Of Sluts and Locker-Room Talk

Of Sluts and Locker-Room Talk

 

When the Fear of Womanhood Becomes Theatrical

Terracotta with glaze relief showing Adam and Eve on either side of a tree; a snake with a woman's head (closely resembling Eve) coils around the tree trunk
Adam and Eve” (c.a. 1515) by Giovanni della Robbia, The Walters Art Museum

In light of recent events, particularly in the realm of politics, it appears that “good ol’ boy” culture is out in full force. In order to maintain their gendered membership card, men continue to be pressured to showcase their sexuality through appearance and deed, lest they risk being associated with the opposite sex. The Kavanaughs, the Trumps, and the Brock Turners of society are indeed lauded for imposing their (unsolicited) sexual desires on women, who in turn must bear responsibility for these men’s actions. Frustrating as this logic is, perhaps it speaks to not only the strength of the patriarchy but the predatorial power of femininity’s shadow. Throughout history, womanliness seemed to be so potent and omnipresent that females struggled to suppress it, while males had to do everything in their power to avoid it and outrun its grasp. Social and mass media may be common arenas of gender dynamics, but the history of gender performance transcends the digital age. Renaissance society was consumed with the need to construct an image to project to the world: In a paradoxical performance, men felt obligated to prove their identity through sexual amplification, while women were expected to prove their virtue through sexual repression. Both tendencies, displayed through fashion and behavior, were ultimately designed to protect the allegedly dominant sex’s power from being supplanted by its “weaker” counterpart.

Regulated sexual expression did not simply appear from thin air–as Margaret King and Albert Rabil point out in “The Other Voice in Early Modern Europe,” it is deeply rooted in centuries of patriarchal ideology and an overall fear and criminalization of the “lure” of women. From literally the first of their kind on, females were bound up in lust and temptation—hence, “moralists and preachers for centuries conveyed to women the guilt that they bore for original sin…[which] was inextricably linked with the sexual act.”1. Apparently, women only had one shot at innocence and overall agency, and Eve had already thrown it away. But if one looks at the arguments rooted in ancient Greece, it appears that, original sin or not, females were already disadvantaged by the fact that their vices were directly attributed to their genitalia. Incomplete and deformed in her lack of testicles and psychologically programmed by her uterus, the female “craved sexual fulfillment in intercourse with a male . . . [who] was intellectual, active, and in control of his passions.”2 And if feminine wiles were strong enough to compromise the “superior sex,” there was great power to be found in sensuality. It is because of this that “the last bastion of masculine supremacy [was] centered on the . . . requirement of female chastity”3 In this notion lies the legacy of women having to disprove the hypersexuality projected upon them, and of men striving to prove their sexual and social dominance and identity.

The emergence of fashion as a concept turned out to be an ideal medium through which the aforementioned ideologies could be expressed, as male clothing began to possess an exhibitionist nature while female attire increasingly hid women’s bodies in shame. As Giovanni Boccaccio notes in Michelle Laughran and Andrea Vianello’s “Grandissima Gratia,” the length of men’s clothing was reduced to the point in which, “when ‘looking at their lower parts . . . it [was] easily understandable that they [were] male.’”4 Not only did this change in fashion associate the public display of intimates with masculinity—it added expository style to the criteria of the gendered smell test. If one truly was a man, he had to parade his sex—figuratively and literally—for all to see. One could argue that nothing quite embodies the concept of “male genitalia [as] the ultimate fashion statement” as much as the codpiece.5 In “‘Had it a codpiece, ’twere a man indeed,” Will Fisher details the significance of the piece of fabric (often padded) that men of the Renaissance attached to their trousers. Though the garment’s intended function was to serve as a pocket and conceal the phallus (as the doublet failed to do so), the codpiece became a stamp of authenticity, of masculinity. Yes, showcasing the penis signified manhood, but to parade and celebrate a seemingly “permanent erection . . . was therefore a ‘token of [sexual] prowess.’”6

Women, conversely, shirked feminine sexuality by displaying a sort of androgynous invisibility. In “Busks, Bodices, and Bodies,” Ann Rosalind Jones and Peter Stallybrass illustrate the use of the busk as a tool to conceal the curves that are unique to the female sex. Like a container that neutralizes a dangerous gas, “the busk keeps the female body ‘in compass’ [and] stabilizes it,” protecting both sexes from vice.7. The temptation of the female form was further diluted when one regards what was considered to be appropriate outerwear, as discussed in The Treasure of the City of Ladies, a guide to proper conduct written in 1405 by Christine de Pizan (France’s first professional female author): In addition to a flattened form, ladies were advised to deviate from “any immodesty in the matter of plunging necklines or other excesses,” lest they draw the wrong kind of attention.[8.Christine De Pizan De Pizan, The Treasure of the City of Ladies (New York: Penguin Classics, 2004), 52.] Note that if there is lust between two people, it is a result of the woman’s neckline or natural shape; not the man’s flaunting of “three phalluses” simulated by an erect codpiece and footwear.8 We continue to see the practice of regulating the female body through concealing fashion in phenomena such as school dress codes, which almost solely focus on diminishing girls’ apparent sexuality while ironically projecting it onto them by doing so. If a male acts or feels sensual attraction towards his female counterpart, the question of “what was she wearing?” never fails to crop up—in both the past and present, “women’s clothing provokes men to lasciviousness.”[10.Laughran and Vianello, “Grandissima Gratia,” 267.]

