Virgins and Queers: Rehabilitating Heterosexuality

Virgins and Queers: Rehabilitating Heterosexuality?

Author(s): Celia Kitzinger and Sue Wilkinson

Source: Gender and Society, Vol. 8, No. 3, This Issue Is Devoted to: Sexual Identities/Sexual
Communities (Sep., 1994), pp. 444-462
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VIRGINS AND
QUEERS
Rehabilitating Heterosexuality?
CELIA KITZINGER
SUE WILKINSON
Loughborough University
Radicalfeminism
has
critiqued heterosexuality
both as a
primary
means
through
which
people
are constituted as women and as
men,
and as
inherently oppressive for
women. Two recent
developments challenge
this
critique:
the
concept of "virgin" heterosexuality, aform of
hetero-
sexuality
in which the
performance of
heterosexual
sex,
with or without sexual
intercourse,
is
voluntarily
chosen,
and
"queer" heterosexuality,
a
concept
derived
from postmodernist
and
queer theory,
which does not
only
reinscribe,
but also
actively
subverts and
disrupts, oppressive
categories of gender
("maleness"
and
"femaleness")
and sexual orientation
(e.g.,
the
"gay"/
"straight" dichotomy).
This article
analyzes
the
attempts
made in
"virgin"
and
"queer" theory
to rehabilitate
heterosexuality,
and
finds
both
fundamentally
flawed
from
a radical
feminist
perspective.
It ends
by considering why
such
rehabilitatory attempts
are
currently being
made,
and what
they
reveal about
heterosexuality.
Some
years ago,
one of us had a
Portuguese neighbor
who, about six months
after the birth of her first
child,
burst into tears one
day,
and
said,
"I am not
a real woman."
Looking
at her
elegantly made-up
face,
her
expensive
dress
and
jewelry,
and the child in her
arms,
it took some time to work out what
she meant: since the birth of her
child,
she had not had sexual intercourse
with her husband. "I am not a real woman"
appeared
to be a literal translation
of a
Portuguese phrase.
It was one of the clearest demonstrations of the extent
to
which,
at least in modem Western
cultures,
being
a "real woman" means
engaging
in heterosexual sexual
activity. Heterosexuality
constitutes women
as "real" women and men as "real" men
(Wittig 1992).
Those of us who are
not heterosexual lose
authenticity
as members of our own sex and become
"the third sex"-unsexed or
degendered.
Heterosexuality
reinscribes male/female divisions
by
its
very
definition:
"hetero" means
other, different; "heterosexuality"
means sexual involvement
with one who is
other,
one who is different-man with
woman,
woman with
man. The otherness of the "other"
sex,
the "differentness" of man from
woman,
is
thereby immediately
reinforced. There
are,
of
course,
many ways
GENDER & SOCIETY, Vol. 8 No.
3,
September
1994 444-463
? 1994
Sociologists
for Women in
Society
444
Kitzinger,
Wilkinson / PERSPECTIVES 445
in which human
beings
differ from each other:
"heterosexuality"
could mean
sex between two
people
of different racial or ethnic
backgrounds (regardless
of their
sex),
or between two
people
of different
religious
or
political
persuasions,
or between two
people
from different socioeconomic
groups.
Instead,
"heterosexuality"
marks what is
seen,
in some
sense,
as the funda-
mental "difference"-the male/female division.
From the
beginning
of first-wave
feminism,
feminists have
produced
searing critiques
of
heterosexuality, pointing
in
particular
to the abuses
associated with heterosexual sex
(child
sexual
abuse,
rape
in
marriage,
clitoridectomy, wife-beating,
sexual
slavery),
and to the
compulsory
nature
of
heterosexuality
in a
society
that
systematically
inculcates and rewards
heterosexuality
while
punishing
and
rendering
lesbianism invisible. Such
critiques,
advanced from a
range
of different feminist
perspectives (including
liberal and socialist
feminisms)
have often left
open
the
possibility
of a
(potentially)
nonabusive and
noncompulsory heterosexuality, freely
chosen
by
women in
egalitarian
and
personally rewarding relationships
with men.
The radical feminist
critique
of
heterosexuality, by
contrast,
critiques
even
purportedly noncompulsory
and nonabusive
heterosexuality
as
reinscribing
sex
differences,
and
hence,
inevitably,
women
'
subordination and men's
power.
This latter
critique
would seem to render
heterosexuality political
anathema for feminists.
Many
feminists, however,
have
expressed
the belief that
heterosexuality
can be rescued and rehabilitated.
Indeed,
some of the
very
same theorists who
propose
the radical
critique
nonetheless retain the
possibility
of some kind
of
heterosexuality exempt
from this
analysis.
In this
article,
we discuss and
evaluate two such
attempts,
both
(in
their
contemporary manifestations)
originating
from lesbian feminists. The
first,
"virgin heterosexuality" (a
heterosexuality
which does not
reinscribe,
but rather resists "maleness" and
"femaleness")
is advanced
by Marilyn Frye,
first at a
speech given
at the
National Women's Studies Association annual conference in June
1990,
published
in
off
our backs later than same
year (prompting
a flood of letters
in
response),
and
subsequently
revised as a
chapter
in her
book,
Willful
Virgin
(1992).
The second
rehabilitatory attempt, "queer heterosexuality" (a
hetero-
sexuality
which not
only
does not
reinscribe,
but which
actively
subverts,
"maleness and
"femaleness")
is an offshoot of
postmodernist
and
queer
theory,
the former often identified with Judith Butler's
enormously
influential
book,
Gender Trouble
(1990),
the latter with activist
groups
such as
Queer
Nation and
OutRage.
In this article we discuss the
attempts
of
"virgin"
and
"queer"
theorists to rehabilitate
heterosexuality.
We
analyze,
from a radical
feminist
perspective,
the
problem
associated with both
rehabilitory attempts
and consider their
implications.
446 GENDER & SOCIETY /
September
1994
VIRGIN HETEROSEXUALITY:
RESISTING "SEX"
In what seems an
attempt
to retain heterosexual women's
allegiance
to
feminist
politics,
lesbian feminist
Marilyn Frye
offers the
possibility
of
rehabilitating heterosexuality by reviving
the historical
meaning
attached to
the word
"virgins."
