Sex+Design

Cute or Creepy? Japanese Ganguro Fashion

Alex Crevar — Thu, 02 Sep 2010 05:56:14 +0000

i love the japanese, not just because you can count on them for the most extreme sex toys, but because they know how to commit. when the young women of japan take to a trend, they go 100%. take ganguro (“black face”) and kogal (“school girl”) for instance – they give those looks the geisha treatment with their attention to detail and loving devotion. from bleaching the shit out of their hair to the über tanning, you can’t escape this look simply by taking off your clothes and makeup. you are the look.

the ganguro girl’s ideal presentation is a hybrid of club-kid diana ross, circa “mahogany”, and a “legally blonde” reese witherspoon with a dash of snooki’s drunk, orange ass thrown in. kogal is essentially a bleached go-go from “kill bill”.

perhaps we should occasionally ask ourselves what trends are meant to express, because typically, necessity IS the mother of invention. the girdles and curlers of the 50s segued into the bralessness and free flowing natural hair of the 70s. the sun aversion and resistance of foreign everything meant a sallow and colorless homogeny that the japanese inevitably rebelled against and viola! ganuro. burn baby burn.

japan also happens to rival pre-WWII germany with its emphasis on purity and what better form than the “hit me baby, one more time” school girl charm of a pre-crazy britney queers? of course they went with the kogal. if had to wear a uniform to school my whole life, i would hike up the hem till I felt a breeze, if only out of boredom. fuck, i would hate to live in japan as a kid.. sorry (no, i’m not).

anyway, with this in mind, i will try not to cringe the next time i spy a hipster in all his/her irony, a hideous ed hardy get up, or pleated jeans adorned by a fanny pack. i vow to try to let these “fashions” be what they are: a response to something deeper. it probably won’t work though. i’m a bitch.

Revenge Porn by Cee Lo

Mr. Brownsuit — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 08:10:10 +0000

By Mr. Brownsuit

Like many of you, when I’m hit with a friend’s all-too-frequent “Dude, you have to see this video!” excitement, I curse YouTube and settle in for 2 minutes of life I’ll never get back. Yet, every so often, the baton is passed and before you know it – you’re that guy. Today, that guy is me. Seriously, you have to see this video!

Quite possibly the best song ever written and sure to be a viral success, Cee Lo Green kills it for all us guys who have ever dated cold-hearted bitches (yeah Stephanie, I’m talking to you) by spinning the sophomoric “Fuck You!” into musical gold. Thank you Cee Lo for giving all us jaded men a voice in a song equivalent to the Mona Lisa.

The OKCupid Chronicles – You Should Message Me If…

KellyKate — Tue, 31 Aug 2010 05:50:28 +0000

By Kelly Kate Warren

Right now, I am all about REFORMED SCUMBAGS and DUDE-BROS.

Reformed scumbags are dudes like the ones I’m friends with and have dated but whom have rejected the scumbag lifestyle for stuff like “having a job” and “not being wasted all the time.” Reformed scumbags still get shitty on the weekends but don’t hate themselves enough to be permanently drunk. Reformed scumbags have had sex with enough people to be bored with casual sex, and have become too lazy to play the field. Instead, they want to do bad things to me, and only me, all the time.

Reformed scumbags have discovered the joy of showering. They have learned that there is food outside the realm of pizza and burritos, and that they can be pretentious about it. They can afford even more expensive bikes than they could before. They have sweet, full-sleeve tattoos instead of lame stick & poke bullshit. They wash their clothes. They own iPhones. They have cool jobs as graphic designers or in the tech industry.

Dude-bros are a completely different animal. Dude-bros are pretty much normal-ass, well, dudes. They have decent paying, 9-5ish jobs that they hate but that allow them the time and money to get shitty on the weekends and go to Coachella. They were either unmemorable or really dorky in high school but rarely angst-ridden or “emo.” They went to decent Universities and got degrees in Business, or something related to computers. They listen to indie rock that they read about in Rolling Stone or on blogs or that they discover on Pandora. They all love Death Cab for Cutie. They also love hip hop, anything from 90s R&B to top 40, and have memorized the lyrics to many songs. Listening to hip hop is as close to a black person as most Dude-bros will ever get, besides that one dude at work who they try really hard to impress.

