Studying Sexualities

Theories, Representations, Cultures

Niall Richardson, Clarissa Smith, Angela Werndly

• Publisher: Bloomsbury Academic
• Year: 2013
• Print ISBN: 9780230220430
• eBook ISBN: 9781350306530
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Gender Studies
• Index: Social Sciences

Sexuality is an integral part of our lives, and our identities. But how do we study it? Written in a lively and accessible style, Studying Sexualities aims to introduce students to the critical study of sexuality, taking a look at the major theories, media representations, and cultural practices. After having carefully explained the key theoretical and empirical debates on the subject – outlining Foucauldian Constructionism, Psychoanalysis, and Queer Theory - the authors draw on their own original research to address timely topics related to gender, sexuality, and popular culture. Contemporary examples used within the book include discussions of sex shops, cybersex, and sex toys, the TV series Sex and the City, Will and Grace and The L Word, and the immensely popular Twilight books. Studying Sexualities is essential reading for undergraduate and postgraduate students on Cultural, Media, Film, or visual Studies, or Sociology and Sexuality courses, who are interested in researching the fascinating complexities of sexuality today. NIALL RICHARDSON is a lecturer at the University of Sussex, and CLARISSA SMITH and ANGELA WERNDLY are lecturers at the University of Sunderland, UK. This book is the culmination of their considerable teaching and writing experience within the field of sexualities. Their specific research interests include feminism and popular culture, queer theory, the body and consumption.

Part I

Why Theory?

Introduction to Part I

‘Why theory?’ is a question often put to us by students who have come to university to learn how to become journalists or filmmakers, or to work in the media industries. One reason they have difficulty in understanding why theory is part of their degree programmes is that there are a number of different meanings or uses of the term. We want to digress a little to consider three of these, in order to make clear the distinctions between them and to show why theory matters. Firstly, an everyday use of the term ‘theory’ is to imply that there is a rationale for something that has no real relationship with our experiences of the practicalities of life. For example, we might say ‘in theory, the National Health Service means that medical treatment is free for everyone’, meaning that it is an abstract idea that is not borne out by the fact that, in England, we have to pay for our prescriptions. In other words, ‘in theory’ here means the idea is of no value in the real world. Given this popular usage, it is understandable that some students believe that theory modules have nothing to do with the ‘real world’.

Another commonplace use of the term is to imply that theory is constraining rather than liberating or progressive. We might say to someone ‘forget the theory and follow your instincts’ to encourage them to be creative or to think outside given rules and regulations. Hence, using this working definition of the term, ‘theory’ is something that holds us back or hinders us. And yet, as you will see, if we use the term in its academic context nothing could be further from the truth.

A third way of defining theory is a more academic one referring to research and methodological approaches to a topic. But this can often be confused with the first definition as a set of abstract ideas that have no practical effects or uses. Indeed, another reason that some students ask ‘why theory?’ is because they do not realize the extent to which theory already governs our own beliefs, values and practices. Whether we know it or not, theory informs how we think and act, but also which questions we might ask. And this is also affected by which theories are in the ascendancy.

