They said:

The way you use the word “vanilla” in your blog is bigoted.

At the time I thought, Bigoted? Really? That seems like a harsh choice of vocabulary.

But as you may recall, I did not choose to rise up in righteous indignation after being censored by scallywags. I chose to take on some of the responsibility for what had happened, because I wasn’t defining my language or giving context for my actions.

When I got home that week I searched my entire blog for every time I’d used the word “vanilla.” Not counting the two vanilla gentlemen on my blogroll, it came up about fifteen times. Of those instances, one was a poetic comparison of May’s bum to the silkiness of vanilla ice cream. The majority were times in which I used the word to mean “not-kinky.” One was a bit of an arrogant statement about stupid, male, vanilla movie producers. I figured that the last instance was fair; I was being a bit of a snarky brat in that entry. Which, by the way, is an entry you’ll no longer find here. It’s one of the two that did not survive my great blogging purge and password initiative. The other one was about my mother.

But really, it’s all those tricky “not-kinky” instances that are the sinkholes.

I would argue that saying my use of the word “vanilla” here is bigoted is, frankly, absurd. To be bigoted means essentially to be intolerant of identities which are not my own. I work very hard to be tolerant, because that’s one of the best ways I know to gain tolerance for myself. I have spoken before about sneaky selfish motivations.

Currently the blogosphere has vanilla on the brain. Renegade Evolution has taken on the idea of vanilla privilege, while Trinity over at The Strangest Alchemy has opened up her blog for a discussion on the definition of this very tricky idea.

Also, closer to home and all of a sudden, I have some new readers. (Hello, ladies.) And from their conversations with me, their blogs, and their attitudes, I get the feeling that vanilla just isn’t cool these days, much in the same way Maja once used “het,” hilariously, as a neo-semi-pejorative. That seems a bit unfair to me. Vanilla is unfortunately conflated with sex-negativity in a way that is simply not true.

I was asked several times in my ACON group to define what kinky sex is. I found myself at a bit of a loss. I have spent so long just being kinky that to start defining what kinky means for a broader audience is insanely difficult. Like many other words that must be personally defined before becoming useful, I can only really speak about what kinky means to me.

For me, to be kinky is to enjoy sex or enjoy things I consider to be sexual while maintaining a deliberate power imbalance.

And going from there, to have vanilla sex, as I have had many times in the past, is to enjoy sex or enjoy sexual things without such a deliberate imbalance.

And yes, I know, that is a simply enormous definition. It’s also, you may notice, a definition that relies heavily upon intention and thought, mental perspectives rather than weapons and gear. It’s not what I do, it’s how I do it. That means that a lot of my kinky sex can look very, very vanilla. But it works for me. Maybe it works for you. If it doesn’t, I invite you to redefine.

I think there is such a thing as vanilla privilege, but it’s hard to pin down where my ability to access that privilege begins and ends. Similar to my access to straight privilege, I can pass as vanilla sometimes. Although curiously, it is much easier for me to pass as straight than it is for me to pass as vanilla. May and I still get funny glances when we walk down the street, my hand on his collar and his head bowed, that little-boy grin on his face, that lazy toppish look on mine. People do stare at us in restaurants. They do think we’re strange at parties. But it works, because we are essentially considered eccentric rather than threatening. I think it’s because we look straight.

And there is also a low level of bigotry in some corners of the kink community, as there seem to be in all communities. My new blog readers will probably run into that, unfortunately. Hell knows I have. I just wrote that the clothing I think is sexy looks vanilla. I have been called a vanilla tourist a few times. I have even been asked, by a very large man at the door to Paddles, if I was lost. I wanted to laugh at him. No, I responded, I am definitely not lost.

Attitudes like that are why I try to go places with people, when they’re new. They’re why I still appreciate having people to go with. That reaction is why having a group of kinky friends is an infinitely valuable advantage when trying to find one’s place in a kinky community.

And attitudes like that are why I also have vanilla friendships. Screw this secret-exciting-sex-club mentality. Really, my sex looks spicy from an outside perspective, but it’s just a way of having sex. Vanilla’s just another way of having sex. I’m wired one way. Someone else is wired another. It all works out, in the end.

People are talking about beauty. That’s got me thinking. What a surprise, really, that something would get me thinking. Here’s where my consciousness went wandering.

I have this friend. She’s kind of a new friend, because not only am I (as previously mentioned) practically crippled at getting to know people, she is also exceedingly pretty, and exceedingly pretty people are a titchy bit tough for me. I am by far my harshest critic and can easily convince myself that such and such a person is simply too cool for me. I did this with Blaise when we first met. We laugh about it now; such a ridiculous concept, that we wouldn’t like each other.

But I’m glad I know her, because she is charming, and also kind of wonderfully smart.

She and I and a few others had a interesting conversation a bit ago, in which she mentioned that she sometimes feels uncomfortable in scene spaces because of her beauty. Other people will sometimes react negatively to her body, as though her presence is a critique upon themselves.

