Today marks six months since my last post, a new record for lengthy absences since I started blogging three years and three months ago. Resuming this is not “something that has slipped my mind”. It’s been on my mind constantly, and my failure to do so has illustrated the inertia and creative frustration that has dominated my life for most of 2014. Hence, a no-frills entry to bring us up to the present.
My feline son, Toby, looking especially angelic on 08/22/14.
Just Checking In
This past Spring, after I posted the clunkily titled "I Honestly Know Me: An Evaluation of an Evaluation", I found myself freaking out that I had just revealed way too much about the daily failures of my adult life and sunk into the scariest territory of all: humorlessness. At the time, I was writing down a lifetime's worth of experiences that lead to my self-diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome, all part of massive preparations, several months in advance, for scheduled neurocognitive testing in July. I was reading John Elder Robison’s Be Different: My Adventures With Asperger'sand Rudy Simone’s Asperger’s On The Job at the time, books that were crucial to my self-understanding and self-empowerment. I was inspired by these incredible Aspergian authors to record my own experiences and put them aside for future use in a book. I hoped that fearlessly yet humorously delving deep into my personal experiences, as John Elder Robinson and Rudy Simone had done, might just help fellow undiagnosed Aspies identify and appreciate their uniqueness, as opposed to the more commonly realized experience of suffering in silent confusion. (This is not to suggest that all undiagnosed Aspies endure such struggles: I suspect that most successful people in the entertainment industry, including nearly all of my favorite artists, are fellow Aspies.) Due to a desire to save what I was writing at the time for the potential book-to-be, I found myself without anything to say on the blog. And my drive to find something fresh to write about quickly dissipated when a close loved one was diagnosed with cancer.
In the months since, I have witnessed incredible bravery and strength and sacrifice as my extraordinary aunt has fought valiantly against terminal illness with her sister and children beside her every step of the way. It has been a truly awesome demonstration of humanity at its finest, one that I have been honored to witness. But I would still give anything not to have seen such exemplary integrity, and to instead be in an alternate reality without cancer constantly striking the world's bravest and most inspiring people. My beloved aunt continues her battle, and in the months since it began my family and I have said goodbye to a young friend who died in a matter of days after finding out he had cancer. His loss was felt the world over, for he lived and touched lives on nearly every continent. These past few months also saw the passing of my Mother's Mother. Though just a few months shy of eighty-nine years old, my grandmother's death blindsided all of us who expected her to be with us for another decade, at least. My grandmother was a deeply spiritual person, as am I, and I have felt and continue to feel her near ever since the time of her passing. But this blessed comfort does not change the radically altered landscape for all of us, and particularly my Mother, who have only ever known this world with our beloved Nana in it.
09/20/11: My mother, her parents, and their beloved dog, Blinky, on my happiest of birthdays.
I went into 2014 predicting a year that would be profound and beautiful and a happy end to seven years of bad luck that plagued me since I graduated college in 2007. I cannot say that this year brought with it the euphoria that I hoped for. But it certainly has been profound, and I cannot deny that it has been beautiful, for I have learned more about appreciating life in the present tense than I ever have before. It was not until I was sixteen years old that Madonna’s Ray of Light album/era introduced me to the notion of “living in the moment”. And it would take another sixteen years before I truly understood the vital, urgent importance of taking that approach to my and loved ones’ journey here on Earth. The moments shared with my loved ones in 2014 are among my most cherished moments of all. And each has made me realize how incredibly blessed I am.