For example, rape (the compelling of a man or woman through physical force to engage in some form of sexual act) is universally condemned. And yet there are many theories as to why it occurs (e.g. some girls dress too provocatively or tease men; alcohol causes some men to become violent; pornography is to blame; some men are born evil; and so on). Similarly, there are many theories as to how rape should be dealt with (e.g. prison is the best solution; prison is no solution; men should receive maximum prison sentences; that there are different kinds of rape and they should be treated differently). So theory should not be regarded as fact, but rather as an attempt to explain something. Which theory you subscribe to will depend upon your view of reality and the ideas you have access to. For example, most feminists would question the theory that rape is caused by women’s behaviour or dress, arguing that such explanations propose that it is women’s fault that rape occurs. The idea that women bear some responsibility for rape comes from a curious amalgam of ways of thinking and understanding male/female sexual relations. Biological concepts of natural ‘instincts’ and ‘drives’ have been utilized to suggest, for instance, ‘higher’ sex drives in men, or that male urges become ‘unstoppable’ and therefore when a man commits rape he’s just acting according to ‘human nature’. Thus women are supposed to ensure that they do nothing to ‘provoke’ men’s ‘natural’ urges for sex. These ideas are underpinned by moralist codes that insist that a woman ought to manage her sexual feelings to ensure she finds the right man to marry in order to have children. We like to think we’re more enlightened about women’s sexuality today but this idea of women’s culpability hasn’t gone away and resurfaces in media representations (often, but not always, unintentionally). For example, the ways in which journalists cover a rape incident are often underpinned by the suggestion that ‘she [the victim] may have done something to provoke the attack’. They may mention the fact that the victim was walking in an unsafe area and, while it might seem like good advice to say ‘stay away from unlit streets’, this suggests that by doing so the victim laid themselves open to attack. This blaming of the victim may be a product of journalists’ codes of practice of representing both sides, or may be a part of giving the story more ‘edge’. There is no doubt that some newspapers focus on salacious details so that, for example, the attractiveness of the rape victim becomes a central part of the story, and so the idea that being pretty or sexy somehow motivates rape comes across loud and clear even as the report, more generally, emphasizes the horror and viciousness of an attack. Many commonly held theories of sexuality are underpinned by outdated ideas about morality, biology (for example, references to animal behaviour which propose a natural difference in sexual interest between males and females (see Anne Fausto-Sterling, 1985)), and fear.

In this book we introduce you to a number of theories and theorists on sexuality. Some names such as Sigmund Freud will probably be known to you, even if you are not sure what his work entails. Others, such as Michel Foucault, may not be as familiar, but in media and cultural studies he is an important influence. As you will see, these theories and theorists often disagree with one another. What they do agree upon is that sexuality is a human condition to be studied. Certain theories may seem more apt than others when applied to particular examples. Unquestionable truth is not necessarily attainable through the study of theory. But many of the theories we will cover in this book have produced ideas and ways of understanding whose influences are widely felt outside the therapy room or university.

As we’ve already explained, theory is not abstract, out there in the realm of ideas with no material effect on the outside world. It is based on research and has social effects. Take Freud, for example. Aspects of his ideas already have the authority of ‘facts’, as we shall see in Chapter 2 and in Chapter 8 on teenage sexuality. Indeed, we argue that the take-up of his work has often had a detrimental effect on cultural perceptions of sexualities and of individuals. But whilst some theories – feminist explorations of women’s work, for example – have led to social changes that are now taken for granted (such as equal pay), other theories still exist mainly in the realm of academia.

An engagement with theory can radically question our understanding of sexuality, and hence enhance our ability to investigate critically popular culture in all its forms – whether that be the production, representation or the consumption of it. Theories of sexuality have provided us with a range of approaches with which to understand the media in terms of sexuality. So should you wish to write a final year dissertation on, say, television’s representations of gay men, or perhaps want to make a practical project on an aspect of gay subcultures, you will have a wealth of theories on which you can draw rather than relying on stereotypes. Theory is about the sharing and re-working of ideas.

But theory can be difficult and many students feel intimidated by the very thought of it – another reason why they ask ‘why theory?’ This is especially so when reading the works of original thinkers – you may quite reasonably feel that you do not have the time to read the complete works of Freud during the course of a module or your degree. Hence our chapter on his work attempts to explain both his ideas and their importance to the broader field of media and cultural representations.

Understanding theory means your work will contribute to the field of research on sexuality and sexual representations. Even if that means you only demonstrate knowledge and understanding of existing theories you will, nevertheless, produce something that is unique if you apply it to your own examples. Most importantly, to those of us assessing your work, you will not fall into the trap of merely describing something such as Will and Grace or The L Word, but will utilize theory in order to analyse it. It will prevent your own personal impressions of the world from dominating your discussion, and will help you create a strong argument supported by theoretical evidence.