This term
originally
meant not women without
experience
of heterosexual intercourse but rather "females who are
willing
to
engage
in
chosen connections with
males,
who are wild
females,
undomesticated
females,
thoroughly
defiant of
patriarchal
female
heterosexuality" (1992,
134).
The
question,
then,
is whether it is
possible
for a
contemporary
woman
to become a
"virgin"
in this sense: to retain freedom of choice to take or to
reject
male
lovers;
to have
many
male
lovers,
but never be
possessed
or
captured,
to be
"one-in-herself,"
unexploited,
not in a man's control. Is it
possible
for women to
enjoy
sexual interactions which "are not sites where
people
with
penises
make themselves men and
people
with
vaginas
are made
women"
(Frye
1992, 134)?
Frye's
own answer to this
question
is somewhat
ambiguous. Many
women
heard her
original speech,
and the article based on
it,
as an-
swering
"no,"
and as
claiming
lesbianism as an essential
component
of feminism. What she
actually says
is this:
I think
everything
is
against
it,
but it's not
my
call. I can
hopefully imagine,
but
the
counter-possible
creation of such a
reality
is
up
to those who want to live
it,
if
anyone
does.
(1992, 136;
emphasis
in
original)
In
putting
the burden of
creating
"heterosexual
virginity"
onto those women
who wish to
engage
in sexual connection with
men,
while
maintaining
independence
and
autonomy, Frye poses
an
important challenge
to hetero-
sexual
feminists,
and her
analysis
has
far-reaching implications
for radical
feminist
theory.
We raise three
key
concerns here:
(1)
the
politics
of
penetra-
tion; (2)
the method of heterosexual
virginity;
and
(3)
the
problem
of
power.
First,
in
suggesting
that sexual intercourse is
compatible
with
virginity,
Frye's analysis
runs counter to a
long-standing
radical feminist
political
analysis
of the
politics
of
penile-vaginal penetration.
It is
precisely penile-
vaginal penetration,
rather than
any
other acts of heterosexual
sex,
which has
been
critiqued by
those who
point
to the
particular
set of cultural and
political
meanings
attached to
penile penetration
of women
(being
"had,"
"pos-
sessed," "taken," "fucked"), meanings
which are
"oppressive, humiliating
and destructive"
(Duncker
1993, 148).
The Leeds
Revolutionary
Feminist
Group argued
that:
Kitzinger,
No act of
penetration
takes
place
in isolation. Each takes
place
in a
system
of
relationships
that is male
supremacy.
As no individual woman can be "liber-
ated" under male
supremacy,
so no act of
penetration
can
escape
its function
and its
symbolic power. (1981,7)
This
analysis
of
penile penetration
is
independent
of whether or not a
particular
woman
happens
to
enjoy penile-vaginal penetration-although
these two
arguments
have often been
confused,
as
though
the
experience
of
"pleasure"
in sexual intercourse somehow
mitigates against
its
oppressive
function.
Although
for some
women,
penetration
"can feel like one more
invasion...
[and is]
less
pleasurable
than other forms of sexual contact"
(Gill
and Walker
1993, 70), many
others
can,
and
do,
take
pleasure
from the
experience
of
penile-vaginal penetration
and want to
distinguish
between
"compulsory"
or "abusive"
penetration
and "consensual"
penetration:
Penetration is not
always rape. Having experienced penetration
which
was,
I
know the enormous difference between the
feeling
of
fear,
anxiety
and disem-
bodiment which come with forced
sex,
and the
feeling
of
intimacy,
oneness
and
sensuality
which comes with intercourse which is not.
(Rowland 1993,77)
If there is
safety,
trust and love in the
relationship, having
the man's
penis
inside
your vagina
can
signify
as the ultimate in closeness.... I want to
open
to him.
He wants to be wanted
by
me,
and therefore welcomed inside me. He wants
to
give
me
something:
I want to be
given
... I
get pleasure
from
feeling
his
penis
inside
my vagina
because it means
feeling
him
(with
all that means about
loving, accepting
and
respecting
this
particular person)
inside me.
(Hollway
1993)
In a
sociopolitical
context in which
many
women have
long
been denied
a
right
to sexual desires and
pleasures, attempts
to
experience pleasure
are
represented by
some feminists and sex radicals as a
struggle against oppres-
sion:
expansion
of the
"possibilities, opportunities
and
permissions
for
pleasure"
is
part
of a
"necessary
feminist
strategy
on sexual matters"
(Vance
1992, xvi).
Within radical feminist
analyses,
however,
women's
pleasure
is
not a
"pure"
erotic force
welling up
from
within,
but rather is seen as
having
been constructed under
heteropatriarchy.
Male
power
does not
simply deny
and
repress
women's
sexuality;
it also
actively
constructs it. It is neither the
relative
scarcity
nor the
impoverished quality
of female heterosexual
orgasm
that concerns
many
radical
feminists; rather,
as
Jeffreys (1990) argues,
it is
a serious
problem
that,
despite
the conditions of women's
oppression,
women
can have
orgasms
in heterosexual sex.
According
to this
analysis,
heterosex-
ual
pleasure
(and
much lesbian and
gay
male sexual
pleasure too)
is based
on the
eroticizing
of subordination
(Dworkin 1987;
Jeffreys
1990;
Kitzinger
1994;
MacKinnon
1987). Frye's analysis simply sidesteps
this radical femi-
nist
critique.
September
1994
Moreover,
some women are
virgins
in the modern sense of the term:
women whose
vaginas
are untouched
by any penis (Jo 1993). Accepting
the
analysis
of
as
inherently oppressive (and/or
sim-
ply disliking
the sensations it
produces),
other
women-and, indeed,
some
men
(e.g., Stoltenberg 1990)-either
refuse heterosexual sex
altogether,
or
choose heterosexual sex that does not include intercourse itself. This rebel-
lion
against
the "coital
imperative" (Jackson 1984,
cited in
Gavey
1993,
100)
is difficult for women to achieve in the context of heterosexual
relationships.
