a glutton?) and the most creepy "ohhhhh well WHY, little Missy (ew), did you choose THAT topic area, hmmm *wink*?"

It's as if my scientific curiosity is merely a cover up for my desire to jump your bones and let my freak flag fly. Why I chose to explore my sexuality in mind numbingly boring ways through countless peer reviewed articles is beyond me. THANK YOU for coming up to me and finally giving me an outlet to stop trying to make progress in the field of sexual and gender science, and start ferociously banging everyone I come into contact with.

My JOB is NOT an invitation.

The fact that I, as a woman, have an interest in sexuality means NOTHING - absolutely nothing - aside from the fact that I have an interest in sexuality! Is that clearer now? You seemed confused when I excused myself to go present my paper instead of readily handing over my business card and leaving a cute lipstick kiss on the back. 

The message this sends to me is either, despite Masters and Johnson's efforts, sexuality is still not a legitimate field of study OR society still believes women are only faking their demands for social progress, equality, and social value until they find a guy suitable enough to wrap their legs around and satisfy. Is that why your conversations were littered with uncomfortable innuendos? I guess I thought that a professional conference on sexuality would be a safe place...as it turns out, people will pay the hundreds of dollars registration fee to attend simply to harass young scholars because they mistakenly believe "sexuality conference" is synonymous with "super sex orgy". A conference is NOT a swingers party in the same way that a sexual assault crisis line is not a  1-800 phone sex line! It's amazing how many times this is confused.

What is it about my profession that makes people think it's OK to make sexual innuendos, advances or comments?  Is it really because I am a sexuality researcher or is it actually because I am a woman? I used to think that some people simply did not understand personal boundaries. Now I realize that people intentionally confuse and abuse them. When it comes to the field of sexual science, women are a surprisingly easy target; researchers are the first ones to answer your phone survey (in the hopes good karma will be bestowed upon them when it comes time for their data collection) - but this also means they are met with more than their share of heavy breathing masturbators on the other end of the line, asking personal questions, while posing as a "sexuality researcher".

It's fine time we fixed the misogyny that underlies all this, of course, but it's also about time we started respecting the field of sexual science! Until it is valued the way physics or engineering is, there will be far too many young scientists who abandon ship in favor of actually being taken seriously (the nerve!), and not being treated like a piece of meat. I do this research because, as humans, we are all sexual (asexuality counts). My field of research is a study of every single human being on the planet. My research is an exploration, and a creation, of knowledge on one of the most basic yet complex human experiences. Sexuality is a power that drives us, scares us, motivates us, cripples us, confuses us and inspires us. Sexuality is an area of study that reflects and dissects what fills the pages of almost every magazine you read, sells countless products, starts wars and helps to reconcile and release stress after the wars are over. It's a study of why so many men, women, and trans persons have committed suicide at its hands, and it is research to prevent further deaths. It's a field of study that promotes a world of pleasure! It's a proliferation of knowledge on how to protect your mental, physical and emotional heath when you navigate it's sexy waters. Seriously, if that doesn't have merit, I don't know what does. If that doesn't convince you to rethink what questions you ask me when I say I study sexuality, then perhaps we need to rethink what we teach regarding the Birds and the Bees. The motions people will figure out on their own, trust me, but how to treat your fellow bird or bee might need to be added to the curriculum.

So if you ever see me at a conference looking smokin' hot, wearing a short skirt (fellow academics, stay with me here - it's an imaginary scenario), presenting my research on sexual stimulation via vibrators, complete with diagrams and visual explicative hand motions, your next words to me best be,  "DAMN, Doctor! You really NAILED that presentation! That research is really going to PENETRATE your field. Those were EXPLOSIVE findings. I cannot wait until your forthcoming publication KEEPS ME UP ALL NIGHT reading!"

Kidding! While science IS sexy, if you read this post, you will know that the most appropriate thing to say to me is, "Thanks E, that was informative, well researched and comprehensively presented. Congratulations." Because, after all, as a woman, and a sexual scientist - even as a sexual woman who, like, actually has sex when she's not studying it (OK, apologies to my boyfriend, I admit it - sometimes I'm studying while we have sex.) - still warrants your respect. The point is, the whole of me is greater than the sum of my (sexual) parts.

(Points for ending my post with a lame psychology joke. Huzzuh!)

E