There’s that insidious, damaging us-versus-them mentality creeping up again. In the issue of physical beauty more than anything else, people seem to be incapable of assessing themselves on a non-comparative basis. Obviously this is because we feel that we have to be judged against some kind of standard, which is only moderately less fucked up than declaring we must be judged at all. But it’s very, very different to judge oneself against an idealist idiom with no physical manifestation and to judge oneself against a real live person, standing in front of you. You’ve drawn the other person unwittingly and unfairly into your process of judgement.

And although I found that to be rather horrendous, even I am guilty of the smaller sin of dismissing the body issues of other people. I sometimes brush off the concerns of my friends. I think I’m a bit plump ’round the edges. I lost a bunch of weight, then gained some of it back, and now bounce around from day to day. I have bad-ish skin and ugly feet. For the longest time I was convinced something was wrong with my face, with my features too small for my flesh. But I self-deprecate and other people react with incredulity, and sometimes bitterness as well. Like hell you’re fat, you’re skinnier than me! You’re not ugly, you’re beautiful, I’m the one who’s ugly. How dare you have body image issues? How dare you?

Us versus them. Me versus you. I get that the instinct to rank people according to appearance is partially biological, but we’re in the 21st century and I’d like to believe we’ve grown beyond the grunting of our lizard brains. I get that it’s deeply cultural, but I’d like to think we’re aware enough to use culture as a common language rather than a common standard.

Many people believe that confidence is directly linked to physical appearence. It seems logical that if we’d feel better if we wore a size four, then the people who already wear a size four must feel fan-fucking-tastic all the time. We make no allowances for genetics. We cut ourselves no slack.

Why don’t we have an us versus them mentality on intelligence, I wonder? People are much less likely to look at some briliant philosopher and say to themselves, “Damn, I’m so not as smart as that guy. I suck.” But young girls look at models all the time and think their lives will be over if they don’t make themelves that skinny. This is the crisis of body image. Anorexia, bulimia, plain old every day angst, the desparate need to become prettier. There are no damaging psychological or physical diseases based upon the desperate need to become smarter.

When did it come about that our culture contentedly accepts intelligence as a natural, innate gift of genetics, yet deprecates and criminalizes physical appearance as completely under a person’s control? Unfortunate if you’re stupid, lucky if you’re smart. Valuable if you’re skinny, worthless if you’re not.

Has no one caught on to the idea that you can make yourself smarter? That intelligence demands to be worked at, that it is far more insistent and just as hard and just as worth doing?

And has no one caught on that there will always be someone prettier, smarter, better on the sliding judgment scale? And that sometimes a game in which you cannot win is not a game worth playing?

I’ve no intention of writing a philosophical treatise on the advantages of Objectivism in this blog. But it has been to my advantage to allow myself the luxury of isolated judgment. To deliberately, consciously set my own standards and determine my own value. I am no less driven for trying to step outside a competitive mentality, and in fact hold myself to standards that are upon occasion ridiculous. But they’re my own. And of course I fail sometimes, and of course I judge sometimes and get occasionally bitter, but I’m always swinging back to my own definitions.

It should be noted, however, that attempting to take oneself outside of a competitive mode when dealing with one’s own value does not prevent one from evaluating others. We can’t help evaluating people; we do it unconsciously. It makes the difference between choosing our partners based on our personal inclinations and choosing them at random.

I have zero intention of claiming that I don’t hold my partners to standards. Of course I hold my partners to standards; the people I chose to involve myself with both affect and reflect my life. I won’t invite just anyone into my home or my bed.

And although it might just be politically incorrect to say so, some of my standards are mental, and some are physical. It is a very common (and I think more positive than the alternative) attitude to become frustrated with strictly physical expectations, and to as a result adhere to a strictly mental system of standards, wherein partners are judged only by their personalities, characters, and intelligence. (With the thing where bad logic is reversed again. We just love doing that, don’t we?)

In the case of my friends, mental standards are the only standards I believe are appropriate. (An advantage of the blogosphere.) I may worry that my friend Paul is rapidly pushing 350 lbs and is giving himself health problems, but he’s a genuinely terrific man whom I’m glad to have as a friend.

But when it comes to the people I sleep with, the people I play with, physical appearance is a factor. May is playful, clever, funny and devilishly smart. He is also attractive, and smells good. Would I still sleep with him if he wasn’t attractive and smelled bad? Probably; he’s pretty damned brilliant and the physical doesn’t make or break my decisions. But it helps. Of course it helps.

When it comes to physical appearance, all I really expect is an attempt at health, by whatever definition works for that person. A bit of consciousness, an acknowledgment that neither of us is contained entirely within a mental realm and our bodies don’t exist just to lug around the hardware. I don’t mind what age you are, I don’t mind how your genes arranged your facial structure. Will it help if you happen to have a body that’s artistically interesting, aesthetically balanced? Will it help if I think you’re hot as hell? Sure. Of course it will. But I like playing with people, not inflatable skins.