"For several
years
of
my
life I was
raped," says
Amanda
Sebestyen.
"I was
penetrated against my
will because I didn't dare insist on
any
other kind of
sex. And I still have a
fight any
time I start a sexual
relationship
with a man"
(1982, 235).
If heterosexual sexual intercourse is not seen as a
key
site of
oppression,
then women's valiant
attempts
to resist it are reduced to mere
acts of
personal preference.
Of
course,
some women
happen
to dislike sexual
intercourse
(and
prefer
not to do
it),
whereas others
happen
to like
it,
but
liking
or
disliking
it is not the
point
here:
personal preferences
do not address
the
key question
of the function of intercourse in
maintaining
women's
op-
pression.
The refusal of
coitus,
whether or not
accompanied by
a more
general
refusal to
engage
in
any
form of sex with
men,
has
long
been a deliberate
strategy
of resistance for feminists
(cf. Jeffreys 1985).
The
political impera-
tives
guiding
these choices are obscured
by Frye's
reversion to an archaic
definition of
virgin.
Second,
it is not at all clear how
"virginity"
(in
Frye's terms)
can be
accomplished,
and what the methods are
by
which a woman can remain
"free," "sexually
and hence
socially
her own
person" (Frye
1992, 133),
when
engaging
in heterosexual sexual intercourse and otherwise
connecting
with
men. If the refusal of
is
conceptualized
as resis-
tance to
heteropatriarchal oppression,
then women's
"voluntary" engagement
in coitus can be
(and
often
is)
characterized as
compliance
with,
or
capitula-
tion
to,
the
enemy-rather
than as free choice
(Leeds Revolutionary
Feminist
Group 1981). Despite
her
intentions,
Rich's
(1980) concept
of
"compulsory
heterosexuality"
has,
paradoxically,
been used to
promote
the notion of a
"freely
chosen,"
"consensual"
heterosexuality (Brunet
and Turcotte
1988,455),
and to some extent
Frye's concept
of
virgins
is
dependent
on such a notion:
that women
have,
as
Warer
says,
"freedom of choice: to take
[male]
lovers
or
reject
them"
(1990, 15).
The methods for
living
heterosexual feminist
virginity
could
begin
to "make sense"
(according
to
Frye)
if
they
included
the
following:
refusal to attire or decorate the
body
in
ways
that
signal
female
compliance
with male-defined
femininity;
defense of
women-only spaces;
refusal of male
protection
and the institution of
marriage (despite
the eco-
Kitzinger,
nomic
pressures);
and ardent
passion
for,
and
enduring friendships
with,
other
virgins, including
lesbians. Some women do
attempt
such
"virginal"
strategies:
"woman-identified radical feminist"
Robyn
Rowland
(1993),
for
example,
takes
responsibility
for her choice to be
heterosexual;
is not
married;
lives
apart
from her male
partner
75
percent
of the
time;
and
identifies her
"crucially important"
commitment to
"putting
women first." In
parallel
with these demands on women in heterosexual
relationships,
hetero-
sexual feminist Naomi Volf
(1993)
has
produced
an account of what is needed
from "the men we love" for successful feminist heterosexual
relationships.
Among
the
defining
criteria of such
men,
she includes the
following: they
"understand that we are
engaged
in a cross-cultural
relationship
... and that
they
know little of our
world";
they
"don't hold a
baby
as if it's a still
squirm-
ing,
unidentifiable catch from the sea... don't tell women what to feel about
sexism ... are
willing
to read the books we love ... undertake half the care
and cost of
contraception
... make a
leap
of
imagination
to believe in the
female
experience
... don't drive without
gender glasses
on ... know that
just
because sex can be irrational doesn't mean we're insane."
Such models for
living positive
feminist heterosexual
virginity
are de-
pendent
on a
great
deal of
unacknowledged
social
privilege. Many
women
are
trapped
in
marriages
with men for whom such demands are irrelevant and
many
others have
marriage
and/or other heterosexual
partnerships
denied
them for reasons of
racism,
class
oppression,
or
disability.
Others are
forcibly
separated
from their male
partners
(and
children) by
war, famine,
political
intrigue, scarcity
of
work,
or economic
necessity.
The woman
who,
forced
by
her own
poverty
or the
exigencies
of her
country's
national
debt,
leaves
her
family
to work as a domestic servant or as a
migrant
coffee
picker may
well be
apart
from her husband for 75
percent (or more)
of the
time,
but where
is her
opportunity
to "invent and
embody
modes of
living positive virginity"?
Third,
Frye's analysis
fails to
centrally
address the radical feminist
critique
of
heterosexuality
that she herself advances: the function of
heterosexuality
in
constructing
us as "men" and as
"women,"
and hence as
oppressor
and
op-
pressed. Sexuality,
as Catherine MacKinnon
says,
"is a social
construct,
gendered
to the
ground" (1987, 149). Heterosexuality
is a
key
mechanism
through
which male dominance is achieved. Male dominance is "not an
artificial
overlay" upon heterosexuality
that can somehow be
stripped away
to leave an
uncorrupted, pure,
sexual
interaction;
rather it is intrinsic to
heterosex itself:
It has often been asserted that
[sissy]
men have too much in common with
women or either of them to feel much excitement. There is no
gap
for the
spark
to
jump.
You
get
two
sweet,
nice
people together,
and
nobody's going
to do
anything except
with the
permission
of the
other,
assuming
that
anyone
has the
September
1994
"balls" to
bring
the
subject up.... Opposites
attract... women want real
men,
and that's all there is to it.
(Hunter 1993, 159)
More than
this,
there is a
strong
link between
heterosexuality
and
masculinity,
such that
"heterosexuality
is
largely conceptualized unthinkingly
as a rela-
tionship
between women and masculine males"
(Hunter 1993, 163)-that is,
between subordinated and dominator.
Many
feminist theorists have
analyzed
the extent to which sex is eroticized
power
difference and have
critiqued
the
phenomenon
that
Jeffreys (1990)
labels "heterosexual
desire"-by
which she means not
just
desire between
women and
men,
but the
eroticizing
of dominance and submission. The
problem
for feminists is not
just
man's
eroticizing
of
power,
but also women's
eroticizing
of
powerlessness.
