Generation A is leading the way to an increasingly commodified lifestyle, sexual habits included. Gen Yers like me and even Gen Xers are quickly jumping on the Gen A ‘me’ bandwagon. This is no great revelation, it’s a trend that’s been happening for a while and is really just an extension of the consumption-driven culture that is modern-day America. Seventy percent of The United States’ Gross Domestic Product is generated by consumption. This means that the money people spend to buy stuff is what makes this country rich. It’s a self-generating, self-perpetuating economic model, expedited by the literal printing of money. Not the production of actual material goods, not manufacturing and export activities, not the cultivation of raw materials or commodities. Shopping. We are increasingly defined by what we wear, have and own. Who we are is directly related to the image of the company we work for and the labels on our shopping bags. Every job, profession and business has an embellished label, an identity of its own that allows us Millennials to immediately identify what we’ll be getting or who we will become if we are a part of it. This extreme commoditization is both hyper and de-humanzing. It at once takes account of every whim, feeling and desire we have to express our individuality, whilst categorizing and homogenizing the resultant traits. We’re all getting our 15 minutes and it feels good. Blogging, facebooking, twittering and iphones have democratized free expression, stripped us of privacy and exponentially increased our sense of self-importance. We took the exposure we saw happening on Reality TV, through public camera surveillance and in celebrity gossip culture and put pushed it as far as we could. Everyone is what their Facebook update says they are, what their job title names them, the numbers on their web stats page. We’re running to keep up with every new technological and status-oriented thing and get to a piece of it. Sexually, this is manifesting in quick, anonymous and detached encounters or furious dating in the race to find the perfect soul mate, or one who at least looks good on a virtual resume. See New York Magazine’s Sex Diaries for real life examples of such vacuous encounters (or some of my previous blog posts).
I’ve had my own fill of the narcissistic lifestyle and although I’ve gotten rid of a lot of dead wood lately, I’m keeping a toe in the pool of pure gratification. Only the toe as there are too many negative consequences to swimming in Echo’s pond. FFB (Former Frat Boy) is the ultimate GenAer, ensconced in the game and consuming all the Good Times New York has to offer. He stands for a lot of what I’m trying to get away from. He’s full of text speak and sexisms that are ok because girls have put themselves out there for the slamming. Ashley Dupres are cool because hey, they’re hot and they’re infamous. He aspires to be Hank Moody. He’s a younger version of my ex-boyfriend–ex for good reason. But when I don’t want to think about anything, when I don’t want to talk about anything, when I want to watch mindless TV and hear stories about gay chicken and beer pong, he’s perfect. Aside from that, you can’t help who you’re blindly, relentlessly sexually attracted to and why not enjoy that while you can? I was a bit annoyed at first that FFB expected to call up at midnight and invite himself over to my apartment. I said no, but let’s get drinks or dinner. FFB can’t put that much emotional effort into something that’s not going to go anywhere, he said. LOL. Fuck that, I thought. But I came around. He’s right, actually. I want to talk subtexts of London Fields at a dive bar or lounge somewhere dirty and decadent, while he’s looking for the bar with ten screens on ESPN. So I go out with my friends and when I’m on the way home, I give him a shout. He comes over, we don’t say much. It’s just hot, straight up sex. No ropes, no games, no lingerie. He’s such a shameless boy and underneath the sweet talk and smiles, a total chauvinist. I hate it that I love it.
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This shibari tie is known as the Gunslinger. Rope is secured diagonally across each hip, creating a secure bind from which to suspend your model. Photo
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