groping vainly for a clue
by Charlie Bebattica
- Published:April 23rd, 2008
- Comments:24 Comments
- Category:Fandom, The Crazy
There is no shortage of stupidity and cluelessness on the internet, but occasionally one stumbles across something that is above and beyond the usual OTC-grade fan entitlement rants or casual homophobia. I’m talking about idiocy so transcendent and pure that it threatens to create a vortex of despair capable of extinguishing any scrap of faith in humanity one has left.
I’m talking about The Open-Source Boob Project, as explained by “theferret.” The narrative has since been cluttered with all manner of backpedaling and qualifiers, some added since I started work on this post, but it began with this:
“This should be a better world,” a friend of mine said. “A more honest one, where sex isn’t shameful or degrading. I wish this was the kind of world where say, ‘Wow, I’d like to touch your breasts,’ and people would understand that it’s not a way of reducing you to a set of nipples and ignoring the rest of you, but rather a way of saying that I may not yet know your mind, but your body is beautiful.”
In other words, it’s not about objectification…it’s about objectification with the opportunity to cop a feel. Theory turns into (a quite fanfic-ish) reality when one of author’s female acquaintances lets him touch her dirty pillows:
We all reached out in the hallway, hands and fingers extended, to get a handful. And lo, we touched her breasts – taking turns to put our hands on the creamy tops exposed through the sheer top she wore, cupping our palms to touch the clothed swell underneath, exploring thoroughly but briefly lest we cross the line from ‘touching” to “unwanted heavy petting.” They were awesome breasts, worthy of being touched.
And life seemed so much simpler.
And, lo, a movement was born! A proud movement where groping becomes an act of empowerment:
And my God! We all reached out like zombies trying to break through a door to get to those breasts. And it wasn’t getting any worse! We weren’t degenerating into an orgy, but rather exploring the amazement of how beautiful this body was and how wonderful it was to have access to them. Nobody was trying to pull off a bra or suck on a nipple; we’d been given access to a very special place that only lovers usually touched, and why would you be so crude as to try to push the boundaries of that?
And every girl in that hallway was then asked the question: “May I touch your breasts?” They considered, and said yes. And we all did.
Of course, it’s not really a movement unless there’s buttons:
At Penguicon, we had buttons to give away. There were two small buttons, one for each camp: A green button that said, “YES, you may” and a red button that said “NO, you may not.” And anyone who had those buttons on, whether you knew them or not, was someone you could approach and ask:
“Excuse me, but may I touch your breasts?”
And if you weren’t a total lout – the women retained their right to say no, of course – they would push their chests out, and you would be allowed into the sanctity of it. That exchange of happiness where one person are told with gropes and touches that they are desirable and the other is someone who’s allowed to desire.
For a moment, everything that was awkward about high school would fade away and you could just say what was on your mind. It was as though parts of me were being healed whenever I did it, and I touched at least fifteen sets of boobs at Penguicon. It never got old, surprisingly.
So what we’re really talking about is simply an elaborate scheme to steal second base dressed up with copious amounts of Reichean cosmobabble. It takes a dedicated individual to create such an elaborate justification for frat boy behavior.
“theferret” mentions “high school” a few times in his purplish recounting of events, suggesting some past tragedy worthy of Jay Gatsby — only instead of reaching for the green light across the bay, he’s reaching for what’s under the green button.
Lost in all the talk of lost inhibitions and discovered beauty is the lopsided power dynamic inherent in these, ahem, “transactions,” specifically whose “needs” are actually being met gratified. A simple working knowledge of group dynamics (and nerd culture) casts some doubt on the supposedly “opt-in,” “no pressure” consensual nature of the arrangement, as it leaves out questions of peer pressure and the need to belong, not to mention the host of associated issues involving a subculture where insecurities and feelings of isolation are commonly found. All high-falutin’ justifications aside, that shit can’t be exorcised by having a stranger feel you up, though there are plenty folks out there who’ll try to argue otherwise in exchange for the opportunity for a free grope.
The lopsided equation brings up other problems in terms of creating an uncomfortable atmosphere for female con attendees, who even if they choose not to participate in the grope-a-rama have to deal with an atmosphere of semi-sanctioned objectification. A female friend of mine who is a frequent con-attendee found the whole idea to be crude and sophomoric, and said she would categorically refuse to attend an event where such practices occurred. “That shit is bad enough without further encouraging the knuckledraggers,” she added.
As the The Open-Source Boob Project’s mission statement appeared in a LiveJournal post, the comments (seven pages worth before being locked down) were the expected mix of echo-chamber words of encouragement and bombastic outrage, leading to this defensive remark by “theferret”:
It would also lessen the intimacy of straight marriages if gay folks were allowed to get together. That would be sad. Because you know, your definition of what “intimacy” is should be the same as mine, and if mine differs then yours should override me. Because you’re not wrong, of course.
Yes, because the struggle for equal rights and protection under the law is exactly the same as a fanboy’s convoluted plot to touch women’s boobs.