Erotic
excitement,
according
to this
analysis,
is modeled on a heterosexual
paradigm
constructed around
power
difference.
When
(as
in lesbian or
gay
male
sex)
the sex
(as
in
"gender") hierarchy
is
missing,
other social stratifications
(e.g.,
race, class)
or
specially
constructed
power
differentials
(as
in
sadomasochism)
can sometimes be eroticized
(Jeffreys 1993).
As we have
noted,
critiques
of heterosexual sexual
activity
often
proceed
as
though
sexual
pleasure-or
lack of it-was the sole criterion on which a
feminist assessment could be
made;
yet,
for
many
women,
the
problem
is
their serious
political
concern about how sexual
pleasure
is
produced,
and
the form that such
pleasure
takes.
Segal (1983) points
out that "it does not
feel like
personal
liberation to be able to
orgasm
to
intensely
masochistic
fantasies"; and
Bartky's
decision "not to
pursue
men whose sadism excited
me"
(1993, 42)
was made at the cost of "the
powerful
erotic
charge"
found
in such
relationships. Jeffreys
recommends that women seek to shut down
those sexual
responses
which eroticize subordination: 'The
question
we have
to ask ourselves is whether we want our freedom or whether we want to retain
heterosexual desire"
(1990, 134). Frye's acceptance
of heterosexual desire
and
activity
as
unproblematic parts
of the
virgin's repertoire represents
a
failure to
engage
with this radical feminist
critique.
In
sum, then,
although Frye's portrayal
of
virgin heterosexuality may
seem
attractive-particularly
in its links with feminist traditions of
defying patri-
archal conventions and
reclaiming
or
investing
feminist alternatives-it is
not
convincing,
either as a
strategy
for
resisting
the traditional
inscription
of
"woman,"
or as a means of
rehabilitating heterosexuality. Frye's analysis
overlooks heterosexual sexual intercourse as a
key
site of women's
oppres-
sion and
resistance;
is unclear as to the methods
by
which
virgin
heterosexu-
ality
is to be
accomplished
under
heteropatriarchy;
and,
most
important
from
the radical feminist
perspective,
does not address the central role of heterosex
in
reinscribing
"sex" as
power
relations.
Kitzinger,
QUEER
HETEROSEXUALITY:
SUBVERTING "SEX"
In recent
years
the word
"queer," long
used as a term of insult and self-
loathing,
has been reclaimed
by
lesbians,
gay
men,
bisexuals,
transvestites,
and transsexuals as a
proud
declaration of nonconformist sexualities: "We're
here,
we're
queer; get
used to it!" In
place
of the
medicopsychiatric
"homo-
sexual,"
or the
euphemistic
and
self-justificatory "gay,"
the word
"queer"
is
seen as confrontational and as
underscoring
the fact that we are
"queer"
("deviant"
and
"abnormal")
to a world in which
normality
is defined in
rigid
and
suffocating
terms:
The insistence on
queer-a
term defined
against
"normal" and
generated
precisely
in the context of terror-has the effect of
pointing
out a wide field
of
normalization,
rather than
simple
tolerance,
as the site of violence.
(Warner
1990)
The notion of
"queer heterosexuality"
has come to refer to those
people
who,
while
doing
what is
conventionally
defined as
"heterosexuality,"
nonetheless
do so in
ways
which are
transgressive
of
"normality."
Just as
Marilyn Frye
and others have
expanded
the notion of
"virgin"
to include a
particular way
of
doing
heterosex,
so the
queer
theorists have
expanded
the notion of
"queer"
to
include,
among
other
things,
a
particular way
of
doing
heterosex.
Like
"virgin"
theorists,
"queer"
theorists start from the
position
that
"straight
sex" reinscribes its
participants
as "man" and "woman."
Queer
the-
ory
differs from
virgin theory
in
that,
whereas the
concept
of
"virgin"
hetero-
sexuality
denotes the
doing
of heterosex while
resisting being
"sexed,"
"queer"
heterosexuality
denoted the
doing
of
(what
used to be
called)
heterosex while
actively subverting
its constructive function. Rather than
simply resisting
the
equation
between sex
(as
activity)
and sex
(as
gender),
queer theory explicitly acknowledges
this
link,
and
by deliberately drawing
attention to and
playing
with
it,
attempts
to denaturalize and hence subvert
the
equation. "Fucking
with
gender" implies
the
possibility
of
doing
sex in
such a
way
that it not
merely
resists,
but
actively disrupts
normative defini-
tions of "sex" and
"gender."
Influenced
by,
and in
many ways
an offshoot of
postmodernism,
it is
nonetheless
possible
to
critique queer theory
without
engaging
in an attack
on the whole of the
postmodernist
and
poststructuralist
movements,
some
aspects
of which
(especially
the notion of
disciplinary power)
have been
found useful
by many
feminists,
ourselves included
(see
also Weedon
1987;
Diamond and
Quinby 1988).
In this section of the
article,
our focus is on
queer theory (rather
than on
postmodernism)
and,
more
narrowly
still,
on that
September
1994
aspect
of
queer theory
that relates to
heterosexuality.
In
general, queer theory
aims to deconstruct and confound normative
categories
of
gender
and sexu-
ality, exposing
their fundamental unnaturalness. There are no "true"
gender
identities or natural sexes: rather maleness and femaleness are
"perform-
ances" or "simulations." Maleness and femaleness are
performative
in the sense that the essence or
identity
that
they
otherwise
purport
to
express
are
fabrications
manufactured and sustained
through corporal signs
and other discursive means ... an illusion
discursively
maintained for the
purposes
of the
regulation
of
sexuality
within the
obligatory
frame of
repro-
ductive
heterosexuality. (Butler 1990, 136)
"Simulation" means not a
replica
of
something
that
actually
exists,
but an
identical
copy
for which there has never been an
original. Disneyland,
for
example,
has been described as a simulation whose function in
proclaiming
its status as "unreal"
precisely
to make the rest of the United States look "real"
(Baudrillard 1988). Gender, too,
is conceived as an exact
copy
of some-
thing
that never
really
existed in the first
place:
there is no
"real,"
underlying
maleness or femaleness on which we base our
performances.