Dude-bros make fun of hipsters constantly but aspire to have sex with hipster girls. They call all hipster dudes “gay.” They clown on hipster fashion but have adopted Levis, American Apparel, Converse, Vans, and flannel as their own. They secretly wish they were more stylish but find tight pants to be too restrictive and uncomfortable. Dude-bros are very into physical fitness. They belong to gyms and exercise regularly. This helps them to cope with having been gawky, fat, or otherwise awkward in high school. Conversely, they have terrible diets. They have the same appetites and food preferences they’ve had since high school.

Dude-bros like to watch TV and movies about smoking weed. Some of them read, but usually only to impress the opposite sex. They keep up on politics and are generally Democrats. Politics is one of the few things (besides hip hop and exercise) that makes them feel tough and manly. They like to get drunk and argue pointlessly about our country’s presence in the Middle East.

Dude-bros are intimidated and fascinated by girls like me. They are both attracted and repelled by my tattoos and facial piercing, interest in obscure music and jaded attitude towards men and life in general. They wonder about what weird sexual shit I’m into and what sort of things I will let them do to me if they can get me naked. They assume that I have only dated girly-ass hipster dudes and don’t know what it’s like to date “a real man.” They think that I am probably overly-emotional, depressed and psychotic and are both scared and intrigued by the prospect of me stalking them. They talk down on my lifestyle, clothing, interests, etc to try to remove focus from their own white-bread lifestyle, clothing, interests, etc. Often, they just want to get me naked, because the thought of dating someone who is probably nuts, combined with the ridicule it would provoke from their family and friends, is too much. Alternatively, some of them revel in the thought of their friends’ and family’s reaction to them dating someone like me. Others just hate themselves and think that someone as judgmental and pretentious as myself will help them to hate themselves more. Some of them just hate women and think that someone as insecure and fucked up as myself will have plenty of daddy issues for them to exploit. These are the kind of dudes who also want me to do weird sexual shit that I’m just not into (anything involving knives, pee, fisting… uh…).

Similarly, I’m both intimidated and fascinated by Dude-bros. My usual arsenal of references to pretentious literature and obscure bands doesn’t work on them. In fact, most of the stuff I usually talk to guys about, I can’t bring up with Dude-bros. I can’t talk shit about other hipsters. Or how lame electro has become. Or how shitty so&so’s coke is. I can’t talk about how lame ANYTHING is, because if it’s something they have heard of, it’s definitely lame and thereby not cool to talk about. Dude-bros suck all the irony out of everything. But what draws me to Dude-bros is the prospect of someone liking me NOT because I’m into cool shit and dress super rad and know so&so and can judge the fuck out of everything but because I’m ME. Yeah, ME. That’s some super “let’s take acid at Dolores Park” hippy-trippy bullshit but it’s way more important than myself, or any self-respecting “hipster” chick would ever let on. Because we’ve all been cheated on or dumped for some chick with more tattoos and tighter pants and a bigger record collection. We’ve all picked ourselves apart because we got into that band in ‘05 when we should have been into them in ‘02. We’ve all hunted down the rattiest vintage T-shirts we could find and read up on the most ridiculously obscure shit possible so that we can be the fucking hip-est of hip. And usually it’s not good enough.Hipster dudes are generally disinterested assholes and we live for the day when we will finally be cool enough to break them. FUCK THAT.

Dude-bros think that I’m cool and weird when I’m not even trying to be cool and weird. They think that the stupid shit that I feed into is just STUPID SHIT. They don’t judge me when I want to (non-ironically) listen to some goddamn Taylor Swift… or some Death Cab for fucking Cutie (I’m talking post “The Photo Album,” ok? “Title and Registration” is a dope fucking song, so fuck you). Dude-bros really don’t care how many 1000 page novels I’ve read or hardcore shows I went to at Gilman, they just think it’s sort of neat that I did. Dude-bros are so badass that they literally don’t give a fuck about any of the silly, ironic, desperate bullshit that permeates hipster culture. And you know what? That’s pretty neat.So if most Dude-bros are focused on how many “cool points” they’ll score by bagging a hipster broad, I’m ok with it because I’m collecting points for bagging a Dude-bro. We’re even.

If there’s a better place to find Reformed Scumbags rubbing shoulders with Dude-bros than OkCupid, I haven’t found it. (Maybe at one of the Pixies reunion shows?) Regardless, I’ve now accumulated a pretty baffling assortment of messages from both groups. I never thought I’d entertain the idea of going out with someone who wears board shorts but then again I never thought I’d end up trying to date dudes I MEET ON THE INTERNET. Life’s funny sometimes.

