Opinions

S-L-U-T: just a word

I refuse to believe in the existence of sluts.

I refuse to believe that the way a woman interacts with sex impacts the core of her being in any notable way, shape or form. I refuse to believe that a woman with a healthy sex life is thoughtless, dirty, worthless, insecure or fundamentally lesser than her celibate sisters.

I refuse to believe that a woman’s sex life should ever be used as a descriptor of character.

And I refuse to believe that a woman’s sex life should be commented on by anyone other than the partners she does or does not bring into her bed, and definitely never in a derogatory manner

More and more, it seems like I stand on the minority side of the spectrum, with the rest of society waving from across the way, ranting and raving about the dissolution of proper womanhood thanks to the tramps and coquettes opening their legs with wanton care.

I could wax poetically on the double standards of male and female sexuality for months, but the specific case of “slut” is one I feel deserves its own discourse. And on that point, I’m not alone.

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Over the weekend, stripper-turned-model-turned-ex-Kanye-girlfriend-turned-activist Amber Rose hosted her inaugural Slut Walk Los Angeles to get the message out that being a slut is not a bad thing.

Amber and her crew transformed Pershing Square in Downtown L.A. into a safe space full of sex-positive vendors and exhibits, resources for survivors of sexual and domestic violence, and the Wall of No Shame, a giant chalkboard where all Slut Walk participants could scrawl in what living as a shameless sexual being meant to them.

Poster-making tables scattered across the square gave walkers the opportunity to grab a pre-made sign with a sex-positive slogan, or to create one with a message of their own.

With signs in our hands and our hearts on our sleeves, we marched through the streets, yelling that no woman should ever have to be ashamed of her sex life.

It was the most comfortable I had felt in years.

I’ve had the word slut thrown at me for nearly a decade, coming from car windows on days where I dare walk down the street in a dress, boys who get mad at me not matching their mindset on sex, strangers that think a survivor of sexual assault really was asking for it and holier-than-thou women who think being a slut is the worst thing a woman could possibly be.

But at Slut Walk, every negative connotation of the word was removed and revamped. Nobody was accused of being a slut, but celebrated for being a valuable person who may or may not have recreational sex.

Nobody was made to feel like their bodies were their main attraction, but rather a vessel that holds all the wonderful capabilities of an intelligent mind and open heart.

Anyone who had been abused by the word was reassured that they are so much more than an object for gratification, and above all, did not need to change anything about who they are.

I still may not love the word slut, but if Slut Walk is any indication of its positive re-appropriation, I might just hop on board the good ol’ train to Slutsville.

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