To take matters a step further, habits and behavior could be used to broadcast one’s sexual activity. Although the busk was intended to conceal the female body, men appropriated the agents of discretion “as public badges . . . signaling affection,” going so far as to publicly flaunt the points of the accessory in their hats—apparently, only women were severely beholden to a required reputation of chastity.9 The treatment of male desire in the realms of etiquette, literature, and fashion make it evident that, under the “regime of the penis,” sexuality on the public stage was a virtue, as it asserted one’s dominance.10 In the case of the showcased busk point, this was seen as the conquering, possession, and control of the female body, in addition to the timelessly celebrated boast of “getting laid.” Such indiscretion was part of a larger context of the emergence of performative masculinity in the presiding culture where male displays of “emphasized sexuality, and especially phallic penetration,” somehow managed to coincide with polite society.”11 Odd, yes, but then again, it was all under patriarchal regulation: the very power structure that enables the coexistence of an attack on Title IX and a proclamation of “family values.”

A culture, today or otherwise, that equates sexual performance with masculinity consequentially relieves the male sex of moral reprehension on the grounds of what is “customary” and “natural.” The end result is that this social policy indiscriminately burdens women with all of the responsibility.  Female-oriented guidebooks written by the likes of De Pizan take the route of W.E.B. Du Bois by arming women with performative methods of fending off the stereotypes that ate away at their reputation, but the proto-feminist author appears guilty of naturalizing male predatory habits by prefacing them with a diminishing line such as: “according to the custom of men.”12 It was held that “women should restrain themselves” whenever in the presence of men, in not only choices in fashion but in all other forms of public presentation: Ladies were expected to keep exclusively chaste company, play “decent” games that wouldn’t provoke men’s mockery, “speak demurely and sweetly and, whether in dances or other amusements, divert and enjoy themselves decorously and without wantonness.”13 This greatly contrasts the sexual expression encouraged in men, but it is necessary to remember what these minor behaviors meant in this context. To be “frolicsome, forward, or boisterous in speech, expression, bearing or laughter” wasn’t simply a matter of acting in a polished manner; it called a woman’s chastity and respectability into question.14 It is worth noting that, as mentioned previously, the dominant understanding of women was highly essentialist, with the qualities she was meant to suppress intrinsic to her anatomy; the very boldness and sensuality distained in women was fixed in their uteruses, their cold and damp elemental makeup. Therefore, in order to display an image of chastity and virtue, a woman was expected to become something unnatural. A man, conversely, was expected to showcase what, depending on one’s perspective, pushed the concept of the natural to the brink of its limits. Their acceptable mannerisms and appearance claimed sexual aggression as an embodiment of allegedly organic masculinity, but unlike with women, male virtue remained not only unharmed, but elevated. In our society, men are expected to be able to wear their lust outwardly; it’s boys being boys. It is up to women to accept this and deal with it themselves. What would it have done for De Pizan’s cause if she (or a contemporary) had pointed out that men had been conditioned to believe that dressing and behaving with the phallus was the one guarantee that their identity and social position wouldn’t be snatched by the wind?

Taking the conduct of gendered sexual performance from the Renaissance and applying it to our current state of society, from victim blaming to policy making, reveals that, beyond being an oppressive paradox, public habits of the past—and the ideologies that powered them—are reveling in a seemingly ineffaceable legacy. No matter what custom is used to assert one’s identity, power, or virtue, the end result of doing so within this antiquated framework is that women are ultimately silenced and conquered, be it physically or metaphorically, in the name of preserving a stabilized, i.e. patriarchal, order. And if the male establishment of the Renaissance and of 2019 are so afraid of the impact of unbridled womanhood—if it truly can influence men’s thoughts, actions, and sense of self—femininity must be pretty darn powerful.

  1. Margaret L. King and Albert Rabil. “The Other Voice in Early Modern Europe: Introduction to the Series,” in The Other Voice in Early Modern Europe (Chicago: University of Chicago Press: 1996) xxii, xxiii
  2. King and Rabil, “The Other Voice in Early Modern Europe,” ix.
  3. King and Rabil, “The Other Voice in Early Modern Europe,” xxvi.
  4. Michelle Laughran and Andrea Vianello, “Grandissima Gratia: The Power of Italian Renaissance Shoes as Intimate Wear,” in Ornamentalism: The Art of Renaissance Accessories, edited by Bella Mirabella (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 2016), 258.
  5. Laughran and Vianello, “Grandissima Gratia,” 258.
  6. Will Fisher, “‘Had it a codpiece, ‘twere a man indeed’: The Codpiece as Constitutive Accessory in Early Modern English Culture,” in Ornamentalism: The Art of Renaissance Accessories, edited by Bella Mirabella (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 2016),108.
  7. Ann Rosalind Jones and Peter Stallybrass, “Busks, Bodices, and Bodies,” in Ornamentalism: The Art of Renaissance Accessories, edited by Bella Mirabella (Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 2016), 90.
  8. Laughran and Vianello, “Grandissima Gratia,” 259.
  9. Jones and Stallybrass, “Busks, Bodices, and Bodies,” 94.
  10. Will Fisher, “‘Had it a codpiece, ‘twere a man indeed,’ 110.
  11. Fisher, “‘Had it a codpiece, ‘twere a man indeed,’ 110.
  12. De Pizan, The Treasure of the City of Ladies, 70.
  13. De Pizan, The Treasure of the City of Ladies, 51.
  14. De Pizan, The Treasure of the City of Ladies, 51.
 
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