READ MORE of THE OKCUPID CHRONICLES: An Introduction of Sorts

One Pose Per Second – Miranda July + Blonde Redhead

Veronica Christina — Mon, 30 Aug 2010 05:04:40 +0000

Miranda July and Mike Mills’ work could be considered avant garde, though it occasionally ventures into the “weirdo art project” category. Case in point: their collaboration for Blonde Redhead’s video “Top Ranking”. Over 300, one-second frames of July looking cute, if somewhat angsty, in her hipster get up, could bore you after a minute but her interesting poses and occasional soul-searching eye contact compel us to keep watching.

A Beautiful Mind – The Colorful World of Chor Boogie

Veronica Christina — Thu, 26 Aug 2010 22:57:42 +0000

By Veronica Christina

Sprawled out like Jesus on the neatly manicured lawn of someone’s suburban dream home he lay, pushed from a moving car, abandoned and left for dead. He’d been high for three days smoking meth in a dirty motel room in an even dirtier part of San Diego. First the pipe, then the needle. After that anything goes. More crank? Sure, if ya got it. Wanna try heroin? Fuck it, why not? “I died that night” he says. “All I saw was black.”

Artist Chor Boogie has been to hell and back – a fact he offers up almost proudly – a modern-day fairy tale of the street variety. Drug overdoses, stints in jail, a shooting, a stabbing and you can see why he respects the journey. Now 10 years sober and on track to become one of the preeminent urban artists of our time, Chor Boogie is an open book. He’s agreed to meet my partner and I for lunch and paces back and forth across the living room, only pausing for the occasional munch on chips and salsa. We talk for nearly three hours and I immediately regret not having a camera – the man has sex appeal.

He’s a guy’s guy in all sense of the phrase – worked out enough that you wouldn’t wanna mess with him, shaved Vin Diesel-like head, gray tee, new jeans and red sneakers – casual but in such a way that you know he’s thought about it. He’s gentle, well-spoken and, despite the intensity of our conversation, flashes his boyish smile often. I imagine women must love taking care of him. More salsa, hon?

S+D: So…why this life? Why art?

CB: I’ve been painting since I was five years old, just never stopped since the first time I was handed a brush. I even told my mom, “When I grow up I want to be an artist.” There was really no other choice for me.

S+D: You just always knew? Come on, it couldn’t have been that easy.

CB: Fuck no. Creating is what I am on this earth for but I didn’t always cherish it as a gift. There was a period in there for years where I didn’t do anything – just got high, stole, did some pretty fucked up shit. I couldn’t paint. Well, really I didn’t want to paint. Something inside me knew it was wrong to bring art into that world. I wasn’t going to disrespect it like that.

S+D: What pulled you out?

CB: Ha. My sister turned me in for violating parole. It was either go to rehab or go to jail. Jail is hell. You have all these guys fucking with each other for nothing – the color of their skin. I couldn’t go back. I went through the program and it changed everything. My spirit started healing and I began to see the beauty in everything – everyone. I’ve been sober ever since.

During a long volunteer stint at Writer’s Block in San Diego, a community-based organization that introduces art to high-school students, Chor’s talent and skill were getting noticed. He was asked to curate shows at the San Diego Museum of Modern Art and the Childrens’ Museum. At a live painting show he was introduced to Apex, a modern pioneer of the spray paint genre, who suggested he move to San Francisco.

CB: Apex knew this guy who was sponsoring artists to come to San Francisco, live and work. It was a sweet deal. Live for free, paint all day. I met artists like Vulcan and Phase2. We all really influenced each other, learned from each other.

Pieces So Bright You Gotta Wear Shades

Standing before one of Chor’s murals is an experience in longing. It’s all I can do not to walk right through the wall and into a whimsical world where color reigns. Without the use of a single brush, his work is amazingly precise – more fine art than street art. He uses no tools, no tape – just spray paint and skill. Color pops off his pieces in a seemingly random display while the geometrical patterns pull you right back in. I am confused. I am smiling.

S+D: You call your work “color therapy” – can you elaborate?

CB: My art is my soul. It’s my therapy. It’s a romantic, therapeutic blend of movement, emotion, colors and shapes all on one canvas. The color influences the space and they come together in creation.

S+D: You call your work romantic yet you still seem to keep the street edge?

CB: My work will always be street. It’s where I came from and what I can still relate to. But just ‘case it’s street doesn’t mean it’s not romantic. Everyday, I wake up and realize how big this life is and how lucky we are to be here – now. It’s all a perception. I want to think outside the box. I want people to look at my stuff and think that anything is possible. You are not stuck, you are beautiful.