When it became clear that the crusade on behalf of free and easy gropery did not meet the expected public approval, the backpedaling began in earnest with a series of passive-aggressive updates and edits posited to suggest that he didn’t really mean what he clearly stated in the original text…
And the chances that the Project would get fucked up, making con spaces more amenable to hordes of stalkers and mouthbreathers who will grope and maul women, are pretty damn big. Hell, it’s already made women feel less safe by me mentioning it, and that makes me feel like shit. As it should.
The Project itself, at least as done at Penguicon, has been turned by the miracle of reposting into some nightmare of eternal groping, female hunting, and a constant stream of denigration. And while that’s not the way it happened – at least from the perspective of the folks who participated that I’ve heard from who have expressed positive opinions behind f-locked posts because they don’t want to endure the commentstreams that I’m getting…
…It doesn’t matter. Scalzi, as usual, got it right: It was highly context-specific. What happened to us, even if it was good, is not what will happen to you. The danger of it getting out of hand is too great – and already, people worry that they’re going to be press-ganged into a groping area if they don’t have a button, despite the fact that I (and others) have said that’s not what happened at all. But honestly? That easily could happen without proper supervision, male power being what it is…
To which I can only add, “No effing kidding, Einstein.” The Scalzi he mentions above refers to author John Scalzi, who offered some heavily qualified support for the idea behind the project, as well as this howler:
Now, how do I feel about it? Well, philosophically, I think it’s fine: I think it’s reasonable for folks to get used to breasts being a component of a whole human, not these strange, mystical entities there to entice and distract one, and if there’s any place where there are people who could benefit from this lesson, it’s a convention full of computer, science fiction and anime geeks, many of whom are very young men (temporally and/or socially). Hopefully some of them benefited from the experience, and not just because they got to touch a girl’s breasts.
So objectification equals demystification? If it’s simply about the theraputive power of human contact, than why breasts, and not, say, shoulders? Why should the burden of mammary-contact therapy fall upon the woman if the male participant is the one who reaps the (rather dubious) presumed benefits?
Most importantly, does anyone have any lye I can borrow? I suspect I’ll be needing some after finishing this post, though I’m unsure whether I’ll use it for cleaning or for culinary purposes.
24 Comments
Wouldn’t it be a better world, a more honest world, if awkward men didn’t have to learn any social rules and could just skip right to the good parts?
Wouldn’t it be a better world, a more honest world, if geek girls made yet another concession to socially maladjusted nerd guys, thus ensuring the nerd guys have no reason to grow the hell up and act like men?
Wait, you mean this isn’t a joke? Good grief.
And NO, you may not touch my breasts.
Ick.
“If it’s simply about the theraputive power of human contact, [then] why breasts, and not, say, shoulders?”
Well, yes. Once upon a time, it WAS all about shoulders: wandering backrubbers, itinerant masseurs providing services to women at conventions and SCA gatherings, and like that. What you’re looking at now amounts to… progress.
[...] And finally… The Open-Source Boob Project & Why it’s a terrible idea. [...]
Sounds like it would have the potential to be the comic convention version of Tailhook.
Yes, You May. If I can touch your balls. Really hard. Like, w/ my steel-toed boot.
Just waiting for Fux news or somebody worse to get ahold of this.
You know, I really wish we didn’t live in a world where it had to be explained to some people that this sort of shit is unacceptable.
It’s absolutely mind boggling.
“if there’s any place where there are people who could benefit from this lesson, it’s a convention full of computer, science fiction and anime geeks, many of whom are very young men (temporally and/or socially). Hopefully some of them benefited from the experience, and not just because they got to touch a girl’s breasts.”
If that’s the point, then why not just set up a goddamn kissing booth?
I think that, in the sheer outrageous idiocy of this, we’ve lost sight of another point that also merits an entry here:
“And lo, we touched her breasts”
“you would be allowed into the sanctity of it.”
It’s written in that shoddy nerd-speak joke tone of someone who’s watched “Monty Python & the Holy Grail.” That “ha ha, I’m writing pretentiously so you’ll think I understand how pretentious my ideas are – BUT I’M SERIOUS” tone.
I’m going to quote Anne Murphy’s LJ post here just to give the OSBP some context.
http://netmouse.livejournal.com/488735.html
“To me this was really about gender-nonspecific personal connection and permission-granting (or not granting), not women caving to the male power or notions of body-rightness.
A lot of people are concluding it was a “You had to be there” kind of thing, but it’s frustrating that people clearly don’t understand.
Society has been telling us women all our lives that our breasts are not our own to make decisions about–that they are inherently only for certain approved purposes and we must otherwise cover them and protect them from detailed touch or inspection with things like bras and clothing and moats and lions and tigers, if necessary, because the only person who is allowed to see and touch them is YOUR MAN and you aren’t allowed to assert a non-standard set of access permissions yourself.
This project stood that on its head. It was in fact a fine case of feminist rebellion, combined with general rebellion against socially defined rules and toward opt-in interpersonal intimacy and appreciation.”
For the record, ‘non gender specific’ means that men were also participating.
