Let's talk about sex, baby.
A very long absence from blogging, due for the most part of mental over-taxation caused by rapidly deteriorating desire to spend another minute in my job. But no more complaints about the job, at least for now or at least until something has changed. This blog is [no longer, thank god] a place for Erika to air her oft petty grievances.
Instead, I shall talk about sex.
(Let's face it, off the blog pages, I'm always talking about sex anyway. Fascinating subject, really.)
More than a year ago, I wrote on how I perceived Mexican women as on the edge of revolution, predicting stridently that the social shape of Mexico in 20 years would be almost unrecognizable from the social shape of Mexico today. "Mexican women," I wrote (although I'm paraphrasing because I'm too lazy to go look it up), "say yes or no to sex with a liberation not yet achieved by their northern sisters."
I was wrong.
I think a large part of my error came from a pendulum swing, the result of having somehow subconsciously bought into the virgin/whore dichotomy presented by Hollywood depictions of Mexico. I believe now that I came to Mexico thinking that, while those lusty Brazilians were out tossing back the caipirinhas and shagging happily, Mexican women were... what?... being wives and mothers, mostly willing captives of the Mexican machismo.
And I say I believed that then because, on some level, I think I still believe that now. After being warned not to tell people I live with a man, lest they think that I'm some brazen hussy, it still surprises me when I learn that a female friend of mine is not a virgin. In fact, of the female friends I have whom I am close enough to to know that degree of private information, none of them are. Not a single one.
And so I, in my enthusiasm and shattering presuppositions, proclaim loudly the sexual liberation of the Mexican female. They live in a culture that tells them that the most womanly of all women was a virgin AND a mother, I rejoiced, yet they themselves are liberated in their sexuality! How marvellous! How admirable!
That I went on to condemn Canadian woman for perceived lack of sexual liberation is fascinating, in hindsight. Do I know any virgins in Canada, either?
Only in the past month have I realized my overcompensation for my original image. The virgin and the whore, they are alive and well in Mexico.
As a white, foreign female in Mexico, I've been told, many people will assume I am a easy shag. This, much like my media-cultivated mental image of the primly dressed señorita, is from Girls Gone Wild videos: during Spring Break in Cancún, the locals flee the inundation of drunk, horny frat boys and sorority girls looking to paaaaaaaaar-tay, woooooooooooo, show us your tits! We also laugh a lot, said the Mexican doctor once, which makes sense given the quantity alcohol consumed.
Mexican men have a similar reputation, bordering on obligation, for sexual flagrancy. This goes beyond the Latin Loh-ver (few Mexicans fit into that smooth-talking, heart-breaking, pirate shirt-clad stereotype, really) but appears almost a part of the social concept of masculinity. Have penis, will shag. Married? Shag more discreetly.
As a result, my sexual life is of no concern to the Mexicans around me: I am already a whore and the Mexicans I am assumedly philandering with are just doing their testosterone-fueled duty.
Mexican women, however, are not so lucky.
My assessment that Mexican women having sex with their boyfriends equals Mexican women are sexually liberated was a gross and highly ignorant oversimplification of the real equation. Yes, it's true that my female friends are not virgins, and several have told me of covert nights in hotels (they all live at home, see) in order to be able to have a little hankypanky. And, yes, more than a few of them have talked about one night stands and casual sex. In fact, place Typical Canadian Female Friend against Typical Mexican Female Friend and you wouldn't see a whole lot of difference in their tally sheets.
But the notches are misleading, and it seems the Virgin of Guadalupe continues to watch over the Mexican women through her heavy-lidded eyes of sorrowful purity. Of the women I've talked sex with, not a single one has been entirely at peace with it. One struggled with the idea of spending the night in the bed of a pretty stranger, only to give in and then flee from him during the night before she be found by the other people in the house. Another expressed gratitude that her casual fling had resulted in a serious relationship. A third confessed to having never had an orgasm with any of her lovers, due, she thought, to confused feelings about whether she was allowed to enjoy it.
(I, incidentally, am relishing my position as sage dish-er out of counsel, drawing on the legacy of my pale-skinned sister whores...)
Sexual liberation with emotional freedom. An increased use of the birth control pill but a continuing reluctance to demand that your protesting partner put on a condom lest he think you don't love him. Something that you can do but not talk about, that you can do but not enjoy. All those years of teaching the sex is wrong, sex is for the man, ricocheting around in these poor, beautiful, sensual women's heads.
And I thought Canadian youth were pumped full of the erroneous message that "men want sex, women give sex"! Here, the adage that "men give love for sex and women give sex for love" is almost a mantra.
(I feel I must pause for a minute here and dutifully note that, of course, not everyone falls into these lines of thought. Without effort, I can think of several men and several women who appear to run counter to these generalizations, and at least one of the women I can think of appears none the worse for wear for her bucking of social mores. I also write from a deeply Mexico City-centric viewpoint, and am quite aware that what goes on in this megalopolis is likely not being mirrored in the small rural towns.)
So. Erika has revised her cry of revolution accordingly. I still believe that this generation of quasi-heathens, shrugging off the doleful faces of their parents' deities in favour of more individual thought and action, are at the forefront of a dramatic shift in the social make-up of Mexican society. When so much of a society's conservative mores are based on adherence to a religion that teaches humility, virginity and quiet suffering, the decline of active devotion will mean a rebellion against those same values. Some will argue the changes will be for the better, others, for the worse, of course, but it is undeniable that the changes are coming.