The
postmoder
body
"is the
body
of the
mythological
Trickster,
the
shape-shifter
or indeter-
minate sex and
changeable gender
... who
continually
alters her/his
body,
creates and recreates a
personality
... and floats across time from
period
to
period, place
to
place" (Bordo 1993, 144,
paraphrasing Smith-Rosenberg
1985).
This
is,
in the
language
of
postmodernism,
indicative of an
identity
in
flux,
a
protean fantasy,
an intricate textual
dance,
a narrative
heteroglossia,
a
choreography
of
multiplicity,
and a celebration of a transcendent
polyvocal
self at a time when "the
rigid
demarcations of the clear and distinct Cartesian
universe are
crumbling,
and the notion of the unified
'subject'
is no
longer
tenable"
(Bordo 1993, 144).
In this
theory
of
fluctuating
and
continually
altering
selves,
sex is an area "of fashion and
style
rather than
biology
and
identity" (Chapkis
1986, 138). "Being"
man or woman is
conceptualized
not
as core
identity,
but rather as "a
put-on,
a sex
toy" (Schwichtenberg
1993,
135)
or as a
"temporary positioning" (Gergen
1993, 64).
In
conceptualizing
what have
previously
been seen as "core" identities
(man/woman; hetero/homosexual)
as no more than
fluctuating
fashions or
performances, queer theory,
like
postmodernism
more
generally, expresses
the
hope
for future abolition of such divisive
patriarchal
binarisms,
ushering
in the
age
of the
post-lesbian
and-of course-the
post-heterosexual.
In this
imagined
world
("this
world of
my fantasy," Gergen
1993, 64),
man does not
exist,
nor woman
either; hence,
the
concepts
of
heterosexuality,
homosexu-
ality
and
bisexuality
are
literally
unthinkable. The sex of the
person you
have
sex with is not
only
irrelevant in terms of social
meaning
and
identity:
it is
Kitzinger,
also
unspecifiable,
because
"sex-as-gender"
is no
longer
a
meaningful
con-
cept. Many
feminists
(Gergen
1993;
Ruby 1993)
and sex radicals
(Sprinkle
1992)
are attracted
by
the deconstructive
power
of
queer theory,
which
vividly uncouples
the
inscription
of
gender through heterosexuality;
how-
ever,
this vision of the future
uncoupling
of "heterosex" and
"gender"
is
not,
of
course,
specific
to
postmodernist
and
queer theory:
it has a
long (though
rarely acknowledged) history
within radical feminism
(e.g.,
Radicalesbians
1970;
Piercy 1979),
as well as in the
early writings
of both the British and
the North American
gay
liberation movements. What is distinctive about
postmodern
and
queer
(as
opposed
to radical
feminist) theory
is the
strategy
envisioned for
getting
"there" from "here."
The notion of
is one
component
of the
postmod-
ern
strategy
for transition into the brave new world of the future. Such a world
would have no use for the
concept
of
because there
would be no such
thing
as
heterosexuality,
no men and women to
perform
it,
nor
any heteronormativity against
which to be
positioned
as
"queer."
In the
interim,
queer
theorists
give "queer
heterosexuals" a walk-on role. "There
are
times,"
says queer
theorist
Cherry Smyth (1992),
"when
queers may
choose to call themselves
heterosexual, bisexual,
lesbian or
gay,
or none of
the above."
According
to
Schwichtenberg,
one could "come out" and
partici-
pate
in a
range
of identities "such as a lesbian
heterosexual,
a heterosexual
lesbian,
a male
lesbian,
a female
gay man,
or even a feminist sex-radical"
(1993, 141).
Another writer offers this list: 'There are
straight queers,
biqueers, tranny queers,
lez
queers, fag queers,
SM
queers, fisting queers"
(Anonymous
leaflet
1991,
cited in
Smyth
1992, 17). Although queer
hetero-
sexuality
is
rarely explored
in
any
detail
(and
still less are
queer
heterosexuals
themselves
queuing up
to describe their
experiences),
the notion of the
"queer
heterosexual" has become established in
queer theory.
It has
gained (a
limited) currency
not,
apparently,
because
many people
are convinced of
either its
possibility
or its
desirability,
still less because it names
significant
contemporary
identities,
but because
queer heterosexuality
is a
necessary
component
of
"gender-fucking" (Butler 1990).
If all is
artifice,
simulation and
performance,
if "sex" is
only
a
passing
fashion,
there is no
point
in
opposing
this
by looking
for some
underlying
re-
ality
or truth about "men" and
"women;" rather,
the
strategy
becomes to ac-
tively participate
in the artifice
precisely
in order to underscore the
fragility
of "sex" and "gender" as
artifice.
This
strategy
is described
by queer
the-
orists as
"gender play" (Schwichtenberg 1993), "gender bending" (Braidotti
1991) or,
most
popularly
in the
queer
movement,
as
"gender-fuck"
or
"fucking
with
gender."
The
gender-fuck
is
supposed
to
"deprive
the natural-
izing
narratives of
compulsory heterosexuality
of their central
protagonists:
September
1994
'man' and 'woman' "
(Butler 1990,146)
and to illustrate the social construct-
edness
of"sex,"
in all its
multiple meanings.
This
key queer strategy,
the
gender-fuck,
is about
parody, pastiche,
and
exaggeration.
It
replaces
resistance to dominant cultural
meanings
of sex with
carnivalesque
reversals and
transgressions
of traditional
gender
roles and
sexualities,
which revel in their own
artificiality.
Media
figures
like
Boy
George
and Annie Lennox have been cited as
gender
benders
(Braidotti 1991,
122-3),
but the most famous
example
of
contemporary gender-fucking
is
undoubtedly
Madonna,
described as both a
"postmodern
feminist heroine"
(Kaplan
1987 in Mandzuick
1993, 169;
Schwichtenberg
1993, 132)
and as a
"queer
icon"
(Henderson 1993, 108).
