I didn’t feel prepared to talk a lot about sex-negative feminism in my sex positivity post, but I did want to show more of the viewpoint. Keep in mind what I said: Sex negativity has its problems, too. This article is a good read, though, an interesting counterpoint to what you may have read about sex positivity, and your assumptions about sex negativity.
(Reblogged from XOjane)
I’m a sex-negative feminist.
I call myself sex-negative partially because it’s an unsettling term — one that invokes particular histories that many feminists would rather paper over or erase completely — and partially because I fundamentally disagree with the assumptions about sex, kink, and consent upon which mainstream sex-positive feminism is based.
Sex-negativity makes a lot of feminists uncomfortable, but I frankly couldn’t give less of a damn if my politics hurt your feelings.
I’ve considered myself to be sex-negative (or at least critical of sex-positive feminism) for a while, but have only recently started expressing that view outside of conversations with trusted friends. Sex-negative feminism isn’t particularly, well, sexy; openly articulating criticisms of sex-positivity is to simultaneously make oneself a target for straw(wo)man arguments aimed against radical feminism, for accusations that you’re shaming or judging others, or for assertions that you are frigid or prudish or pathologically broken — all of which are sentiments that have been expressed by self-identified sex-positive feminists toward less enthusiastic women.
It wasn’t until a few weeks ago, when the author Marie Calloway asked if she could interview me for a piece she was planning on writing about young women and feminism, that I decided to go public about being sex-negative.