Flash 'Em!
My first Girls Gone Wild-esque experience occurred at the ’07 AVN convention.
Given the ubiquity of the GGW franchise, and given my tendency to travel with and around young females, I’d always known that the day would come when a perfect stranger would come up to me, shove a camera in my face, and request that I lift my shirt in exchange for, at best, a tacky t-shirt.
Part of my study of the GGW phenomenon has involved deliberate time spent pondering what my reaction would be in such a situation. Would I do it? Lecture the cameraman on the evils of exploiting young, dunk girls? Simply say no and walk away? Drop kick the camera?
At the convention I learned that no matter how many articles one reads on the matter, no matter how fervent one’s feminist ideals, no matter the extent of premeditation, one really cannot plan one’s reaction. Academia can’t help you much.
The scene: Day two of the AVN Adult Expo. I am walking around the convention floor, taking in the sights, when suddenly an overstimulated and brightly colored couple bound into my path.
The guy, who has some sort of neon paint in his beard and hair, does the talking while his sequins-laden, dreadlocked female counterpart holds a camcorder. “Hi, we think you’re very beautiful, and we’re wondering if you’d show us your tits.”
They pause expectantly.
The subsequent sequence of events occurred in slow motion. My senses heightened. Every book, treatise, and discussion I’ve had on the topic flashed through my mind. And despite my extensive background and forethought, I was simply stunned.
Instinct kicked in.
I smiled. “Absolutely not.”
That was the end of the verbal exchange. The rest was all reaction, occurring in the space of about 2 seconds:
Me: How DARE they ask me such a thing? Me, a dignified, intelligent girl who has so much more to offer the world than a quick flash of her chest
Them: Shock—why on Earth is this girl not doing what we ask?
Me: How dare they act surprised, presuming I would do as they ask simply because I’m a female and they have a camera?
Me: Wait, I’m at a porn convention. Of all arenas in which such a request is somewhat reasonable, a porn convention is definitely up there
Them: Whatever, man. This chick is a square. Footage is not hard to find—95% of all the women here are half naked anyway
So there you have it. I didn’t undermine my principles or betray my feminist values by giving strangers access to my body. But given the venue, my indignation seems absurdly out of place. Were my principles or feminist values really threatened? I was already offering up some degree of sexual availability simply by being there, and besides, no one cared whether I cooperated or not.
For the rest of my time at the convention, I secretly hoped (feminist fantasy land) that I’d run into the Technicolor hippies again, only this time I’d ask them to flash the camera themselves—see how they feel when the tables are turned, ha! But then again, I’d bet money they’ve got a 20-volume self-filmed wall-to-wall series floating around out there. Flashing a camcorder isn’t likely to make any difference in the world to them.
So, good for me. I can feel self-righteous and indignant. No one cares.
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