Safe to Say
by Alex Rose
SEPTEMBER 1, 2009 TAGS:
With the possible exception of heroin, or some comparably brain-melting opiate, unprotected sex is the single greatest pleasure human beings are capable of experiencing.
Yet those of us who grew up in the late ’70s and ’80s, who came of age during the unrelenting thundercloud of AIDS, retain a grave association with the act, far more than any previous generation could boast of. Tricky as sex in the Middle Ages might have been, no adolescent was forced to abide mandatory sex-ed classes with slide shows of desiccated AIDS victims, round-the-clock public service announcements from B'nai B'rith, and "consciousness-raising" episodes from every prime-time program on the dial.
Even the scourge of syphilis didn't inspire didactic museum installations from the era's splashiest artists, or self-important benefit concerts, or, god help us, Jerry Falwell. We lived it, breathed it.
It's no exaggeration to say that the Reagan progeny, the students of The Facts of Life, were so saturated with STD awareness that eroticism itself held a deadly tincture, no less than drugs — another epidemic whose prevention was being aggressively foisted upon a generation of terrified children. The mantra of the era, "Just say no," applied equally to both domains.
In recent years, however, the SEX = DEATH equation has begun to let up. As the fear of infection has been largely transplanted to the Third World, a discernible shift has occurred in our relationship to sex in general and protected sex in particular. Indeed, the pendulum has swung in the other direction, and a few cryptic but revealing signs of change have bubbled up in the cultural thoroughfare.
To the extent that language is a reliable marker of a time, both in terms of what is represented and what is concealed, I've become fascinated by one circumlocution that has gained ground of late.
In both popular culture and in our personal lives, the term "something" is being increasingly used in lieu of "condom." As in "do you have something?" or "should we use something?" Like all euphemisms, it enshrouds rather than specifies. Clever usages such as these are used to soften the blow of terms otherwise too harsh for a given context, like "downsize" for mass firings, or "pass away" for die. Naturally, euphemistic language abounds in amorous situations. Pick a few off the top of your head — make out, hang out, hook up, get off, do it; in each case, a specific event is signified in a decidedly roundabout manner. But this particular one does so, I believe, for a curious reason.
A very literal signifier, "condom" calls to mind the awkwardness of its application, the rubbery squeaks and cold spermicidal goo and pinched embrace — very little is left to the imagination. "Something," by contrast, is diffuse, discreet, vague, seductive. It carries none of the "on-the-dot" associations we can't help but link with the object. In fact, "something" may be the ultimate indefinite; what else could it indicate other than lack of specificity? Placed in a sexual context, however, the euphemism serves a telling purpose, which we might dub "erotic self-effacement." One term is swapped for another to empty the pedestrian concept of
its connotations and overlay it with a fresh veneer of mystery.
Sound it out. Phonetically, it's softer — a gentle stream of fricatives, as opposed to hard, mechanical stops. It's more sensuous, more serpentine: in a word, sexy. Semantically, the word suggests a non-proprietary quality — not "your" thing or "my" thing, and not "any" old thing, since the thing in question is unambiguous — but "some" thing; an object belonging to no one in particular. Yet at the same time, we know what the object is, and that it is to be used by us. "Something," then, is at once intimately familiar and deceptively non-distinct (the latter in service of the former), like the child-safe term, "private." Crudely put, it's the linguistic equivalent of lace or garters, or really any provocative accoutrement: The disguise poses a playful obstacle to the pursuer, a suggestive challenge.
In any case, the term has entered popular consciousness at a particular point in time. Should we assume this is a fluke, like so many trends in language, or might there be another reason for its spread?
One possibility is that in the "post-fear" landscape — a cultural moment when the gun-to-the-head threat of HIV has finally simmered, at least among a certain demographic — protected sex no longer demands the ironclad allegiance it once did. Hence, a need to counteract its perceived obsolescence by imbuing the hated prophylactic with a fog of erotic enchantment. It's a rescue mission. Save the condom from extinction; make it hot.
Which brings me back to drugs. Several years ago, I had back surgery — a fairly minor affair, but one that required a day or two of rest and "supervised ambulation" on the recovery ward. I won't lie: It was great. The smiling Polish nurses and the morphine, heavenly. But the magical drip was never referred to by name; rather, a nurse would see me wince while shifting my weight and offer to give me "something" for the pain. Never "painkillers" or "muscle relaxants," certainly not "oxycodone" or "drugs" — though that's exactly what was being identified. Even the surgeon sent me off with a script for "something" to get me through the next few days.
Maybe the connection is specious. I do find it intriguing, though, that both unprotected sex and controlled substances happen to share the same, elusive term at a time when the lethal association with both has begun to diminish. Granted, a medical practitioner administering a narcotic analgesic is very different from a lover requesting the application of a contraceptive. But if history counts for anything, it's worth noting that sex and drugs have been related for centuries — as symbols not only of impurity and sin, but also of liberation and transcendence — and our verbal signifiers have dutifully reflected the parallels. Modern, drug-related vocab — bud, bump, weed, junk, dope, high, blow, crack, hit, puff, trip, etc. — is almost indistinguishable from sexual slang — fuck, jerk, blow, bang, clit, cock, ass, come; in fact, much of it is interchangeable.
It should come as no surprise, then, that "something" would serve a similar function in these apparently dissimilar contexts. In a medical situation, the euphemism refers to something potentially dangerous yet highly pleasurable; in a sexual situation, it refers to something unpleasant yet highly effective in preventing danger. The difference is subtle but crucial: While each seeks to disguise certain unappealing qualities, one usage goes a step further — it feigns innocence, giving off a faint, seductive ring of irony.
