Now Wash Your Hands
It’s with an almost nascent nostalgia that I recall the coining of the Gen Z “sexual recession”: a patronising concern that our youngest generation would be rendered psychosexually stunted, unable or unwilling to fornicate due to over-exposure to smartphones, social media and porn.
Yes, it’s the Guardian, where almost nascent nostalgia is a thing that exists.
Ciara Gaffney, a resident of Los Angeles and a “brand strategist,” is very excited – all but rendered incoherent – by a “cybersexual revolution” that, during the pandemic, is apparently occurring.
Flinging the Gregorian calendar into irrelevance, humanity will be bisected into pre-Covid-19 and post-Covid-19, and although many will ruminate on how we have changed, one thing is indisputable: the rose-coloured epoch before the coronavirus bitterly shamed the sending of nudes.
There’s more of that, a lot, in fact. You’d better used to it.
They were perceived as gauche, even pathetic. In the lockdown era, however, thirst traps and nudes are not only making a glorious, unrepentant comeback, but are now a form of emboldened agency in Gen Z’s blossoming sexual liberation.
For affirmation, Ms Gaffney links to Buzzfeed, where we’re told of an unattached lady named Alicia who sent nude photos to a female friend because she “wanted some validation.” Said friend was expected to “say nice things” and, as Alicia puts it, “hype me up.” Neurotic neediness, it turns out, is the new empowerment. What’s more, the coronavirus lockdown is “galvanising” this new “sexual revolution,” in which seemingly unhappy people share photos of their genitals, often far and wide, in the hope of being validated. It’s all terribly exciting, and radical, and brings our narrator to a state of agitation:
The confines that spurred free love were morals, but the confines that mobilize the Gen Z sexual revolution are walls. Stratified by distance, Gen Z is similarly tasked with reinventing what sex looks like, in a quarantined world where physical sex is frequently impossible. As free love shattered the conventions of its time, Gen Z’s sexual renaissance is doing the same for organic sexual connection.
At which point, it sounds like Ms Gaffney is not so much talking to us as talking to herself, a kind of rhetorical self-pleasuring.
Are thirst traps posted to Instagram “close friends” lists modern courtship? Is mutual masturbation via Zoom sex? What separates the virtual from the real? Why is sexuality by video-screen considered lonely or isolating?
It’s all getting a little breathless. It may be over soon.
If anything, we are seeing humanity at its most tender, reaching earnestly through the virtual void to “actualize” contactless sex. Filled with unfiltered longing posted with abandon, Gen Z’s sexual revolution is one that has been reconfigured and reborn for the digital age.
Any minute now.
What else are we supposed to do with our days besides masturbate excessively and send a flurry of nudes? But it’s more than ennui or physical stratification. It’s a seizing of finiteness.
We need kitchen towel, stat.
Amid the spent wreckage and piles of inapt words, we find repeated assurances that all of this Instagram “thirst trapping” and habitual nude-sharing – whether with lovers, friends or countless random strangers – is “without repercussions.” There is, we’re told, an “absence of consequence.” Though it occurs to me that if you’re the kind of person who feels compelled to bore “close friends” with endless photos of yourself pouting and exaggerating your cleavage, fishing for compliments, or the kind of person who seeks validation from strangers, including strangers that you are in no way attracted to, by showing them your breasts, arse and genitals – then the consequences, as it were, may already have happened.
Update, via the comments:
For those too sheltered to know these things, and too shy to Google, a “thirst trap” is a gratuitously suggestive photo or social-media message intended to solicit attention, flattering comments or declarations of erotic fever – declarations that will not result in any actual sex, but merely make the person in question feel better about themselves, if only temporarily.
Readers are invited to ponder how much time they’d want to spend with the kind of person who craves repeated, even continual, validation regarding their attractiveness – from friends and strangers alike. From daily pouting on Instagram to sending nude selfies to friends. The kind of person who might imagine that such neurotic self-preoccupation is part of a “blossoming sexual liberation.”
If the words aggravating basket case come to mind, I quite understand.
Governor Squid: or commenters who use handles containing words like “honest” or “truth”; those are sure to be the ones posting the most ridiculous tissues of lies.
[ Hands out combs, breath mints, condoms. ]
Given the topic, aren’t condoms sort of redundant?
aren’t condoms sort of redundant?
I’m concerned for the upholstery.
To translate into normal language.
She’s a slut.
Thank you.
In the interest of full disclosure, I’ve never actually won election to the governorship of anything more substantial than a virtual pirate island in an online game. So I really can’t throw stones at those whose handles aren’t 100% accurate.
(It remains a bit of a thrill each time an Uber driver pulls up and confirms that I’m “Governor.”)
This reminds me of the congresswoman who recently left office due to an ethics scandal. In the aftermath I recall someone complaining that future female politicians would be at a serious disadvantage if all it took was her nudes leaking to kill her chances at election. Because why would any woman grow up nowadays without her naked pictures existing on some random phone or internet forum?