Her
postmodern "queerness"
lies in the
way
in which she is
"dressing up
and
acting
out to
expose
the constructedness
of what in other
settings passes
as 'natural'
male, female,
or heterosexual"
(Henderson 1993, 122).
This same celebration of denaturalization is evident in the work of lesbian
photographers
often called
queer.
The controversial collection of lesbian
photography,
Stolen
Glances,
by
Fraser and Boffin
(1991) (the
latter
explic-
itly
identifies herself as
queer
in
Smyth 1992),
was
compiled
not in the
"attempt
to naturalize a 'lesbian aesthetic' . . . but rather to celebrate that
there is no natural
sexuality
at
all,"
and out of an interest in "subversive
strategies
of
representation" (p. 21):
these
photos
include Boffin's
images
of
lesbian Casanovas in a Victorian
cemetery
and Della Grace's
portrayal
of a
lesbian
couple,
one in
gestapo cap,
chains and black
leather,
the other in a
bridal veil. Sex radicals such as Grace are often admired
by queer
theorists
for their
transgressive gender-fucking strategies,
and are
increasingly
draw-
ing
on
queer theory
as an
explanatory
framework. Love
Bites,
a collection of
photographs by
Della
Grace,
has been cited
by Smyth (1992)
as an
example
of
gender-fucking:
one
photograph,
"Lesbian
Cock,"
shows two lesbians
dressed in leather and biker
caps,
both
sporting
moustaches and one
holding
a lifelike dildo
protruding
from her crotch.
Lesbian feminists think
things
like lesbians
giving blow-jobs
to dildos should
be
kept quiet.... [F]or
women to
indulge
in
gender-fucking
somehow isn't
acceptable.
But lesbians do. Lesbians even have
"gay
male sex."
(Grace,
quoted
in
Smyth
1992, 44)
A varied selection of
lesbians, bisexuals,
gay
men, transsexuals,
transves-
tites and sex radicals have claimed
(or
been
ascribed)
the
"queer"
label and
have been lauded for their
gender-fucking prowess.
In the name of
queer,
some
lesbians reclaim butch-fem roles as
"changeable costuming" (MacCowan
1992, 300),
and some
gay
men reclaim
camp
as "the
pervert's revenge
on
authenticity" (Dollimore 1991).
Transvestism
(and
cross-dressing)
"draws
Kitzinger,
the
binary logic
of sexual
identity
into
question" (Bristow 1992).
Transsexuals have a
part
to
play
because "the
surgical
removal and
implan-
tation of
body parts
reveals that one's flesh can be
cut,
so to
speak,
like a suit"
(Bristow 1992)
and because
symbolically speaking
"we are all transsexuals"
(Baudrillard 1988). Hermaphrodites,
too,
are "a
pornotopian escape
from ...
rigid
binarism"
(Williams 1992, 261)
and Annie
Sprinkle,
"Post-
Porn Post-Modernist" and
"bi-girl" (Sprinkle 1992),
sometimes bracketed
with Madonna as a
queer performance
artist
(Williams 1992, 234), delights
in the
gender-fucking ambiguity
of her "first time with a F2M-transsexual-
surgically-made hermaphrodite."
With
queer support
for such a
dazzling
variety
of
"perversions,"
and
given
that the
"biological
sex" of sexual
partners
is dismissed in favor of
gender
as
performance,
it is
hardly surprising
that
"many queer
activists are
wondering
what's
stopping gay
men and
lesbians from
developing
a sexual
politics
that also embraces bi- and hetero-
sexuals"
(Pickering 1992).
But here
imagination
falters.
Despite
the fact that
queer politics
includes
many
bisexuals
(Kennedy 1992)
and
supports
lesbians
having
sex with men
as
"transgressive" (Wilson 1992),
lesbian and bisexual
queer
theorists have
not offered
any
details on
"queer
heterosex." It is as
though merely
the
doing
of sex with men is
(for
a
lesbian,
or for one who also has sex with
women)
transgressive
in and of
itself,
and need not be
subjected
to further
analysis.
Even if this were true
(which
we don't
accept),
heterosexual sex for
straight
women cannot fulfill this
allegedly transgressive
function: does it then
become a
"queer-approved" activity only
if it violates some other
purported
taboos-if it's
sadomasochistic,
or
fetishistic,
perhaps? Queer
theorists have
never
satisfactorily
answered the
question,
What makes
straight
heterosexu-
ality "queer"?
From a radical feminist
perspective,
then,
our first criticism of
queer
heterosexuality
is that
(as
with
virgin heterosexuality)
its
proponents
offer
little or no indication of the methods for
doing
it.
Queer heterosexuality
is
advanced as a
conceptual
and
practical possibility,
a
supporting
cameo role
in the
queer masquerade,
but its characterization is
largely
content free.
Extrapolating
from
queer theory
more
generally,
it would
obviously
have to
be a form of
heterosexuality
that "fucked with
gender,"
that
is,
actively
transgresses, parodies
and subverts the "woman
subordinate,"
"male domi-
nant" sexual
equation.
It is not clear
that,
as a
political strategy,
this is
any
more
sophisticated
than is
reclaiming
as feminist the female dominatrix
scenes of male
pornography
or
celebrating
women's fantasies of
raping
men.
A second
problem
with the notion of
is
that,
by
definition,
it elides
heterosexuality
and
homosexuality
as
sexually-and
hence
politically-equivalent,
sometimes
literally
so:
September
1994
The sexual
ambiguities, finally,
are
just that-ambiguous.
We do not know for
sure that Madonna does not kiss a
woman,
nor do we know for sure that she
does. In a
pop
cultural universe that makes heterosex abundant and
abundantly
clear,
allusions to homosex are nice but not
enough.
Postmoderism's
playful
indeterminacy
becomes
gay
activism's short shrift.
(Henderson 1993, 113)
The
presentation
of lesbianism and
heterosexuality
as
interchangeable
is not
as radical as
queer
theorists would have us believe. It was
Kinsey's (Kinsey,
Pomeroy,
and Martin
1948;
Kinsey
et al.