"MAD" About Her
Despite the sadness, I would also like to celebrate how many happy times there have been in the six months since my last post. Among the most purely and unoforgettably enjoyable of these experiences was being interviewed for Matteo Maccarinelli’s MAD For Madonna, an upcoming documentary about Madonna’s passionate global fanbase. I was honored beyond words to partake in this film thanks to the fan popularity of my "Vogue Boy" video, because I knew it would give me a chance to speak from the heart about the artist who has had the greatest singular impact on shaping my creative output. I spent weeks preparing for my film debut, fearing how I would come across to people who had only ever seen me as the child in the video, worrying I would let them down with how I had turned out. I simultaneously feared that in my state of anxiety I might forget something important I wanted to convey, or just blank out altogether and make myself, and in turn my allegiance to Madonna, a joke. I was so worked up by the day before filming that I couldn't sleep that night. But twelve hours before the interview, I saw a shooting star overhead while outside listening to Madonna’s “Superstar”. And about eight hours prior, a single leaf fell from a tree and glided down near me as I watched the sun rise. I felt the Universe was letting me know that things would play out just fine. And indeed, they did. I only got about two hours of sleep before the cameras were to roll, but my adrenaline was pumping and the filming itself was even more enjoyable than I could ever have imagined. The dialogue prompted by the wonderful interviewer/co-filmmaker, Madeline Herec Poirier, yielded a number of unexpected insights that were as beneficial to my understanding of my relationship with Madonna as they were, hopefully, to the film itself. In deciding what I would wear onscreen, I unearthed my favorite Madonna t-shirt, from The Confessions Tour, which I had retired in 2010 after being photographed in it when I met my OTHER favorite living artist, Dario Argento. I opted to resurrect and immortalize this t-shirt on June 6th, 2014, an incredibly well-timed day for filming as it was exactly three years after I uploaded my childhood video to Vimeo. I’m obsessed with dates, and with fate, as anyone who’s read this blog for long enough knows. And filming my interview three years after "Vogue Boy" brought the experience full circle in the most divine way possible.
My sister Jen took this post-filming photo, perfectly capturing the elation of that beautiful June 6th!
There But For A Goddess Named Grace
Speaking of dates and divinity, today marks three months since I began to (also) worship at the altar of Grace Jones. I’d deeply respected her since I discovered her in the '90s and much later became enamored with several of her singles after I fell in love with her in Richard Wenk’s vastly underrated Vamp. But this past June 29th, I decided to finally take a long delayed, well-worth-the-wait dive into her discography. I was inspired by the artwork of one of my favorite blogs, GangsterSaysRelax.com, to start with her 1982 albumLiving My Life. By the time I reached the closing track, “Unlimited Capacity For Love”, which has since become my favorite, I knew I was about to become a HUGE Grace Jones fan. Ever since that fateful summer evening, Miss Grace Jones has become my most-played musical artist of 2014, dominating my use of Spotify and YouTube for the entire summer before I was fortunate enough to be gifted several of her albums and the DVD of her One Man Show for my birthday on September 20th. I was not surprised to find that the music of Grace Jones is so brilliant, but I was surprised to find that it is so spiritual, and indeed the combination has been key in making her body of work the soundtrack to an unprecedentedly monumental year in my life. This is not to suggest that I’m not still constantly listening to Madonna, Donna Summer, Diana Ross or ABBA. But if Grace has overshadowed these long-time favorites in 2014, it’s because I’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for. And making up for it has been an utterly sublime pleasure.
Jump to 3:05 to witness the overpowering energy that obliterates inhibition and arouses empowerment in everyone who comes into contact with Miss Grace Jones!
Just Like Starting Over
And now, I close with a confirmation: I have Asperger’s Syndrome. Of course, you probably don't need me to tell you this if you’re a longtime reader of this blog familiar with the passions, obsessions, and/or writing style of "Aspies". But if you’re not, or if you’re someone like me who can’t rest easy without the validation of a medical professional, I’m happy to say that my diagnosis is official. Following up on several hours of neurocognitive testing at a top Boston hospital on July 10th, an incredible neuropsychologist told me on July 22nd that she agreed with my self-assessment and formally diagnosed me with Asperger’s Syndrome and co-morbid anxiety disorder. (Anxiety tends to go part and parcel with ASD, but my anxiety is severe enough to warrant a separate mention.) Out of respect to this incredible doctor who inspired and empowered me, I’ll withhold further details except to say that it was an entirely positive experience. Insurance challenges notwithstanding, I urge anyone who suspects they are an undiagnosed Aspie to pursue neurocognitive testing: my neuropsychologist's report was, without a doubt, the single most accurate assessment of me that has ever been written. I never thought that, at thirty three years old, I would be living with my family with a dusty college degree and no money, no job, no experience, no prospects, and no idea of how to change all of that. I struggle with severe impairment in executive functioning and long-hidden learning disabilities that were revealed in my testing, the combination of which, along with my anxiety, has left me reclusive, afraid to drive, and struggling to function in society as a normal adult. I share all of this in solidarity with others like me on the autistic spectrum, (once) undiagnosed adult Aspies who are, in my neuropsychologist’s words, “incredibly bright” yet unable to apply the gifts that they possess the way everyone around us seems able to. The gift that I possess, which has kept me from being swallowed up by the inevitable depression that comes from such grave realizations, is the ability to write. For months I have felt robbed of this ability, paralyzed by medical and financial crisis and overwhelmed by fear and confusion. But after six months, I am determined to find a means of taking this gift that I have been given and utilizing it. I have to believe that I can still pull myself, my partner, and my family out of the rut I ended up in after years of living my life as an individual with undiagnosed autism spectrum disorder. With the support of my incredible loved ones and, I hope, a return to regularly writing for this blog, I think I might just have a shot at turning the challenges that haunt me in 2014 into the salvation that defines me in 2015.