I believe in her case, those photos were taken while she was a congresscritter. That’s somewhat different than doing something stupid while young.
And the real scandal wasn’t the nude photographs or even the threesome she was involved in – but one of that threesome was a congressional staffer of hers. And due to past scandals (which involved some serious payouts to keep under wraps) banging with the staff is perhaps the only real no-no in Congress these days.
And that’s why she was given the DCM.
Incoming!
[ Hands out combs, breath mints, condoms. ]
And hide that damn sausage roll. Or has it finally crawled out the door under its own steam?
At your next “brand strategy” meeting, though, please keep your hands on the desk where we can see them.
That definitely puts “paid” to ever shaking hands again.
which reminds me of the grossly fat, plain-faced people I see wearing t-shirts that loudly proclaim “beautiful” or “sexy” in letters 3 to 6 inches high.
You have the body of a god—Bacchus.
Godzilla.
.. has it finally crawled out the door on its own steam?
It may well have. It was the result of an unplanned mating of two pickled “eggs,” and seems to have continued to evolve on its own. No telling what else David has going on back there. Yesterday a large, stinky carton postmarked “Dunwich, MA, USA” arrived, and nobody’s seen the French chef since.
Maybe we should call in Danger Mouse and Penfold to investigate.
Not entirely unrelated:
Via Ben Sixsmith.
A hooker with “highly discounted “ rates? How can she be unaware that many girls give it away? You don’t get much more highly discounted than free. Unless she specializes in one of the things most women won’t do, she’s not going to make much.
Like other forms of acting, the job has a time limit anyway. In Chicago the pretty young girls start out with $500 ‘do’s and $700 fuck-me shoes. A smart PYT will save her money. A dumb one will end up standing in the shadows of Clark Street; she’ll be 35 and look 70.
In case anyone imagines Ms Gaffney’s unhappy prose, above, is a one-off.
And I’ll just leave this here, I think.
And I’ll just leave this here, I think.
Her song?
Not entirely unrelated:
Just in case anyone is tempted to click the link, I have condensed the article:
a) You are not really a girl;
b) “When I ask them for my own research, they respond, ‘Because I don’t have to.’”
I see, they can’t get “their” politics straight (NPI) because you lot have been preaching exactly that Catch-22 to them for years. That there is some genuine example of, “Smart and insightful reported features about modern masculinity.”
OTOH, if you really want, you can read the whole thing and find out what a “bussy” is, not that I wanted to, but click the red links at your own risk.
moved to Brooklyn,
Holy ground.
Holy ground.
Indeed, Portland and Brooklyn = Medina and Mecca to these bozos.
observed that our peers can’t get their politics straight.
Heh. Conceivably, even the scrupulously woke who mouth pieties to whoring, from a distance, in the abstract, may still perceive that the world of whoring isn’t entirely salubrious or conducive to mental health.
And yet the pretence is expected. As in so many things.
observed that our peers can’t get their politics straight.
As I’ve mentioned before, as a stroppy teen I rented a rehearsal studio in a building whose doorways were used as a rain shelter and windbreak by the local prostitutes. I got into the habit of saying “Evening, ladies” and being generally polite, not least because they often outnumbered us. I didn’t object to their activities – it didn’t offend me – but I didn’t harbour any illusions about their wretchedness and the squalor of their lives. Which, it has to be said, was pretty hard to miss.
And yet our super-woke whore insists on a strange conceit – i.e., that if you don’t vehemently object to an activity, you should therefore – yes, therefore – be obliged to participate in it, enthusiastically, regardless of circumstance and personal interest.
[ Edited. ]
That left her confused — if these young dudes were politically rooting for sex workers and are in the period of their lives when they’re most likely to first see one, why weren’t they seizing en masse the opportunity for one of Violet’s bargain-bin BJs,
It’s a mystery alright…
Violet, a 25-year-old transsexual
Oh.
…but I didn’t harbour any illusions about their wretchedness and the squalor of their lives.
I doubt the same can be said for this crew who likely think of themselves as latter day Holly Woodlawns or think their backseat “bargin bin BJs” make them the same as an $1000/hour upper east side call girl.
Draw no comparison, citizen.
(Shriver’s article is good, but that photo stopped me in my tracks. Christ on a bike…)
“Either way, don’t use too much toilet paper.”
Actually, in light of this, the toilet paper panic is beginning to make sense.
“In case anyone imagines Ms Gaffney’s unhappy prose, above, is a one-off.”
Are we absolutely sure she isn’t another Titania McGrath?
Madam Cat said: How can she be unaware that many girls give it away?
Citation needed.
why weren’t they seizing en masse the opportunity for one of Violet’s bargain-bin BJs?
Because even Bernie Bros (or at least their male appendages) understand that you get what you pay for.
Also Bargain-Bin BJs is an excellent band name, though the group’s success would have a definite ceiling.
Thanks for the Spectator link, Mr Duncan. Money quote:
Indeed. I’m thankful David keeps this barge open, and given the shockingly poor sanitation standards we’ve all achieved herd immunity long ago. Those who survived, anyway.