Because I hold myself to physical as well as mental standards, I expect a certain awareness in both aspects from my partners. I expect them to deserve me.

Watch it now. Think about what that means; no writing it off as standard femdom propaganda. I am smart, self aware, sometimes funny, mentally engaged, personally demanding, have very high goals, and am aware of my body. I’m also arrogant, neurotic, guilt-ridden, awkward, eat like crap, don’t exercise enough and am more than a little fucked up and strange. I expect my partners to deserve me.

Everyone has heard the phrase I’m starting with today. It’s a maxim of the kink community; it’s practically gospel. Say it with me now, people:

Your kink is not my kink, but your kink is okay.

Well I’m here to tell you that as of right about now, I think when it comes to this particular maxim, the community is full of shit.

We’re actually excellent at maintaining this structure within our own groups. I hang out with people who do scat and are wigged by needles. We get along just fine. But the idea isn’t intended as a simple guideline between friends; it’s intended to be something much more powerful.

Communities concerned with sex, especially of an alternative variety, share a common interest: Sex! In some way, somehow, we’re wanking differently than our perceived conception of the norm. As such, would it not make sense for us to draw together? To support one another when brought under fire by things like abstinence-only education in American schools?

That’s not “not our problem,” by the way. I don’t particularly care what your political opinions are concerning issues that aren’t sex related, but surely you must see the trickle-down effects of the idea of abstinence-only education? Any initiative that restricts information harms us. Hell, restricting information harms everyone. It’s called censorship.

But in the meantime, the straight scene doesn’t talk to the gay scene, the gay scene doesn’t talk to the trans scene, the kink people don’t talk to the swingers, the poly people don’t talk to the sex positive people. The list goes on. We are not a cohesive unit. We are ten thousand fractured little shards all so wrapped up in making our own kinks okay that nobody stops to think that maybe, possibly, if every queer person in America spoke up at precisely the same time we’d deafen our way to acceptance.

Saying “your kink is not my kink, but your kink is okay” should be an open invitation. It should encourage more people to go cross community jumping, to reach out in ways that they wouldn’t otherwise and trust that it’ll turn out all right. I am a cross community jumper. I’m kinky and poly and bisexual too. And every time I show up at an event that’s not kink specific, I have to remind myself that the people I’m with have common interests with me, do not live under bridges and have intelligent things to say.

Maintaining insular communities is the epitome of the phrase “your kink is not okay.” Isn’t there a word for someone who does the very thing they say they don’t do? One of those long fancy words we don’t like hearing in relation with ourselves?

We, when by “we” I mean apparently everyone on the frickin’ planet, are obsessed with us-versus-them mentalities. Gay versus straight. Kinky versus vanilla. Look, if making our communities and our world better is going to be all about carving out a place for ourselves in a grandiose battle for freedom, I’m pretty sure we’re gonna lose. In case you haven’t noticed, we are currently outgunned.

The political and social issues surrounding sex have been pinned with war language, and that just wigs me the fuck out.

I’m trying very, very hard not to make this a fuzzy-wuzzy “Can’t we all just get along?” post. But seriously? Why is it that when I see what’s going on around me, instead of being content to live my life excellently and let others live their lives as they choose, I feel the need to stand up and just start shouting? We keep saying that other people, vanilla people, politicians, whatever, need to accept alternative sexualities as a community, but we suck at accepting each other. We are a laughable joke of a community.

And because we are such a joke, we damage ourselves. The premise of the community’s movement is currently one of having our differences accepted by the population at large. Although within the guidelines of us versus them this appears logical, even rational, we’re too busy not talking to each other to realize the flaw in our current argument.

If they say “You’re different, we’re not,” and we respond with “We’re different, you’re not” we have screwed ourselves. Remember the bit about how bad arguments remain bad no matter what kind of spin you try to put on it?

The idea isn’t to stand up and fight for our particular right to be different. The idea is to stand up and fight for everyone’s right to be different. The day that any person can say “Hey, I do things a little bit differently” with absolutely no fear or trepidation is the day alternative sex communities will have a secure place in the world. Not because we’ll be able to say such things; we already do that. But because everyone will be able to.

In the end, being vanilla is just another way of having sex. It’s not “normal.” Normal is pretty much a useless word. Everyone does things a little differently. The way we’re all going to live without tearing each others throats out is not just by accepting that, but by simply admitting it.
I can’t up and force people to admit that they’re different. It’s easy for us to say “Everyone is different” but very, very hard for us to say “I’m different.” It’s the us-against-them mentality all over again. I’m different. Me against the world.

Scrap the us-versus-them mentality. Your differences are not my differences, but your differences are okay. Live and let live, and every once and a while, socialize.