My all-time favorite performance of my 2014 theme song: "NEVER stop the action!"
This is a most unusual post. It does not deal with subject matter I normally talk about on this blog, or with anyone outside of my partner, my doctor, and my immediate family. This is my first post about my firm belief that I am an Aspergian (one with Asperger's Syndrome), and the devastating consequences that have resulted from my failing to realize this until well into my thirties. I can only imagine how many millions of people are struggling in their lives, in ways they can neither understand nor express, because they have no idea that they, too, are on the autistic spectrum. This first post is about the role that cultural stereotypes and my own constructed identity have played in making a diagnosis more difficult than I had expected. If not for the discovery of countless personal testimonials in books or online, I might still doubt myself about who I am and what it is that I am dealing with. Based on incredible feedback generated by past posts, I suspect many people out there are facing the same exact challenges that I am, and for the same exact reasons. And I hope that sharing my experiences may be beneficial to any of them who read this.
Part 1: August 29th, 2013
For the month leading up to the appointment, I was under the impression I would be undergoing a daylong series of neurological tests to determine if I, my family, and my referring physician were correct in the assumption that I have Asperger's Syndrome. I was so wrought with anxiety about what these tests would entail and how I would fare under them that I could not sleep for the two nights prior to what turned out to be a forty minute interview.
The appointment began at 8:30 AM. The neurologist came out to the waiting room to call me into an office where the evaluation began with a question along the lines of "so what brings you here today?". The neurologist was polite, but not especially friendly, with voice and body language suggesting to me that the neurologist felt I did not belong there and that this was a pointless exercise. Or, perhaps, that said neurologist was extremely tired. I told the neurologist about my family's encouragement in my being tested and my having many traits since childhood (as corroborated by relatives and many videotapes) up to the present. I told the neurologist that I have a family history of autism as well as bipolar disorder. I noted that while I had a cursory knowledge of Asperger's, I avoided researching too much so as not to impact my evaluation. I was asked a series of questions while the neurologist looked at a computer screen and typed. I had begun the interview by stating that it was my sister who approached me about Asperger’s Syndrome after viewing Temple Grandin's TED Talk and being reminded the whole time of me. I indicated that growing up in a protective bubble with my parents and sister in a happy but insulated childhood allowed me to feel more comfortable expressing myself but meant that it took me much longer to pick up on how people in the world outside of my home would react to such expression. I even mentioned my “Vogue Boy” video because I felt that the performance people were seeing on video did not match who I really was off camera. What countless viewers interpreted as brave was in many ways blissful ignorance. (Something closer to my personality, if still meant for audience approval, was put on display in another video shot that same summer in a “1-2-3 Video” message booth.) When asked about my early verbal communication, I referenced having been told over the years by my mother that I had uttered my first word at three months old when I greeted a housekeeper with a "Hi". The neurologist seemed skeptical. It may have been that this seemed out of character for a child with AS. But, that morning, I read the reaction as doubt that this event had even occurred. That at three months I had begun expertly mimicking sounds in response to specific stimuli seemed buried underneath overall suspicion, which fueled my subsequent insecurity about how my answers were being received. I made it clear that I am a recluse living with my parents in my childhood home and that I had seen hardly any other people for the last year. I stressed that crippling social anxiety, not a lack of desire to be working, was the reason why I cannot get a job and turn my life around in spite of all the people who look at me and see nothing more than a typical “loser” stereotype. When asked about my sleeping schedule, I revealed with my trademark New