While this doesn’t mean that to OSBP is ‘scalable’, as someone phrased it, it does mean that it wasn’t quite the cop-a-feel-at-random fest that theferret’s post had implied.
And while *I* really am uncomfortable with the idea of it and can only see the abuses it might lead to I can see Anne’s point.
Except that it would become a cop-a-feel-at-random fest pretty rapidly when applied elsewhere, don’t you think?
I don’t care what high-minded rhetoric you care to put on it: this crap is a DO-NOT-PASS-GO direct line to pure objectification by men. Women with green buttons will be seen as a “new feature” at cons, and besides that a way to immediately regard women by their breasts, first and foremost. Yes, even moreso than before.
If you can think of a better word for that than “objectification,” I’d love to hear it.
Yeah, Charlie, don’t you understand that titty-grab buttons are an empowering part of a feminist rebellion? Just like Tarot?
Isn’t this more like a Creative Commons Boob Project rather than an Open Source Boob Project?
I am just not sure why it is hard to explain that “defining womens’ presence at cons solely by whether or not you can grope them” is not an empowering shift.
I would have liked to have seen what happened when they asked to grab the boobs of a girl who only looked like she was over 18.
Okay, I knew there was something bothering me about Scalzi’s politics, and this cinches it.
Just wait till I show up at a con wearing a t-shirt that says “It is ok for you to touch my cock.” Then women will really start to feel empowered. Gah.
What’s funny to me is that I accept that this was a fun sexy thing for many of the people who participated. Low risk swinging for dorks, fine. I’m ok with this as a “this one time, at a con…” story. Kinda weird, and I’m sure it was uncomfortable for some of the women, and probably men, who participated.
But the pompous, self-justifying tone and the tragic, alas-our-boobtopia-could-never-live-in-this-unenlightened-world really grates. Whatever or cultural hang-ups about sex may be, (one-sided) games of truth-or-dare seem unlikely to breask them.
“alas-our-boobtopia-could-never-live-in-this-unenlightened-world”
Et in titcadia ego.
Dear Rock Ripsnort,
Fortunately you can join others in the movement:
http://misia.livejournal.com/1055120.html
Perhaps it is written in the pseudo-historical narration style of “The Hallelujah Trail”? I would like to see this experiment extended; perhaps standing outside the American Family Association offices in “My mother doesn’t know I’m gay” t-shirts and explaining why the application of sucrose to male nether parts and the subsequent labial-suction cleansing of said parts could be enacted in the interest of human psychology/physiology/motion studies? (See? I’ve already provided half the language)
One of the things that a lot of people don’t get about “objectification” is that it doesn’t necessarily work both ways. When you ask a guy how he’d feel if someone looked at him the way you perceive him looking at a woman, he’d be likely to ask where to sign up.
What many women consider “objectification,” many men would consider “appreciation.” It’s the kind of attention that they desire and understand.
In our house there are two different styles for sorting socks. I take my socks out of the dryer and tie each pair up in a knot. My wife, on the other hand, takes each pair and inserts one into the other without tying. This means that we’re regularly giving the other person what *we* want in terms of sock-processing, and insisting that they should want what *we* want, rather than taking the time to understand and accept that each person has different sock-processing preferences.
That having been said, people on both sides of the “objectfication” argument seem to be doing the sock-processing thing: we’re giving the other person what *we* want, and insisting that our view is *the* *correct* view. Actually, what I see is the guys being a little more open to change here than the women – they understand that the women don’t want what they would want, and are willing to try something different. But the women feel that giving the guys what they want is de-facto degrading to the men.
Besides, let’s be honest – I teach HS students, and have listened in on the conversations of the girls – and they can objectify with the best of them.
Now, with all of that prefatory stuff out of the way, the people who object to the OSBP on the grounds of it being just another lame excuse for the objectification of women are using *their* standards of objectification, and insisting that everyone, all women, and all men, feel the same way. But the simple fact of the matter is that there are many women who aren’t quite as uptight about this as those who object.
And this is perhaps where the problem comes up. 25 years ago, a female friend of mine complained that the problem with the sexual revolution and the ability to choose was that while it made it possible for a girl to say “yes,” if she wanted to, it made it nearly impossible for her to say “no,” because boorish guys didn’t or *wouldn’t* understand that the new ability to choose also involved the option of choosing not to. As a result, the seemingly few girls who chose not to felt put upon not necessarily by the guys, but by the majority of other girls who indirectly put pressure on them by *their* choices.
In terms of the OSBP, this means that while it may be true that a majority of women were cool with this, were *really* cool with this, they indirectly put pressure on those who *weren’t* cool with it. This is probably why a number of women have a problem with it, they’re the ones who *aren’t* cool with it, and resent being put into the position of looking “uncool,” when that was never the intent in the first place. They would rather have “uncool” be the true default, without the option of people even being able to announce that they were cool.
I’ve often asked why we treat sex and “sexual” body parts differently than we treat eating and digestive organs. Why can we openly tell jokes about teeth, but not tits? Is it objectifying a person to want to touch their hands?
But I’ve gone on way too long here, so I’ll stop now.
The whole thing is a sign of a sexually repressed society.