We want you to realize that above all else theory is empowering: how often have you wished you could reply to some bore you’ve been stuck next to at a party when their ideas are misguided or, worse, insulting? Theory gives you strength in argument, articulation and the confidence to express your views. A famous theorist of language studies, B.F. Skinner, said that education is what you are left with when you think you have forgotten everything you learned (1964: 484). What he meant by this is that knowledge is not just about remembering, or memorizing facts and figures, or knowing which button to press on a camera. It is about understanding how we came by the values, beliefs and ideas that become integral to who we are and how we relate to those around us, and hence how we might represent them in our practices.

Chapter 1

Michel Foucault and the ‘Invention’ of Sexuality

Michel Foucault’s The History of Sexuality is the foundation of contemporary queer theory, which we address in Chapter 3, but it also forms the backbone of studies of sexuality more generally. Foucault had originally anticipated that this work would be a six-volume set, but his untimely death prevented its completion. Although dense and often difficult, the three volumes of The History of Sexuality are worth engaging with in order to encounter Foucault’s ideas at first hand. This chapter cannot possibly summarize the entire work and so simply aims to introduce some of Foucault’s main arguments and to consider how these can aid critical analyses of representations of sexuality and sexual practices.

Foucault’s most important contribution to sexuality studies is his comprehensive and insightful reading of the texts of nineteenth-century sexology illustrating the ways in which sexuality cannot be understood simply as a matter of biology. Foucault argued that sexuality, or more expressly what we often term ‘sexual identity’, far from being innate and immutable, was the product of cultural discourses. Discourse is a term which Foucault employs a lot in his writings and refers not simply to speech but to the context and manner in which words and ideas are exchanged – who gets to say what, how and when, and with what effects. The significance of an idea largely depends on the context in which the idea is being discussed and what other ideas it is being related to. Moreover, the way in which a subject is discussed is not ‘neutral’ but complexly connected to questions of power. In The History of Sexuality, Foucault suggests that ‘what is at issue is the over-all discursive fact by which sex is put into discourse. My main concern will be … the polymorphous techniques of power’ (1990a: 11).

As we briefly suggested in the introduction to this book, sex is often described as ‘repressed’ or ‘regulated’, or made into a ‘secret’ or ‘taboo’, and there is a way in which this contributes to a construction of sex as a part of ourselves which we ought to liberate: if only we could be honest about what we like or do sexually, we could ‘free’ ourselves of ‘hang-ups’ or ‘bad feelings’. But Foucault disagrees with the claim that sex has only been repressed and silenced. Instead, he suggests that talk about sex has intensified and proliferated since the eighteenth century, ‘it is by making sex into a secret that we are incited to talk about it’ (1990a: 34–5) and that our ideas about the ‘secrets’ of sex have changed over time. While the Church was the main power in Western societies, priests expected confessions to divulge the smallest temptation or desire in order that their parishioners could repent their sins and become ‘good’. In the nineteenth century, with the rise of medicine and psychiatry, sexual behaviour became an increasingly important object of study and, with this intensification and proliferation of discourse, the emphasis moved from morality to cases of sexual ‘perversion’ – child sexuality, homosexuality, and so on. Individuals were still expected to ‘confess’ but they did so in the interests of ‘health’, ‘science’ or the ‘family’.

Increasingly, sex became an object of knowledge. While other cultures have treated sex as an object of erotic knowledge (developing an ars erotica: an art of sensuality where it is important to understand how to give and receive pleasure), Western culture treated sex as a scientia sexualis: an object of distanced, scientific investigation. Thus, Foucault argues scientific discourse mixed with the religious form of confession to shape ways of talking about sex. Individuals were still expected to ‘confess’, to divulge sexual desires and practices as their darkest secrets, but now these confessions were codified into medical or quasi-scientific forms.

Therefore Foucault argued that sexual identity was the product of cultural regimes or discourses, and shows, rather brilliantly, how European and American medical and psychiatric literature of the nineteenth century treated, for example, sexual variability. What we think of as our sexual identity – heterosexual or homosexual – is, Foucault argues, a category of knowledge only understandable within a specific culture, paying attention to the common sets of assumptions and conceptual parameters that underpin particular arguments, diagnoses and characterizations of sexual behaviours and practices. In other words Foucault argued for a constructionist view of sexuality, that is, a view that sexuality is produced within and through our ways of thinking and talking about sex. This approach is commonly termed ‘Foucauldian constructionism’.