England/Catholic guilt/shame that I am most inclined to go to sleep around 5 AM and wake up around 2 PM. This counters society's expectations of "normal", and I've spent two decades trying to conform, but it has been my natural tendency since puberty kicked into high gear at the age of thirteen. I didn't get a verbal response. But the neurologist's non-verbal response seemed to me, once again, critical and vaguely judgmental. The most surprising interaction came about when the neurologist asked me if I dated or had girlfriends in high school. I told the neurologist that I’m gay, and that I knew this back then but was not out at the time. I told the neurologist that I did not cover this up by dating females, and emphasized that I was adamant about not leading girls on after a close female friend had had feelings for me which I could not reciprocate at a time when I could not be honest as to why. While typing, the neurologist stated, in regards to my being gay: “it was pretty obvious, but I have to ask”. At the time, I laughed, as I did not interpret it as hate speech. In hindsight, I feel this was part of an overall sense of dismissiveness that permeated the reactions to my answers. Asked about my ability to read other people being angry or upset, I noted that my tendency was the extreme opposite: I always fear having just hurt people and I always think people are left upset. I begin to question every move I've made and everything I've said and in what way I could have hurt someone enough with what I've said or done to potentially destroy them. Someone telling me they love me one minute doesn't mean I won't be convinced I have not earned their hate the next minute, hence a perennial need for assurance. I don't know how much of this I conveyed in the office because what was on my mind and how it came out seems to have been somewhat disconnected. But I'd like to think I made it clear that my empathy, while abundant rather than lacking, is still extremely abnormal. After giving my answers, I looked at my hands or looked at the wall or at the floor while the doctor looked at the screen and typed in silence. All of the neurologist's questions were met with honest answers. Most of these honest answers would indicate AS. But these were ultimately dismissed on the basis that: a.) I get along well with my immediate family, b.) I care intensely and obsessively about not hurting other people's feelings, and c.) "you seem amiable to me". According to the neurologist, my concern for the feelings of others indicated I did not have Asperger’s Syndrome, as “people with Asperger’s don’t really care if other people are happy”. The neurologist felt that my being close to my sister indicated I did not have Asperger’s Syndrome since the difficulty that people with AS have interacting with other people begins at home, and thus it would be unlikely someone with Asperger's would get along with family members. The neurologist felt that simple therapy would treat what the neurologist perceived as severe social anxiety disorder, which had not only impacted my ability to pursue a job but also my ability to keep one for more than a matter of weeks or months. The neurologist felt that my experiences being a gay teenager at an all boys’ Catholic school in the 1990s could be largely responsible. The neurologist suggested that I was likely still dealing with unresolved anxiety from my semi-closeted high school years. I reiterated something that I brought up early on in the evaluation, which is that I had been rapidly flapping my hands in states of intense thought or heightened excitement ever since childhood, when I did it openly, and that this is something I constantly still do in private as an adult. In the most alarming statement of the evaluation, the neurologist offered that this, too, was directly related to my homosexuality. “Most of my gay friends use their hands a lot” was the specific response. Once again, I laughed this off. The neurologist followed up this summation by noting that if I wanted to I could still make an appointment to undergo four hours of neurological testing to know for sure whether or not I had Asperger’s. At that point, I was anxiety-ridden, discouraged, and in doubt of my ability to understand anything about myself. I could not wait to get out of there, so I turned down the opportunity. I accepted the diagnosis despite my misgivings, I referenced my "Vogue Boy" video (no doubt a an unconscious suggestion to reconsider the diagnosis), and cheerily said goodbye with a big smile because I was so happy to be leaving.