1953)
famous invention of the
"homosexual-heterosexual" continuum
(borrowed
in
part
from Freud's
[1977]
theories of innate
bisexuality
and
polymorphous perversity)
that set
the
stage
for a
widespread
dissolution within
psychology
of
any specific
differences between lesbians and heterosexual women
(cf. Kitzinger, 1987).
The
presentation
of lesbianism and
heterosexuality
as
equivalent betrays
the
underlying
liberalism of
queer theory.
As the
meanings
of
heterosexuality
and
homosexuality
become blurred within a
fantasy
world of
ambiguity,
indeterminacy
and
charade,
the material realities of
oppression
and the
feminist
politics
of resistance are
forgotten:
It is difficult... to
acknowledge
the divided self and
engage
the
pleasure
of
masquerade
while at the same time
fighting
a
strikingly antagonistic legal
and
social
system
for
your
health, your safety, your job, your place
to
live,
or the
right
to raise
your
children.
(Henderson 1993, 123)
Third,
in
promoting
a flexible
polysexuality (mono-, bi-, tri-,
multi-
transsexuality; categories
to be
transgressed
and
transcended), queer
and
postmodern theory provide
renewed
justification
for heterosexual women's
refusal to notice that
they
are heterosexual-or for their
tendency
to dismiss
such an observation as
unimportant,
based on
transitory
and
provisional
attributions. Asked to
identify
themselves as
heterosexual,
many
feminists
react with defensive
anger:
Why
address me so
categorically
as a heterosexual?
Why
was
anyone
so sure?
Because I am married? Or because
my
husband seems
"straight"?
Is it about
my
hairdo or
my
shoes or the
things
I have
said,
or not said? ...
Perhaps
it is
a
political question.
Do I not
belong
to some inner circle? Is there a
conspiracy
afoot? How did the heteros
get picked
out?
(Gergen
1993, 62)
Gergen
draws
explicitly
on
postmodernism
to defend her refusal of the
"heterosexual"
label,
paying
"a
special
tribute to Judith Butler for her
book,
Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion
of Identity,
from which I
borrow
heavily
in this text"
(1993, 64). Using
such
theories, then,
the lesbian
feminist insistence that heterosexual feminists make their choice
intelligible
(Frye
1992, 55-6) is,
at
best,
sidestepped
as
unnecessary;
at
worst,
dismissed
as
meaningless.
Kitzinger,
Finally, queer theory
is
centrally antagonistic
to much of radical feminist
theory.
This is
partly
because
queer
theorists see all forms of feminism as
totalizing "grand
narratives,"
whose
meanings
and values must be subverted
and thrown into
question along
with the other
explanatory
frameworks in
politics,
science and
philosophy,
mere fodder for deconstruction in the
postmodern age.
More than
this, however,
queer politics
is often
expressed
in terms
explicitly oppositional
to
feminism,
especially
radical
feminism,
characterized as "moralistic feminist
separatism" (Smyth
1992, 36). "Queer"
functions as
apologia
or
justification
for much behavior seen
by
radical
feminism as
damaging
to women and lesbians: imitation of
gay
male sexu-
ality,
the defense of
pornography,
and sadomasochism. There is no
attempt
to
problematize pleasure,
much less to
engage
with radical feminist
attempts
to do so
(Jeffreys
1990;
Kitzinger
and
Kitzinger
1993;
Kitzinger
and Perkins
1993),
other than to characterize these as
repressive,
restrictive and totalitar-
ian in effect or intent. We
cannot, then,
as radical
feminists,
turn to
queer
the-
ory
in
any attempts
to
salvage heterosexuality
from radical feminist
critiques,
because
queer theory simply ignores
or mocks such
critiques.
In this
section, then,
we have outlined
attempts
to rehabilitate heterosexu-
ality by subverting
it as
"queer." Although queer theory appeals
to those
attracted
by
its sense of
possibility,
its
promise
of
fun,
and its celebration of
pleasure,
we find it
seriously lacking
as a feminist
political strategy.
Its
propositions
are
unclear;
it
falsely
attributes sexual and
political equivalence
to hetero- and
homosexuality;
it
permits
heterosexual women to continue
ignoring,
and
failing
to render
problematic,
their
heterosexuality;
and it is in
direct conflict with
key
tenets of radical feminist
politics.
REHABILITATING HETEROSEXUALITY?
As we have
shown,
neither
virgin
nor
queer theory
offers a coherent
feminist
agenda
sufficient for the rehabilitation of
heterosexuality.
At this
point
we would like to raise the
question
as to
why heterosexuality
is so
vigorously
defended,
even
(or perhaps, especially)-it seems-by
lesbians?
Why
are some feminists
apparently
so
desperate
to continue the
doing
of
heterosexual sex that
they
are
prepared
to
accept
such bizarre
concepts
as
virgin
and
in order to
justify
themselves? The
lengths
to which feminists
(including lesbians)
are
prepared
to
go
in
defending
sex
with men is
surely
a clue to its
political importance.
To some
extent,
and
despite
the bravado of the
language
in which both are
couched,
we see
virgin
and
queer theory
as defeatist.
Recognizing
the failure
September
1994
of lesbian feminism to communicate radical
political analyses
of heterosexu-
ality
and
acknowledging
the
strong
hold that
heterosexuality apparently
exerts on so
many
women
(even
those who could
choose,
even those who
once did
choose, lesbianism) (Bartky 1993),
it is
perhaps
easier to revert to
attempts
to reform
heterosexuality, exploring
what feminist
goals might
be
achievable within that institution, rather than
attacking
the institution
per
se.
The abandonment of the radical
critique
of
heterosexuality
as
inherently
oppressive
can be read as a tacit admission of defeat.
