This past Friday, I had the honour of presenting to a large room of people a talk that not only shared an idea, but was also fairly therapeutic for me. The event was TEDx Toronto, an off-shoot of the celebrated TED conference that happens annually in California. The organization’s ubiquitous TED Talks often go viral, honouring “ideas worth spreading.” Speakers and delegates come together to (hopefully) get inspired to do good for the world.
With my friend and colleague, Heather Jarvis, we spoke about what sparked SlutWalk Toronto, a feminist movement we created in 2011 to combat victim-blaming and slut-shaming, two things that deeply affect mentalities of sexual assault and its reporting.
We focused on how language is like a living organism in that it can be infected with a virus of dangerous ideas, spreading with harsh and immeasurable ramifications. Helping us explain this concept was the sharing of our very personal stories on how this infected language affected our lives at very early and impressionable times.
I approached the talk quite pragmatically, since I figured that TED delegates would be applying (it’s a curated selection of guests) and paying for a talk fitting within the TED mould of celebrating the best in technology, education, and design. Deeply honoured at being nominated, I had a slight moment of panic when the other speakers started being announced, all masters of their respective fields: doctors, chairpersons, directors, CEOs. And then there was us, the ‘Sluts.’
With the added stress of feeling like “one of these things just doesn’t belong,” there was the intense pressure to deliver a dynamic talk. Though the TEDx Toronto team is incredibly prepared and organized and generous, a side-effect was the feeling that if they’re putting this much effort into us being on their stage, we damn well better deliver something amazing. I inhaled about ten weeks ago and only finally exhaled after the talk was done.
What I did not anticipate were the emotional consequences. When I had to dissect my life in order to create a distinct and coherent example of how infected language has swayed it, (specifically the word ‘slut’) things got a bit intense. Writing and performing the talk wound up being a therapeutic catharsis in which I realized why I am who I am, why I’ve built up a wall around me – which some people interpret as cold-heartedness – and why I’ve been trying for years to remix the label.
We discussed how the use of derogatory labels and society’s refusal to stop the spread of them can drastically affect someone’s life. Our personal stories were examples of how Slut as an epithet has deep roots within us, and what we’ve done as a result.
When we were allotted the coveted 18-minute time slot, I thought it would be impossible to fill it. I quickly realized that 18 minutes isn’t nearly enough time to address all we could have. While we examined the consequences of using words that are specifically intended to cause harm, we couldn’t delve into the idea of a possible next step, which is to reclaim them for ourselves. It wasn’t until my mid 30s that I finally became comfortable with the word ‘slut’ and realized that it was in my right to do with it as I please. It’s partly due to the fact that I had also realized that enjoying sex without harming anyone in the process isn’t something that will cause the world to explode.
That it took this long for me to get to this realization is one of the symptoms of infected language. Unfortunately, there are still millions of young people still trying to navigate the harsh realities of slung epithets, and some just don’t make it.
Somehow I’ve had enough self confidence to attempt remixing the word ‘slut’ for my benefit. I don’t feel like I can simply ignore it, because it’s just not going to go away in my lifetime. So I’ve spent a good chunk of my life trying to redefine it. There are some that have called me a bad feminist for using it, for not stamping it into the ground. While I do understand some people are more comfortable doing just that (and it’s their prerogative to do so), I feel I’m perfectly within my rights to deal with it in my own way. It’s not a word I use lightly, despite what some think.
When so much of your life includes discussions of sex and smut, there tends to be the appearance of a candy coating to it all. I usually talk of sex in a positive and fun light, but there is another side that also needs to be discussed, and much of it surrounds having to combat sex negativity. Language is a big part of that, and it’s not something you can run away from. I tried running from ‘slut’ for many years, with nothing but ill effects. In taking the time to confront it, I know have a deeper understanding of sex and how it plays into my life, and with that, I can enjoy it even more.
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Got a question about sex in art, relationships, parenting? Send Sonya a note at dearmadame@torontostandard.com. Anonymity assured.
Sonya JF Barnett, also known as “The Madame,” is the founder of an erotic arts community called The Keyhole Sessions and the co-founder of SlutWalk Toronto. Follow her on Twitter @KeyholeSessions.
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