Part 2: March 29th, 2014
Over six months after my evaluation, I discovered that a number of challenges faced by my partner and I are commonplace in relationships in one which one (or both) partners have AS. I proceeded to read books and testimonials from Aspergians writing in defense of their unique emotional make-up. Learning that perhaps intense over-empathy is being mistaken as a lack of empathy in a number of Aspies seemed to hit the nail on the head: this was EXACTLY what I was trying to communicate in the office that day about my skewed emotional make-up, but sadly to no avail. Maybe some Aspies, if not most, don't care if other people are happy. But many Aspergians assert that this oversimplification does not accurately describe all people with Asperger’s, and empathetic Aspies like activist/artist Alex Plankareclearly frustrated with not being heard--or, like myself andmany Aspergian females, are not being diagnosed at all. My going in for the evaluation in the first place was based not only on my own feelings, but also based on the opinions of my parents, my sister, and my life partner. (Subsequent research has lead me to believe that my aforementioned loved ones are themselves undiagnosed Aspergians, hence the surprising closeness with my family.) One month before the evaluation, I had been referred to the neurologist by my physician, who “would not be surprised” if I was found to have Asperger’s Syndrome based on knowing me through a handful of appointments over seven months. My physician also suspected that if I had AS, it would likely be a “mild” case. Subsequently, my fear about being evaluated was that my desire to please and my aptitude for unconsciously performing would suggest an outgoing personality and belie the fact that said “personality” is, in fact, a lifelong front. Sadly, my fear was realized. For seven months now, that morning of August 29th, 2013 has been a frequent source of pain and regret. I spent the preceding weeks anticipating a definitive neurological confirmation that would allow me to approach my life in a positive new way. I was given a diagnosis based on an interview, leading me to believe that I had apparently misunderstood myself for my entire life. I wore a Michael Jackson t-shirt into the office that day, because it was his birthday, or “Michael Jackson Day”, as I call it. Michael has been a guiding influence on me since my birth, and only more so since his death, and going in I assumed he was on the autistic spectrum, too. When I was told Aspies don't care about the happiness of others, I realized he couldn’t be one either. He, too, was obsessed with other peoples' happiness, and like myself, his isolated and intensely creative life was fueled by this aim to please, from his early success as an ultra-precocious child through his troubled adulthood. I emphasized where I was at in my life, and not without a great deal of shame. I was thirty one, living with my parents, and had become a recluse. I was too anxious to drive a car or see people, and thus incapable of interviewing for a job or shopping around for a suitable therapist. I was spending my days writing by myself and my nights watching movies by myself. It is an endless cycle of solitude that is usually only broken by extended video chats with my partner, whom I feel is a fellow "Aspie" and who is also presently living with his family in a nearly identical situation. I have since learned that my present life, as described to the neurologist, is sadly not an unfamiliar manifestation of undiagnosed Asperger's Syndrome. I am, like so many other undiagnosed adults, suffering the inevitable state of disconnection and uncertainty that comes with not knowing "what's wrong with me" in relation to the rest of the human race. If I had realized just how NOT alone I was, and just how RIGHT I was to be there that day, I would never have turned down the opportunity to undergo the very testing I thought I was showing up for in the first place. I went in for an evaluation based on traits that I saw in myself for years prior to the low point that my life had sunk to. I had no idea that day that said low point is further indication that I am not only correct in my assumption, but would have benefited immeasurably from having been diagnosed years earlier. And I would give anything to have known all of this last August. Prior to the evaluation, I was shocked and relieved to learn that rapidly flapping my hands while in a state of excitement brought about by intense inwardness--something which consistently attracted amusement throughout childhood before becoming a hidden, embarrassing trait ever since--is a defining trait of individuals on the autistic spectrum. But I did not know the word for this, “stimming”, until after my evaluation. I suspect that my use of grandiose hand gestures while explaining myself, rather than the stimming that I was attempting to explain, is what the neurologist reacted to. Several days later, my sister sent me a YouTube video of a young boy with Asperger’s whose mother asked him to demonstrate and explain his stimming. His behavior, his demeanor, and his description of his internal experience while stimming illustrated everything I had been attempting to communicate in the office and apparently could not. I saw myself in this child, as did my sister. Subsequently, the mortified reaction of everyone with whom I shared the doctor's "most of my gay friends use their hands a lot" statement preempted my own shock in being given such a stereotype-based response to such an incredibly common behavior of individuals on the autistic spectrum.
