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Sparkle (13)
"Have you considered changing your name?" the message from my aunt read. "Our name is too obscure and boring, don't you think? The famous do better with something catchy and bright."
This wasn't a compliment. It was a very polite way of saying that what I was doing with my life -- writing about sex -- was not in keeping with the image my father's family desires for itself.
"Shocked woman on laptop" via Shutterstock.
The message was without a doubt engendered by photos I had uploaded to Facebook of the conference BlogHer '10, where I had participated in a sex panel alongside incredible women who have dared to breach the topic of sexuality, which in many of their communities continues to be taboo. It was a timely message, as during the panel we had discussed anonymity and the repercussions of being discovered by family and community members.
I understand how a sex blog can affect a person's life, having seen friends' sex blogs take center stage in divorce proceedings, custody battles, and employment situations, but this knowledge is entirely theoretical, not practical. I live far from my family and have made most of my friends through my blog. Also, I live in Los Angeles, a city that is largely permissive of -- well, just about everything.
Having had little contact with me over the last few years, my aunt didn't know that I do happen to employ a pseudonym -- not because I am ashamed of what I write, but because I started playing around online in the '90s, long before it became common for people to use their real names. Having already amassed a readership, it didn't make sense for me to rebrand, besides -- it helped me keep myself at arm's length from the assumptions people make about a woman who writes about sex. It'd be folly to pretend that a contingent of my readers aren't more interested in who they think I am than what I write, and my relationship with them has always been adversarial at best. In this sense, I like the space a pseudonym provides.
But I didn't feel like explaining any of this to my aunt, so instead, I simply wrote back: "I can't possibly have it worse than Chuck Palahniuk."
It was unpleasant to have someone suggest I should excuse myself from the family, but I knew also that she wouldn't respond to my message. I thought the matter would rest there.
Then I received a message from her sister.
Forgive what I am going to say, but I think your behavior is a gross disrespect to the entire family. You would do well to exercise some decorum in how you communicate on Facebook. I don't know when you graduated in sexology to be giving these lectures, but this is a subject that much be breached delicately, with maturity and professionalism.
I decided at that moment that the discussion suffered from a grave lack of information. It was clear they didn't read my column, didn't understand the purpose of the panel, and didn't know my commitment to openly discussing sexuality. In the interest of an informed discussion, I began to compose a mission statement.
Before I could post it, however, I received a message from my uncle, brother of the two aforementioned aunts, who wanted to let me know that the family, having been shamed by my participation on the panel, had begun to scrutinize my profile on the social network, and that there were several photos that they considered to be inappropriate. He warned me, that -- while he didn't agree -- that others may think I am a degenerate.
I went back to my mission statement, which I translated into Spanish to ensure everyone read it in my own words regardless of their language preference, and I posted it as a note on Facebook, tagging all parties involved.
I write about sex.
Anecdotes teach. The difference between an academic text and a personal anecdote is that the latter affects us on another level. As with the old argument newly popularized by marketing firms of our time that say that it is more effective for people to hear about a product from a source they trust than to simply bombard them with advertisements, so too do anecdotes from people we know have more power than any public service announcement.
I didn't learn the difference between bacterial vaginosis, chlamydia and a common urinary tract infection at school, though I am sure I read about each of these things. I