S+D: So are you insulted when people see your stuff on the street and refer to you as a “graffiti artist”?

CB: I don’t consider graffiti art. Trust me, I did my fair share of bombing but I grew up. I learned and I learned about art and what that really means. I don’t want to destroy. I want to create.

What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Famous

He’s told the story hundreds of times. Yeah, he was stabbed. Yada, yada, yada. They never caught the guys. Yada, yada, yada. Afterwards, his work tripled in price. Yada, yada – oh shit, really?

Seemingly overnight Chor’s already rising star was skyrocketing. Everyone wanted to know about the “graffiti” artist who was brave enough to go up against thugs. ABC came calling, art blogs were ablaze, local press went nuts.

S+D: So..what happened?

CB: I was painting a huge City Sponsored mural at 6th and Market. It was a huge PR deal – even Gavin Newsom came to see us painting. I was at one end and my paint was on the other and it was huge – like 100 feet long. I usually try and keep an eye one my stuff ’cause it’s too much trouble to move it back and forth. Out of the corner of my eye I saw some chick run up and grab a can.

S+D: You chased after her?

CB: Fuck yeah I did! Caught up to her too. She denied it and I reached into her bag and grabbed the paint. All of the sudden 3 guys came out of nowhere and started punching me. Everything happened so fast. I was just swinging. I don’t remember being hit but I remember landing a few on those cats. They all ran and I followed them until they got on a bus and someone let them out the emergency exit.

When I got back to the mural some dude yelled, “Man, I think they stabbed you!” I didn’t feel anything but I looked down and saw blood and a hole in my t-shirt. It wasn’t until I was in the ambulance that it started hurting.

S+D: Was the pain bad?

CB: Shit yes. I’ve never felt anything close to that much pain. It was horrible. But I still had my eye on the game. On my way to get x-rays I told my girlfriend “Call the newspapers.”

S+D: You received quite a bit of notoriety from the whole thing – was it worth it?

CB: (laughs) Well, I wouldn’t do it again. I mean, I almost died. If the blade had been half an inch over it could have punctured my stomach. But I guess, in a way, it made me appreciate life and that every moment is precious.

Sorry folks, he’s taken.

He met Elizabeth back stage at San Diego’s Rock the Bells concert and asked if he could walk her home. Quite the big gesture for a man with an all-access pass to hang with artists like Wu-Tang clan and Rage Against the Machine.

S+D: When’s the big day?

CB: We’ll definitely do it but there’s no hurry really. No rush. In a sense we’re already married.

S+D: She’s a tantric sex teacher?

CB: (Smiles) She is. It’s all about connection. It’s fun.

S+D: Wow, you’re a lucky guy. Any Sting-like 24 hour marathon sex session?

CB: Well, you could do that. I don’t know if you’d want to. Sometimes it’s the best. Seriously, the best and sometimes you just want a quickie, ya know. But she’s definitely taught me some things.

He shows me the ring tattoo on his wedding finger, a show of commitment to the woman he calls his “queen,” and in the same breath shows me the ring he has tattooed on his right pointer finger – his painting finger. “I’m married to her and I’m married to my art. Married to the can, ya know?”

Something about him makes me feel like I’ve been to a motivational seminar. Suddenly, the world has fewer obstacles. I say goodbye with a greater appreciation for time, this life and maybe, a little bit of a crush.

More of Chor’s work can be seen on his website. Stay tuned for Spray Paint: The Fine Art of Chor Boogie, a documentary on the life and work of the artist. In theaters 2012.

What a Dick! Accidental Penis Art

Veronica Christina — Thu, 26 Aug 2010 18:22:45 +0000

By Veronica Christina

Just recently stumbled on Top Cultured’s blog post Art of the Accidental Penis and had to share. Brings a whole new level of understanding to fanatics who see religious figures in litter boxes and potato chips, doesn’t it?

To see the rest go here.

The OKCupid Chronicles – An Introduction

KellyKate — Tue, 24 Aug 2010 06:23:46 +0000

By Kelly Kate Warren

AN INTRODUCTION OF SORTS

There is something wrong with me. When I walk into a dive bar and am greeted by the smell of puke & PBR, the montage of flannels and black beanies leaves only one thought in my head:

I WANT YOUR BEARD BURN ALL OVER ME.

I am a grown-ass woman. I have two jobs. I have my own, sweet fucking studio apartment. I have health insurance. I have a killer resume. I have a savings account. I have a goddamn OkCupid profile. I am winning at life, not by a lot, but I am winning.

