A clear-eyed, in-depth exploration of mainstream porn that can: amp up your sexual media literacy so you can better suss out what's really going on with and in porn, fill you in on how it may or may not -- and sometimes just plain shouldn't -- match your expectations or experiences of sexuality offscreen, and tell you more about its politics and behind-the-scenes realities.
We hope every time you open up to someone about your truth they respond with love and kindness. But we also want to make sure you're prepared in case they don't, and give you some practical strategies and tools to look after yourself if that’s what happens. With that in mind, here's a new, totally non-exhaustive, step by step guide to coming out.
It can feel like the world will end if you haven’t had sex or a sexual or romantic relationship by your mid-twenties. There are countless ways in which our culture puts pressure on young people to gain experience in romantic and sexual relationships. But truthfully, if you don’t have much, or even any, experience with dating and sex, you are not doomed to never experience romantic and sexual connection. The world also will not end.
We've all been influenced and impacted by white supremacy for longer than anyone alive can recall. Throughout history, white supremacy has idealized and normalized dominant identities and behaviors, and has shamed and oppressed those outside of them. Here's some ways this has manifested in our bodies and some ways you can start to dismantle that impact and reconnect.
Gender norms are really hard, but are much easier to deal with when we learn we’re not alone. When we can talk openly about the pressures we’re feeling, and realize that those pressures don’t have to control their lives, we can start figuring out ways to resist them.
Maybe you grew up in purity culture. Even if you didn’t, you’ve probably encountered and have to live with its ideas about virginity. I want to unpack some of those things, and consider what’s true and what isn’t.
I’ve changed dramatically because of this place that never insisted I change. This place where it didn’t matter how—or even if—I was sexual gave me sexuality as something I could live. Sex became something I could know about, talk about, do, enjoy and choose. My body became livable. Imagine that.
As we approach this new annum and everything that lies in store, instead of thinking about the ephemera one could manifest into being, I want to ask how we create the space to make our queer love and joy stand out and shine.
Is "Latinx" just some weird made-up thing from the internet? How do marginalized communities reshape language to define themselves?
It took a long time for me to come to terms with my singledom, but now that I'm here, I couldn't be happier.