#26 of the 1963 Communist Goals for America:
Present homosexuality, degeneracy and promiscuity as “normal, natural, healthy.”
Founded in 2003 as a sister publication to Vogue fashion magazine, Teen Vogue targets teenage girls. Since 2015, following a steep decline in sales, the magazine cut back on its print distribution in favor of online content, which has grown significantly. The magazine has expanded its focus from fashion and celebrities to include politics and current affairs.
In July, Teen Vogue promoted anal sex, which the CDC says is the riskiest type of sex for getting/transmitting HIV. Anal sex can also lead to a host of other medical and sanitary problems, such as chronic fecal leakage. (See DCG’s post here).
The latest Teen Vogue indoctrination is ecosex, i.e., sex with the “environment”.
Below is an article by Mary Katharine Tramontana for Teen Vogue, June 30, 2017. See if you can make any sense of what Tramontana wrote, such as the term “BDSM pollination”:
There’s a photo of electropunk musician Peaches sprawled face-down on a lawn, tongue out, with a caption reading: “Grassilingus.” The gender-fluid rock star who taught us to unapologetically embrace sex and our body hair is getting ecosexual.
“Ecosexuality is making the earth an urgent sexual matter. Instead of ‘Mother Earth’, where the earth comforts you, earth is your lover — on your level — putting the responsibility on you to uphold your side of the relationship…, [it’s] revolutionary,” she says.
Whether it’s masturbating with water pressure, using eco-friendly lubricant, or literally having sex with a tree — a person of any sexual proclivity who finds eroticism in nature, or believes that making environmentalism sexy will slow the planet’s destruction, can be ecosexual. The term ecosex is like the word “queer”; its meaning varies — a movement, an identity, a sexual practice, an environmental activist strategy — depending on who you ask.
“We’re in a period I call the ecosexual baby boom,” says Loren Kronemyer, half of the Australia-based art duo Pony Express, who are currently touring their Ecosexual Bathhouse, an immersive installation that includes BDSM pollination.
Kronemyer says that young people are discovering the topic through the conceptual art projects of self-described Bay Area “sexecologists” Annie Sprinkle and [her “wife”] Elizabeth Stephens. Sprinkle, formerly a porn star and sex worker, is now a sex educator and artist who has exhibited work at the Guggenheim. Stephens is a professor of art at the University of California, Santa Cruz, who grew up in the Appalachian coal country of West Virginia.
Note: Annie Sprinkle, real name Ellen Steinberg, is a lesbian, former stripper and porn actress, who now calls her an “ecosexual” sex educator and feminist. Sprinkle/Steinberg is best known for her Public Cervix Announcement “performance art” in which she invited the audience to “celebrate the female body” by viewing her cervix with a speculum and flashlight.
In 2011, the two wrote an ecosex manifesto, and have since made a career of promoting ecoeroticism to the public through activism, symposia, and performance art, including ecosexual walking tours and wedding ceremonies — “We call them sequins of events,” Sprinkle says – for the dirt, sea, and other elements.
“All this wood here is very sensual,” Sprinkle gestures to the rough tables made of recycled pallets, which surround us as we chat in an outdoor cafe at documenta 14, an enormous art exhibition in Kassel, Germany.
“Ecosexuality is a way of enjoying the sensuality of pretty much anything,” says Stephens. “It’s really about embodiment.” In the gallery across the street, a roomful of Sprinkle and Stephens visual artwork and vintage erotica is on display. In September, they’ll premiere their second feature documentary film here, Water Makes Us Wet. Before we part, Sprinkle tells me, “Shakespeare was an ecosexual.”
At the San Francisco pride parade in 2015, the pair performed a ribbon cutting to advocate adding an “E” to the LGBTQ acronym. Not everyone is keen on this idea. “I don’t see ecosexuality as an identity [or] another letter to be added to the already ridiculous LGBTQ list” says Spanish writer, philosopher, and transgender activist Paul B. Preciado. Preciado curated documenta’s public programs and is a leading thinker in gender theory and sexuality, who was mentored by the hugely influential French philosopher Jacques Derrida. “We don’t need identities, but processes of critical de-identification.” At a time when more and more millennials are opting out of fixed sexual identity labels to appreciate the fluidity of erotic desire, aligning ecosex with sexual orientation models may be perceived as constraining.
“The strength of ecosexualiy is the re-erotization of the totality of the body [and] of everything that surrounds us,” says Preciado. Often, the only body parts considered erotic are those linked to reproduction. This segmenting of “sex organs” is a staple of the “sex-binary regime,” according to Preciado. It’s connected to the way that our heteropatriarchal society has an extremely narrow, notion of what sex is; namely, vagainal penetration, a sex act which has been scientifically shown to not bring most women to orgasm.
Ecosexuals are certainly not the first to celebrate eros within nature, and this is where things may get dicey. “Ecosexuality is not going to appeal to most indigenous people. … I teach it in my classes and my students are viscerally like, ‘This is weird, self-indulgent white people,’” says anthropologist Kim TallBear, a professor of Native Studies at University of Alberta, in a phone interview from Edmonton, Canada. TallBear, a speaker at Sprinkle and Stephens’ recent University of California, Santa Cruz Ecosex Symposium, is writing a book which explores the effects of colonization on queer sexuality. For many of her students, she says, ecosex raises questions about consent. Can a tree do that?
“When people talk about the Anthropocene they typically say, ‘We as a species are now coming to realize that we have to stop putting humans at the top of the hierarchy. Other beings have agency,’ and I’m like, ‘No, it’s not we who are just now having this revelation; it’s a bunch of white guys’”. TallBear says there’s always a risk of subconsciously appropriating indigenous culture.
“Don’t forget that what you’re saying about humanity probably doesn’t apply to indigenous people,” she said. “And, yes, we’re still here.”
The ecosex sphere may still be evolving, but one thing is clear, with the Trump administration’s threat on environmental protections, women’s bodily autonomy, and queer and trans rights, it’s necessary to find new ways to get people motivated to come together to protect the planet and sexual freedom. Perhaps it would be better to create an erotic landscape which doesn’t add more categories of difference, but expanded possibilities.