Constructionism is the opposite of essentialism. Essentialism argues that identity is innate, inherent or, as its name implies, an essence. An essentialist would argue that certain character traits are specific to human beings, often divided up into behaviours or characteristics that are supposedly naturally ‘male’ and ‘female’, and that these do not vary across historical periods or geographical areas. For example, an essentialist may claim that it is human nature for people to compete with each other for success, and that men are naturally more competitive than women. This competitiveness would be viewed as an essential trait of ‘mankind’, something that is always there, irrespective of context. Whether the subject chooses to act on this ‘essential trait’ or not is a different matter, but the essentialist would argue that the trait would always be there. With regard to sexual orientations,

[e]ssentialist approaches … whether they be evolutionary approaches or approaches that rely on hormones, genetics, or brain factors – rest on assumptions that (a) there are underlying true essences (homosexuality and heterosexuality), (b) there is discontinuity between forms (homosexuality and heterosexuality are two distinct, separate categories, rather than points on a continuum), and (c) there is constancy of these true essences over time and across cultures. (Delamater and Shibley Hyde, 1998: 16)

Constructionism argues differently. Constructionism claims that our identities are dependent upon the culture in which we are located, and that identity can therefore change or alter depending upon context or location. A constructionist would argue that particular concepts or practices may appear to be ‘natural’ but that they are simply created by the culture in which they are located. According to constructionism, human beings interact as part of a specific culture and it is through this interaction that various practices, beliefs or ideas become institutionalized and made into traditions or ways of judging others. To use a simple example, a specific style of eating – say, using fingers rather than a knife and fork – may be deemed uncouth or bad manners in one particular culture, while in a different context it may be viewed as quite acceptable. In the former context the person eating with their fingers would be ‘identified’ by other people as being uncouth or vulgar. However, in another culture this person may not be deemed uncouth because eating with the fingers is not deemed a vulgar act at all. Constructionism therefore argues that specific performances or acts in which human beings engage have different significance in different cultures, and it is from these acts that human beings attain identities in different contexts. The two positions, essentialist and constructionist, are in constant conflict, as Celia Kitzinger argues:

Social constructionism does not offer alternative answers to questions posed by essentialism: it raises a wholly different set of questions. Instead of searching for ‘truths’ about homosexuals and lesbians, it asks about the discursive practices, the narrative forms, within which homosexuals and lesbians are produced and reproduced … it can never be rendered compatible with the essentialist project. (1996: 150)

Foucault argued that sexual identity was a cultural construct – sexuality was the product of a culture labelling specific sexual acts. It is important to emphasize that Foucauldian constructionism does not argue that a person learns their sexuality from the culture in which they are located. A person does not ‘learn’ to be gay or straight because of the culture in which they are situated. Rather, Foucault argued that sexual acts signify differently, dependent upon the culture in which they are located. Just like the varied understandings of ‘eating with the fingers’, specific sexual acts have different significances in different cultures, and the identity constructed by these acts will also vary according to context. Constructionism, therefore, argues that it is culture that labels specific acts, attributes to these acts a specific sexual identity, and assigns that identity to a particular personage.

To help clarify, here are a few examples. In contemporary Western culture, if a man engages in sexual activity with women he is identified as ‘heterosexual’, while engaging in sexual activity with men evokes the label ‘homosexual’, and engaging in sexual activity with both men and women renders him ‘bisexual’. However, in earlier eras, sexuality was not identified in this way. In Ancient Mediterranean cultures, for example, sexual identification was not divided into ‘heterosexual’ and ‘homosexual’ as it is in contemporary Western culture. In Ancient Greece, an adult Greek male could have sexual rela...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title
• Copyright
• Contents
• Introduction
• Part I: Why Theory?
• Part II: Representations
• Part III: Sexual Cultures
• Conclusion
• Bibliography
• Media and Fiction
• Index