So why the fuck does the sight of some unemployed, un-showered douchebag exiting the bathroom with a vacant stare and white ’round his nostrils make me want to have unprotected sex on a couch somewhere? A bike lock in a Chrome bag makes my panties drop. If you tell me that you can’t afford to buy me a drink, but would be stoked if I could, like, buy you a Hamm’s or a shot of Jack or something, I might be into it. Let’s be real, I am probably all about it

It’s not that I have no morals, because I do, it’s just that I am one of THOSE GIRLS.

I date dudes in bands. And DJs. And bartenders. And dudes who went to art school (preferably, those who dropped out of art school to pursue a career in making coffee). I date dudes who cannot afford to take me on dates, and if they could afford to take me on a date, would probably use that money to buy beer and drugs.

I have been that girl since I kissed my first punk rocker in leather pants and a bullet belt. I have an arsenal of Mix CD with hand-drawn covers and Bright Eyes B-sides. I have a restraining order. I have Polaroids of myself making out with various ex-boyfriends. I am about three steps away from having some dude’s name tattooed on a part of my body.

BUT…

I’m done. No, seriously, I’m done. To be honest, a part of it is that most of the dudes I’m attracted to when I walk into a dive bar, I have already made out with. Maybe. Ok, probably. Or at least they are good friends or roommates with some dude I dated summer ‘07 – or have slept with one of my girlfriends. San Francisco is a tiny, and very slutty, little city. I know, because I have done my part to make it that way. Regardless, I have paid my fucking dues. I have done my time posted up at Delirium, and Hemlock, and Pop’s, and most other bars that offer a dollar beer. I have convinced a large portion of the female, hipster population of San Francisco to hate me. (I’m sorry, I didn’t know that you used to date, and that you still love him or whatever. Also, please don’t hurt me.)

The point is: I’M A GROWN-ASS WOMAN. I am beginning to realize that the fact that you have that one limited release EP on vinyl does not mean that you are THE ONE. In fact, that might be the only thing going for you, and unfortunately that just isn’t enough for me to go home with you, let alone try to date you.

I’m sorry, but if you can’t afford to pay your phone bill, I don’t think we should hang out. I know you can, like, @ reply me on twitter to arrange a time and place to meet up, but later, after you’ve called your drug dealer from my number, and he won’t stop calling to harass me about the money you owe him, I’m gonna be sort of bummed out.

Similarly, if you are like, staying on your friend’s couch for awhile until your unemployment kicks in, I’m not into it. I know that he doesn’t mind if we have sex in his living room. Even better, I know that you really appreciate it if you can, like, crash at my place for the weekend. But I’m just going to have to say no. You being hungover here is seriously getting in the way of me eating candy alone while watching Law & Order SVU. Please leave.

I’m not saying that I’m done with scumbags, because I’m not. Scumbags are my bread & butter. My scummy dude friends are my everything, and I gladly play wing-woman so they can bag bitches a few years away from being as bitter & jaded as myself. I am, essentially, a scumbag myself. I’m just saying that I am done dating scumbags. I’ve put in too many long, painful years of “romantic” benders and bar-bathroom hookups, it’s high time someone actually took me to dinner or bought me a drink. I don’t know if I could handle it if a guy bought me flowers, but I really hope that I can get to the point where that sort of thing doesn’t make me cry til I hyperventilate. Hence, I am forgoing the bars and turning to the internet. And if I know anything, it’s that shit’s gonna get weird.

READ MORE of THE OKCUPID CHRONICLES: You Should Message Me If…

Architectural Striptease – It’s a Dry Heat

Erin Feher — Mon, 23 Aug 2010 11:08:43 +0000

By Erin Feher

For most folks, rain may inspire getting cozy under the sheets with company, but for me there’s nothing like the dry, scorching heat of the desert to get my blood boiling, especially if I was camped out in this gold-plated modernist mansion wearing nothing but 24-karat aviators.

Acido Dorado is the realization of architect Robert Stone’s psychedelicvision. The architecture itself: extra-deep steps that slow your pace,exterior walls that open up completely to the vast nothingness beyond, desert modernism reincarnated with futuristic details toys with the visitor’s state of mind.

But Stone isn’t one for foreplay, so he painted every inch of the structure a glittering gold, instantly hypnotizing anyone who comes upon it. The thing is, like anything wild, willing and completely worth it, it’s not that easy to stumble upon. Located just east of Joshua Tree National Park, the mostly undeveloped land and the architectural jewels Stone continues to construct on it has been dubbed “Pretty Vacant Properties“, by its owner (Sid Vicious would know why).

