It is my firm belief that inside every avowed libertarian lurks a concealed tyrant. No matter how freedom-loving we profess to be, the urge to control others is always present on some level. It must be fought against. The inner tyrant is the Jungian shadow side of the lover of liberty, something that naturally collects in the soul’s underbelly when one loves lawlessness too much.
Or maybe that’s just me. I can’t speak for others, but if I fully gave in to my tyrannical shadow and became the language police, the first word I would ban is partner. And fuck it, throw partnership in too.
Is there any word more anaphrodisiac than partner? Is there any word, when used in a romantic context, less indicative of wizardry in the sack? It evokes images of nü-males like Justin Trudeau, the kind of men who let women pay on the first date, the kind of man who is always happy to clean a toilet or do the dishes. I know this is the kind of thing I’m “supposed” to “want,” but truly, it makes my insides curdle. Partner is the word for people who find lovers on LinkedIn. It reminds me of the height of the pandemic in 2020, when a friend said to me while strolling through the city, “Whenever I see a couple and the man’s wearing a mask and the woman’s not, I think, ‘She pegs him.’” There is nothing that makes me want to have sex less than calling someone my partner. Partner evokes filing cabinets, Excel spreadsheets, and the kind of people who despite procreating together, owning property together, and constantly swapping bodily fluids still will not get married because they’re “enlightened” — a “modern” family.
Now, before gay couples had the ability to get married, their use of partner was completely understandable. A less infantile version of boyfriend/girlfriend was necessary, something that would show seriousness of commitment. But must this term now balloon out to be used by everyone, and replace terms that denote romance or some inkling of sexuality, rather than corporate-speak? I don’t want a corporate relationship. I’d rather have desires than goals. I heard a quote recently: “The ethic of marriage is hedonistic, not monastic.” That’s right — I believe marriage should be about fucking. Pleasure. Not just paying bills or raising children. Why are we forgetting this?
Get ready for another concept that’ll shrink your erection, if you have one. It’s called — wait for it — “relationship equity.” Oh — you didn’t know that June 24th is National Relationship Equity Day? Quick, break out the dumbbells. You’re going to need to get your solidarity fist into shape. Apparently “relationship equity,” according to a study featured in The Journal of Sex Research, involves the sharing of chores (hence dissolution of male and female roles) and increases ever-elusive FSD (female sexual desire). Similarly, the completely brainless website mindbodygreen asserts that one “way to express equity in the relationship” is to use the word partner rather than husband, wife, boyfriend, or girlfriend, as a way to escape “traditional implications.”
The quote about marriage not being monastic is from a rabbi named Joseph Soloveitchik. In an essay from his book “Family Redeemed,” he explains that marriage “is not simply a … contractual commitment” but a “covenant” that “pursues pleasure.” He goes so far as to say that “a marriage that does not provide the partners with ‘carnal pleasure and sensual love’ should be dismantled.” “Marriage without carnal enjoyment and erotic love is contrary to human nature,” he claims, and married people are to help each other “fulfill his or her desire for a child.” HOT. This is similar to a concept from the Evangelical site Desiring God called “Christian Hedonism,” which invokes Ephesians 5:29’s directive to “nourish and cherish” one’s flesh rather than “hate” it.
The problem with law firm language like partner and finance language like equity is that it sucks all the life out of that which should be life-giving. In one of my favorite books of all time, “A Vindication of Love: Reclaiming Romance for the Twenty-first Century,” essayist Cristina Nehring objects to relationships being “streamlined” and “emptied of spiritual consequence.” She rages against the “methodical demystification” of eros and how it renders today’s cultural environment a “much flatter place.” The emphasis on cleaning and sharing chores that advocates of the term partner focus on directly points to its mundane and sanitizing quality. We should aim for something at the same time more sacred and much dirtier.