One is safe to say; the other pretends to be.
Alex Rose is the author of The Musical Illusionist and Other Tales.
Yet those of us who grew up in the late ’70s and ’80s, who came of age during the unrelenting thundercloud of AIDS, retain a grave association with the act, far more than any previous generation could boast of. Tricky as sex in the Middle Ages might have been, no adolescent was forced to abide mandatory sex-ed classes with slide shows of desiccated AIDS victims, round-the-clock public service announcements from B'nai B'rith, and "consciousness-raising" episodes from every prime-time program on the dial. Even the scourge of syphilis didn't inspire didactic museum installations from the era's splashiest artists, or self-important benefit concerts, or, god help us, Jerry Falwell. We lived it, breathed it.
It's no exaggeration to say that the Reagan progeny, the students of The Facts of Life, were so saturated with STD awareness that eroticism itself held a deadly tincture, no less than drugs — another epidemic whose prevention was being aggressively foisted upon a generation of terrified children. The mantra of the era, "Just say no," applied equally to both domains.
In recent years, however, the SEX = DEATH equation has begun to let up. As the fear of infection has been largely transplanted to the Third World, a discernible shift has occurred in our relationship to sex in general and protected sex in particular. Indeed, the pendulum has swung in the other direction, and a few cryptic but revealing signs of change have bubbled up in the cultural thoroughfare.
To the extent that language is a reliable marker of a time, both in terms of what is represented and what is concealed, I've become fascinated by one circumlocution that has gained ground of late.
In both popular culture and in our personal lives, the term "something" is being increasingly used in lieu of "condom." As in "do you have something?" or "should we use something?" Like all euphemisms, it enshrouds rather than specifies. Clever usages such as these are used to soften the blow of terms otherwise too harsh for a given context, like "downsize" for mass firings, or "pass away" for die. Naturally, euphemistic language abounds in amorous situations. Pick a few off the top of your head — make out, hang out, hook up, get off, do it; in each case, a specific event is signified in a decidedly roundabout manner. But this particular one does so, I believe, for a curious reason.
A very literal signifier, "condom" calls to mind the awkwardness of its application, the rubbery squeaks and cold spermicidal goo and pinched embrace — very little is left to the imagination. "Something," by contrast, is diffuse, discreet, vague, seductive. It carries none of the "on-the-dot" associations we can't help but link with the object. In fact, "something" may be the ultimate indefinite; what else could it indicate other than lack of specificity? Placed in a sexual context, however, the euphemism serves a telling purpose, which we might dub "erotic self-effacement." One term is swapped for another to empty the pedestrian concept of
its connotations and overlay it with a fresh veneer of mystery.
Sound it out. Phonetically, it's softer — a gentle stream of fricatives, as opposed to hard, mechanical stops. It's more sensuous, more serpentine: in a word, sexy. Semantically, the word suggests a non-proprietary quality — not "your" thing or "my" thing, and not "any" old thing, since the thing in question is unambiguous — but "some" thing; an object belonging to no one in particular. Yet at the same time, we know what the object is, and that it is to be used by us. "Something," then, is at once intimately familiar and deceptively non-distinct (the latter in service of the former), like the child-safe term, "private." Crudely put, it's the linguistic equivalent of lace or garters, or really any provocative accoutrement: The disguise poses a playful obstacle to the pursuer, a suggestive challenge.
In any case, the term has entered popular consciousness at a particular point in time. Should we assume this is a fluke, like so many trends in language, or might there be another reason for its spread?One possibility is that in the "post-fear" landscape — a cultural moment when the gun-to-the-head threat of HIV has finally simmered, at least among a certain demographic — protected sex no longer demands the ironclad allegiance it once did. Hence, a need to counteract its perceived obsolescence by imbuing the hated prophylactic with a fog of erotic enchantment. It's a rescue mission. Save the condom from extinction; make it hot.
Which brings me back to drugs. Several years ago, I had back surgery — a fairly minor affair, but one that required a day or two of rest and "supervised ambulation" on the recovery ward. I won't lie: It was great. The smiling Polish nurses and the morphine, heavenly. But the magical drip was never referred to by name; rather, a nurse would see me wince while shifting my weight and offer to give me "something" for the pain. Never "painkillers" or "muscle relaxants," certainly not "oxycodone" or "drugs" — though that's exactly what was being identified. Even the surgeon sent me off with a script for "something" to get me through the next few days.
Maybe the connection is specious. I do find it intriguing, though, that both unprotected sex and controlled substances happen to share the same, elusive term at a time when the lethal association with both has begun to diminish. Granted, a medical practitioner administering a narcotic analgesic is very different from a lover requesting the application of a contraceptive. But if history counts for anything, it's worth noting that sex and drugs have been related for centuries — as symbols not only of impurity and sin, but also of liberation and transcendence — and our verbal signifiers have dutifully reflected the parallels. Modern, drug-related vocab — bud, bump, weed, junk, dope, high, blow, crack, hit, puff, trip, etc. — is almost indistinguishable from sexual slang — fuck, jerk, blow, bang, clit, cock, ass, come; in fact, much of it is interchangeable.
It should come as no surprise, then, that "something" would serve a similar function in these apparently dissimilar contexts. In a medical situation, the euphemism refers to something potentially dangerous yet highly pleasurable; in a sexual situation, it refers to something unpleasant yet highly effective in preventing danger. The difference is subtle but crucial: While each seeks to disguise certain unappealing qualities, one usage goes a step further — it feigns innocence, giving off a faint, seductive ring of irony.
One is safe to say; the other pretends to be.
Alex Rose is the author of The Musical Illusionist and Other Tales.
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