As you would expect of a house dressed in gold down to its bedcovers, its luxurious offerings extend well beyond its color palette. And, while I may be able to scrape up the cash for the gold aviators, I think I’ll have to hold off on the sweaty, sandy weekend getaway: The house is available for rental (http://prettyvacantproperties.com ) at $440$460 per night.

If you are more leather-and-emo than glitter-and-disco, get dibs on Stone’s other property, Rosa Muerta, Acido Dorado’s black sheep of a sibling.

Cheating with Honor? The Holy Grail of Monogamy

Janelle Boatwright — Sun, 15 Aug 2010 13:59:18 +0000

By Janelle Boatright, M.A.

I know, I know, “til death do us part,” and “I only have eyes for you” sounds really romantic, but let’s be honest, that’s a holy crock of shit for most of us. After watching our parents divorce and cheat with the best of them, many of us are left scratching our heads thinking, “what’s next?” While the monogamous dydadic relationship model still works for a good 30 to 40% of the population, what about the rest of us supposed heathens and sluts?

According to national surveys ranging from the prestigious Kinsey Report to the Cosmo magazine scratch and sniff girl surveys, over half of us are lying through our pretty teeth about what we say we want and what actually happens behind closed doors, and the statistics surrounding infidelity are staggering. Indeed, most experts do consider the ‘educated guess’ that at the present time some 50 to 65 percent of husbands and 45 to 55 percent of wives become extra-maritally involved by the age of 40. Conservative infidelity statistics estimate that “60 percent of men and 40 percent of women will have an extramarital affair. And with this many marriages affected, it’s unreasonable to think affairs are due only to the failures and shortcomings of individual husbands or wives.” (The Monogamy Myth, 2003)

So what are we to do with modern love relationships? Fuck like bunnies without abandon until we drop? Join Swingers-R-Us and call it a day? Walk around feeling disconnected, doomed and jaded about all prospects of long term relationships? Abandon our princess bride banter on the joys of Wuv and Maaawwage for good?

This might come as a surprise to some of you,(it was to me!)but it seems that there are OPTIONS to being a big bad nasty cheater. Out of the mucky underworld of infidelity there are cultural uprisings of alternatives in the world of sex, love and relating, and they are definitely giving the status quo a good run for their money.
This shake up seems to include snapping ourselves out of the often unrealistic cultural coma we were all force fed to begin to redefine relationships to encompass who we ACTUALLY are versus who we CLAIM to be, as well as developing a little known aptitude called TELLING THE TRUTH!

And big surprise, many of these paradigm-stretching folks are right here in our beloved San Francisco.But who are these people? And can these new paradigms really last when the culture is so entrenched in a sometimes ill fitting and deceptive cloak? How do we retrain ourselves to live beyond our programming? These are the questions many of us are grappling with…

The truth about the relationship revolution might surprise you, and in the upcoming issues of Sex+Design; we will explore the lives and thoughts of real life relationship revolutionaries, social activists and educators in the field of non-traditional relationships to allow you to see for yourself….

In the next issue, I have the privilege of interviewing the world renowned author and relationship expert Deborah Anapol. In her own words, Deborah readily admits that her new book, Polyamory in the 21st Century, “would have been impossible to write when she first started exploring this territory 30 years ago because at the time, only a handful of survivors of the sexual revolution were willing to admit they were still non-monogamous – it was very unfashionable! Four books, hundreds of TV shows and magazine articles and thousands of workshops later, it’s a new world!”

Our in depth conversation will cover her perspectives on intimate relationships that don’t conform to our culture’s monogamous ideal but endeavor to be honest, ethical, and consensual. This will include exploring the practical, the utopian, and the shadow sides of this intriguing, yet often challenging lifestyle while shedding light on the reasons people choose these alternatives and how their lives have changed as a result, including her own.

John Gettings Polaroid Series

Alex Crevar — Fri, 13 Aug 2010 05:35:24 +0000

By Veronica Christina

Somewhere during my daily web stumbling I ran across photographer John Gettings. I’d seen his work previously on the occasional blog (it’s all exceptional) but was especially mesmerized by his Polaroid Series. In it, he takes quick shots of women in various states of undress, colors the film and backlights the collection.

These stunning pieces are currently showing at Gallery B in Sag Harbor, NY. If you’re not lucky enough to make it back east, they can also be seen by scrolling down.