In an
increasingly right-wing political
climate,
this defeat is
perhaps
not
surprising. Many oppressed groups
are
moving
toward coalition
politics:
radical feminist
critiques
of
heterosexuality,
often
experienced
as criticism
and
rejection
of individual heterosexual
feminists,
can stand in the
way
of
working together effectively,
and lesbians have often felt
compelled
to mute
our criticisms in the interests of immediate survival. The
possibility
offered
by Frye's "virgin heterosexuality" (that
one
can,
after
all,
be a heterosexual
and a
feminist) must,
whatever demands it makes on the
practice
of that
heterosexuality,
be far more
appealing
to
many
heterosexual women than is
the characterization of them as "collaborators with the
enemy" (Leeds
Revolutionary
Feminist
Group 1981). Queer theory,
too,
despite
its
purport-
edly
more confrontational
stance,
is far more
accommodating
of heterosexu-
ality
than is radical feminism's
theory
of
political
lesbianism:
Smyth (1992,
36)
even raises as a
possibility
(and
leaves
unanswered)
the
question:
"Is
straight
SM
automatically queer,
while a
monogamous
'vanilla' lesbian
couple living
in suburbia isn't?" This
explicit
endorsement and validation of
particular
kinds of
heterosexuality
at the
expense of
lesbianism is a
striking
development
of
queer theory,
and one that feeds into heterosexual feminists'
oft-voiced retort that "lesbian
relationships
aren't
perfect
either"
(Rowland
1993, 77;
Jacklin
1993, 35).
It is
hardly surprising,
then,
that heterosexual
feminists are seduced
by queer theory's
"wit,"
"ingenuity,"
"panache"
(Beloff
1993),
and "great
possibilities
for freedom"
(Gergen
1993, 63-4)
far more
often than
they
are enthused
by
the
rage
and
rigor
of radical lesbian feminism.
Both
virgin
and
queer theory bypass key
radical feminist concerns. Earlier
feminist
analyses
of sexual intercourse are
crucially
absent from
Frye's
"virgin" paper.
Worse
by
far than mere
omission,
queer theory actively
reverses earlier radical feminist
critiques-for example,
transsexualism,
sadomasochism,
and
pornography, (Dworkin 1982;
Raymond
1982;
Linden
et al.
1982)
and celebrates its own
"inclusiveness,"
actively welcoming
not
only straights
and
bisexuals,
but also
transsexuals, transvestites,
sadomaso-
chists and
pornographers
under the
queer
umbrella. Lesbian
queers
endorse
as
progressive
"alliances between
pro-sex anti-censorship
lesbians and like-
Kitzinger,
minded
gay
men ... so
opening up
the
possibility
of new models for the
expansion
of lesbian erotic
possibilities,"
whereas
"equal, nurturing"
sex is
characterized as
"prepubescent" (Smyth
1992, 37).
The
"transgressive"
impulse
of
queer theory
manifests itself at least as much
against
feminism as
against heteropatriarchy.
Such
aspects
of the
queer
movement render it less
a
symptom
of the "defeat"
of,
and more an indication of the "backlash"
against,
feminism
(Kitzinger
and
Wilkinson, 1994).
What seems to be
missing,
in these
continuing attempts
to rehabilitate
heterosexuality,
is
any
sense that it is still
necessary
to
critique
and
analyze
it as an
oppressive
mechanism of social control. Enthusiastic renditions of
blow
jobs
on a
dyke's strap-on
dildo or
descriptions
of how to do a
"politically
correct" blow
job
with a man
(avoid
the "erotic
phallic-power
associations"
of
kneeling,
and
try
the "69"
position,
Dennis
1992, 162-3) simply ignore
crucial
aspects
of the radical feminist
critique
of
heterosexuality.
For
many
women, heterosexuality
still has the status of a
compulsory
institution;
for
many,
it is still in the context of
heterosexuality
that
they
are abused.
Any
serious
attempt
to rehabilitate
heterosexuality
must,
at the
very
least,
address
these material
realities,
making heterosexuality
both "safe" and
"optional"
for all women.
Any
rehabilitated
heterosexuality worthy
of feminist
support
must be more than the
luxury
of a few
socially
and
economically privileged
partners
of "new men." More than
this,
given
the radical
critique
of hetero-
sexuality
as a
primary
site for the
reinscription
of
gender-based patterns
of
dominance and
submission,
the models of
heterosexuality
advanced
by virgin
and
queer
theorists are
seriously incomplete
or flawed. It is unclear how
"virgins"
can
mysteriously
evade the
implications
of the heterosexual
act;
and
implausible
that
"queers," through "playing"
with
genderized symbols
of
power
and
powerlessness,
can
hope
to "subvert" them.
It is
perhaps
worth
noting
that the notions of both
"queer"
and
"virgin"
heterosexuality
derive
primarily
from,
and are
being developed by, people
who do not so
identify
themselves:
queers
are
rarely exclusively
hetero-
sexual,
and
virgin heterosexuality
is,
says Frye,
"not
my
call." Such theorists
have
developed
or
appropriated particular angles
on
heterosexuality
in the
interest of
developed queer
or radical lesbian
theory
more
generally.
When
heterosexual feminists
(even relatively privileged ones)
are asked to contrib-
ute their theoretical
understandings
of
heterosexuality
(as
in Wilkinson and
Kitzinger, 1993),
their
analyses
are much less
optimistic
as to the
possibility
of
successfully combining heterosexuality
and feminism.
They speak-in
voices far more hesitant than those of the lesbian and
gay "virgin"
and "queer"
theorists-of
painful
contradiction,
struggle
and
compromise.
We are still a
long way
from
having
a
politically
and
theoretically adequate
solution to the
September
1994
problem
of
heterosexuality. Meanwhile,
in the vast
majority
of heterosexual
relationships,
which are neither
"virgin"
nor
"queer,"
heterosexual sexual
activity repeatedly
reinscribes
biological
and social maleness and female-
ness,
continually constructing
women as women and men as men in order to
ensure male dominance and female subordination. In this
way, nothing
changes: heterosexuality
continues to mean what it has
always
meant under
heteropatriarchy,
and to serve the same
sociopolitical
function.
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Celia
Kitzinger
is the author
of
The Social Construction of Lesbianism
(Sage, 1987)
and
co-author
(with
Rachel
Perkins) of Changing
Our Minds: Lesbian Feminism &
Psychol-
ogy (New
York
University
and
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founding
and current editor
of
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Psychology:
An Interna-
tional Journal and the "Gender and
Psychology"
book series
(both Sage Publications).
Together, Kitzinger
and Wilkinson have edited
Heterosexuality:
A "Feminism and
Psy-
chology"
Reader
(Sage).

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