I was lucky enough several years ago to attend a lecture given by the great writer Maggie Nelson, whose book “The Argonauts” is one of the most moving meditations on family in recent memory. I didn’t record the event but I did manage to scribble down several things she said, so what follows is a paraphrase. In essay writing, she said, “Assertion is performance. You’re just taking your thought out for a ride. And in a year you can say, ‘I was completely wrong, and my position on that was also unethical.’ There comes a point when you will have to say something indefensible.” I’ve thought a lot about the opinion piece I wrote last month for RealClearPolitics, which raged against the politicization of fashion magazines. Alright, so I made a proclamation and slammed my fist down on the table. I now wonder if I even agree with myself. Although I often preach at the pulpit of apoliticism, the truth is that I like politics because it allows me to sublimate my bellicose nature without succumbing to fisticuffs or other paroxysms. I must concede that a thoroughly apolitical fashion publication may not be possible. Many fashion trends come from subculture, and subcultures often inherently make political statements. In his book “Subculture: The Meaning of Style,” Dick Hebdige speaks about “the idea of style as a form of Refusal.” A politics-free fashion magazine would likely be bloodless and toothless. There are plenty of lifestyle and interiors accounts one can view on Instagram that don’t harp on current affairs. This is soothing, but is it interesting? The most we can hope for, potentially, is a publication that features a variety of views yet still places aesthetics first.
How could a fashion platform commemorate the genius of Vivienne Westwood (who passed away on Thursday), for example, without commenting on or analyzing her political legacy and her environmental activism? The great designer, whose origins were in 1970s punk culture, once made an entire collection inspired by John Stuart Mill’s essay “On Liberty” and in later years championed the British Green Party. Plenty of contemporary culture publications are eager to claim her as an ideological fellow traveler — note this Dazed obituary which proudly trills that the Dame’s creations defied “restrictive gender norms” (yawn). But what did Vivienne Westwood actually say about women? Here are a few choice quotes:
“They shouldn't try and be copying men and be masculine; they should anchor on the home and build on those fundamentals.”
“Personally I'm not a feminist, as I can't stand puritans.”
“I really don't like women who try to be men.”
She also echoed Maggie Nelson, saying simultaneously that “there’s always a polemic in my clothes,” and “I disagree with everything I used to say.” The brilliance of this woman cannot be reduced to one blunt political mode. That’s the problem — not that fashion publishing addresses contemporary issues, but that all fashion content is drenched in DNC sauce. It’s like when hipsters became obsessed with Sriracha and started dumping it all over everything, even Italian food.
Observe the primal scream of this poor triggered Italian who commented on a recent warmongering Vogue post that had nothing to do with clothes:
His cry of “fashion — not politics,” in addition to being cheered by a chorus of 482, was accompanied by multiple responses on another similar post:
This foray into interventionist chic, among many other indignities, is part of the reason anti-conventional voices on style, aesthetics, and culture are so needed. SHOWstudio — a platform for fashion film which may be of interest to readers of this site — has provided fascinating panel conversations for years featuring contrarian personalities such as Finn Mactaggart and Reba Maybury. An artist, writer, and dominatrix, Maybury earned my affection in 2017 when she commented on Raf Simons’ Spring/Summer 2018 collection for Calvin Klein.
After tepid murmurings of approval from the other panelists, Reba’s motor really gets running at 43:06 when she bursts into an expression of displeasure. “You know, I was going to say,” she launches in. “It’s just emotionally stagnant.” Daring to speak ill of Simons is to blaspheme in fashion circles, but Reba continues. “There’s no sex … no one’s going to go fuck someone wearing this, are they? No one’s doing the walk of shame in this outfit. Can you imagine her in the middle, like, running out of someone’s bed? I don’t fucking think so. I’m like, no one’s going to go and have a big fight with their ex-boyfriend … and get drunk and dance on the table … I’m bored. No one’s shagging, no one’s fighting, no one’s dancing. Therefore, I don’t care. Sterile. STERILE!”
I collect these moments. I make archives of them — those instances when someone says something unpasteurized, when something feral, filthy and fertile escapes their mouth. I live for these moments. When I see a flash in people of something pheromonal or atavistic, something that the regulating mechanisms of daily life are unable to control, I am gratified. I am a connoisseur and scholar of the inner animal.