A tragic and sadly predictable outcome for a previously mentioned polyamorous quintet.
shockingly poor sanitation standards
On the upside, however, there is a dart board.
Citation needed.
Q: What’s the difference between a Tri-Delt and a university bus?
A: You don’t get lucky when a bus crashes in your dorm room.
Bernie Bros, male feminists and ‘good guy’ liberals all support sex work, but for some reason they aren’t paying girls like me for sex.
How long is the list of things that Bernie Bros support wholeheartedly but won’t pay for themselves? I think bargain-bin BJs are like mass transit — every good citizen thinks it’s a really good idea for everybody else to pay for and rely on.
Karen, trying to be a cool mom by admitting the “talk to the manager” meme is funny, nevertheless still needs to talk to the manager.
Citation needed.
Late one night in my misspent adulthood, I was dropping off a girl I was acquainted with after an evening in the local tavern. She had bought a pizza to take home with her, and asked if I was hungry.
“No,” I said, “I already ate a pizza earlier tonight, but thanks anyway.”
It was years before it occurred to me that she didn’t ask what I was hungry for.
Karen, trying to be a cool mom… nevertheless still needs to talk to the manager.
Even now, when reading these things, I’m still surprised at how rarely there’s a discernible individual voice or evidence of autonomous mental activity. Instead, I just hear the programme running.
“I don’t have time for a girlfriend, but a talking frog is cool!”
Yesterday a large, stinky carton postmarked “Dunwich, MA, USA” arrived
Oh, the horror.
I just hear the programme running.
Sailer’s Law of Female Journalism again.
brand strategist
I spent several years as the senior copywriter/editor in the marketing department of a successful business, and could not tell you what, exactly, this is. I suspect exactitude would indeed be something averted, were she asked to explain its meaning.
I’m not sure nascent can be modified by almost.
And God said, “Let there almost be light.”
Or:
And God almost said, “Let there be light.”
It means nothing.
Related to the work experience mentioned above, it was an ongoing task to cut out or correct such language in the writing of my millennial then-colleagues. They seemed too often to have an idea of where, vaguely, various words inhabited the English language’s geography of meaning, without knowing the actual, exact meaning of anything.
How often I heard in my head, the voice of Vizzini exclaim, “Inconceivable!”
…in which seemingly unhappy people share photos of their genitals, often far and wide, in the hope of being validated.
It’s of the same species as woke signaling, but for the theoretically attractive.
Where does the Groan dig these nutcases up?
As I’ve suggested before let’s bury them again. Of course I’m speaking metaphorically….of…..course.
Where does the Groan dig these nutcases up?
“Igor, would you mind telling me whose brain you did give me?”
“Abby…someone.”
“Abby who?”
“Abby…Normal.”
Yesterday a large, stinky carton postmarked “Dunwich, MA, USA” arrived
Dunwich was a ruse, at least for MA. Probably it is a carton of tea, fished out of the Boston harbour a few years back. The French Chef just did what the French do and beat a retreat. He’ll show up once the S.A.S. have secured the premises.
Unsolicited Nudes
Piles of Inapt Words
Since nobody else is going to say it, these are obviously band names.
“Abby…Normal.”
I’m having a Madeline Kahn flashback.
Sigh… Juul-puffing Mullets is the band name. Bargain-bin BJ’s was their first album, the indie label one they put out before being “discovered” by the lamest talent scout at Virgin Records.. First album with Virgin flamed out because no one really liked the indie one to begin with. No one knows what became of them because no one cared in the first place.
The Ten Existential Threats To Humanity – Free Speech Is One Apparently
via Samizdata
Imagine a Birkenstock stamping on a human face, forever.
it was an ongoing task to cut out or correct such language in the writing of my millennial then-colleagues.
A local grocery store has an announcement:
There is no explanation on the sign explaining what a standalone facemask would do with gloves, or hopw a standalone facemask goes about handling food.
[…] these are obviously band names.
I don’t know. They sound more like album titles to me. Or maybe, Unsolicited Nudes is the band name and Piles of Inapt Words is the album title. I think it’s WTP who’s the expert on the distinction between band names, album titles, and song titles.
and although many will ruminate on how we have changed is it not true that most who ruminate also graze?
“…Or maybe, Unsolicited Nudes is the band name and Piles of Inapt Words is the album title…”
You’re right. I’m beginning to remember why I flunked music class in elementary school.
I think it’s WTP who’s the expert on the distinction between band names, album titles, and song titles.
Thank you. See, that’s the kind of recognition I
cravedeserve.Unsolicited Nudes – I can see where you may be thinking, thanks to “Bare Naked Ladies”, of a marquee of “Live: Unsolicited Nudes”…but it really doesn’t quite work the same way. Thus, album title.
Piles of Inapt Words – See this is a track on the album, however the twist is it’s an instrumental. Maybe there’s an oboe involved, maybe there’s not. Not really my place to say.