And I, for one, am ready to welcome my Mexican sisters into the hallowed ranks of the Western whore, provided that they are willing to hang up their guilt and shame once and for all at the door. Do or not do, as some wise green critter once said, just don't listen to anyone but yourself when making that decision.
Instead, I shall talk about sex.
(Let's face it, off the blog pages, I'm always talking about sex anyway. Fascinating subject, really.)
More than a year ago, I wrote on how I perceived Mexican women as on the edge of revolution, predicting stridently that the social shape of Mexico in 20 years would be almost unrecognizable from the social shape of Mexico today. "Mexican women," I wrote (although I'm paraphrasing because I'm too lazy to go look it up), "say yes or no to sex with a liberation not yet achieved by their northern sisters."
I was wrong.
I think a large part of my error came from a pendulum swing, the result of having somehow subconsciously bought into the virgin/whore dichotomy presented by Hollywood depictions of Mexico. I believe now that I came to Mexico thinking that, while those lusty Brazilians were out tossing back the caipirinhas and shagging happily, Mexican women were... what?... being wives and mothers, mostly willing captives of the Mexican machismo.
And I say I believed that then because, on some level, I think I still believe that now. After being warned not to tell people I live with a man, lest they think that I'm some brazen hussy, it still surprises me when I learn that a female friend of mine is not a virgin. In fact, of the female friends I have whom I am close enough to to know that degree of private information, none of them are. Not a single one.
And so I, in my enthusiasm and shattering presuppositions, proclaim loudly the sexual liberation of the Mexican female. They live in a culture that tells them that the most womanly of all women was a virgin AND a mother, I rejoiced, yet they themselves are liberated in their sexuality! How marvellous! How admirable!
That I went on to condemn Canadian woman for perceived lack of sexual liberation is fascinating, in hindsight. Do I know any virgins in Canada, either?
Only in the past month have I realized my overcompensation for my original image. The virgin and the whore, they are alive and well in Mexico.
As a white, foreign female in Mexico, I've been told, many people will assume I am a easy shag. This, much like my media-cultivated mental image of the primly dressed señorita, is from Girls Gone Wild videos: during Spring Break in Cancún, the locals flee the inundation of drunk, horny frat boys and sorority girls looking to paaaaaaaaar-tay, woooooooooooo, show us your tits! We also laugh a lot, said the Mexican doctor once, which makes sense given the quantity alcohol consumed.
Mexican men have a similar reputation, bordering on obligation, for sexual flagrancy. This goes beyond the Latin Loh-ver (few Mexicans fit into that smooth-talking, heart-breaking, pirate shirt-clad stereotype, really) but appears almost a part of the social concept of masculinity. Have penis, will shag. Married? Shag more discreetly.
As a result, my sexual life is of no concern to the Mexicans around me: I am already a whore and the Mexicans I am assumedly philandering with are just doing their testosterone-fueled duty.
Mexican women, however, are not so lucky.
My assessment that Mexican women having sex with their boyfriends equals Mexican women are sexually liberated was a gross and highly ignorant oversimplification of the real equation. Yes, it's true that my female friends are not virgins, and several have told me of covert nights in hotels (they all live at home, see) in order to be able to have a little hankypanky. And, yes, more than a few of them have talked about one night stands and casual sex. In fact, place Typical Canadian Female Friend against Typical Mexican Female Friend and you wouldn't see a whole lot of difference in their tally sheets.
But the notches are misleading, and it seems the Virgin of Guadalupe continues to watch over the Mexican women through her heavy-lidded eyes of sorrowful purity. Of the women I've talked sex with, not a single one has been entirely at peace with it. One struggled with the idea of spending the night in the bed of a pretty stranger, only to give in and then flee from him during the night before she be found by the other people in the house. Another expressed gratitude that her casual fling had resulted in a serious relationship. A third confessed to having never had an orgasm with any of her lovers, due, she thought, to confused feelings about whether she was allowed to enjoy it.
(I, incidentally, am relishing my position as sage dish-er out of counsel, drawing on the legacy of my pale-skinned sister whores...)
Sexual liberation with emotional freedom. An increased use of the birth control pill but a continuing reluctance to demand that your protesting partner put on a condom lest he think you don't love him. Something that you can do but not talk about, that you can do but not enjoy. All those years of teaching the sex is wrong, sex is for the man, ricocheting around in these poor, beautiful, sensual women's heads.
And I thought Canadian youth were pumped full of the erroneous message that "men want sex, women give sex"! Here, the adage that "men give love for sex and women give sex for love" is almost a mantra.
(I feel I must pause for a minute here and dutifully note that, of course, not everyone falls into these lines of thought. Without effort, I can think of several men and several women who appear to run counter to these generalizations, and at least one of the women I can think of appears none the worse for wear for her bucking of social mores. I also write from a deeply Mexico City-centric viewpoint, and am quite aware that what goes on in this megalopolis is likely not being mirrored in the small rural towns.)
So. Erika has revised her cry of revolution accordingly. I still believe that this generation of quasi-heathens, shrugging off the doleful faces of their parents' deities in favour of more individual thought and action, are at the forefront of a dramatic shift in the social make-up of Mexican society. When so much of a society's conservative mores are based on adherence to a religion that teaches humility, virginity and quiet suffering, the decline of active devotion will mean a rebellion against those same values. Some will argue the changes will be for the better, others, for the worse, of course, but it is undeniable that the changes are coming.
And I, for one, am ready to welcome my Mexican sisters into the hallowed ranks of the Western whore, provided that they are willing to hang up their guilt and shame once and for all at the door. Do or not do, as some wise green critter once said, just don't listen to anyone but yourself when making that decision.