I would like to stress that I do not believe that the neurologist I spoke with was motivated by any homophobic inclination. With that said, I feel that my being gay was way too prominent an issue in this evaluation. Addressing my sexuality as “pretty obvious” early on and later writing off my stimming as behavior not unlike “most of my gay friends” was troubling, to me and to many of my loved ones.I have always struggled with social relationships, in predominantly gay as well as predominantly straight environments. Thus I do not agree with the theory that my problems today are directly rooted in my Catholic high school years, particularly not after fifteen subsequent years of being relentlessly open about my sexuality and in a decade-long relationship with another man. Two of my oldest friends, neither of whom I see very often but both of whom have been in my life since our youth, both separately joked that I had gone in for Asperger’s testing and been diagnosed as gay.
Based on the neurologist’s facial expressions and body language, I interpreted skepticism, condescension, and general irritation. I took the neurologist's "so what brings you here today?" as an implication that this was an audition as much as an evaluation. I proceeded accordingly, answering the questions and reading the signs sent by someone who struck me as going down a checklist rather than exhibiting concern for what I was saying and where it was coming from. Throughout the evaluation, I felt that the neurologist was looking at me as though I was looking at Asperger's as a scapegoat for my neurosis. I may very well have been correct in this assumption. Or I may very well have entirely misread the non-verbal cues before me. If indeed I completely misread the neurologist, then I feel all the more convinced that I have Asperger's. But regardless of the accuracy of my interpretation, by the time the forty minutes was up, I felt browbeaten and stripped of any sense of self beyond being gay and seemingly “amiable”. I also felt like such a neurotic stereotype that I turned down the tests I had wanted to have done so as to avoid further embarrassing myself in the eyes of the neurologist.
I know that I have Asperger’s Syndrome. This is based not only on the overwhelming extent to which I can personally identify with the experiences of diagnosed individuals, but also based on the observations and memories of people close to me whom I have knowingly or unknowingly revealed my true self to in the years between my being an ahead-of-his-years child and a what-went-wrong-with-him adult. I also know that my evaluation had a catastrophic effect on my self-esteem. I feel that a big part of my reaction in this regard was based on the fact that the evaluation seemed bound to end in dismissal from the get-go. That such focus would be placed on my sexuality suggests that perhaps my feigned demeanor had a bigger influence on my diagnosis than did my honest answers to the questions I was asked. Since that day, I have struggled to feel like myself again. But thanks to incredible blogs like SeventhVoice, communities like Alex Plank's WrongPlanet, and activists/authors like Temple Grandin, Maxine Aston, and John Elder Robison, the voices of people whose life experiences I most relate to are leading me out of the dark. Up to now, this blog has primarily been a platform for me to worship my favorite stars, rave about my favorite movies, celebrate my favorite pop culture anniversaries, and generally indulge in my perceived narcissism--all indicators of Asperger's, I might add! Thus, you may rightfully be asking why I would suddenly feel the need to discuss extremely personal details about my mental health. And that brings me to the questions I’ve been asking myself in the days leading up to writing this post. Is it not possible that cultural stereotypes of gay men as high-strung and idol-obsessed has permeated science and medicine, and to such an extent that autism is being confused with homosexuality? Is it not possible that in the seven months since I accepted my diagnosis that numerous other LGBTQ people have accepted similar diagnoses, putting aside their self-understanding in favor of an expert opinion? And, more importantly, is it possible that doing so has lead to the same depression, anxiety, and overwhelming self-doubt that has swallowed up the last seven months of my own life? I have only myself to blame for letting anxiety and self-doubt hold me back from giving a “Yes” answer when offered the testing I so wanted. And so I blamed only myself for the last seven months. Now, I anxiously await the opportunity to finally undergo neurocognitive testing in July. I could not be more excited about Summer 2014, and I pray it provides the assurance and optimism I sought out in Summer 2013. In the meantime, I will fight to believe in MY understanding of myself, even if it means fighting against the real or perceived skepticism of others. I stand alongside everyone waging a war against such doubt, and will keep my comrades up to date through future posts.
The first Madonna album that I ever bought was I’m Breathless. It was not long before I
shot my “Vogue Boy” video, and I was perusing through the cassette tapes at
Front Row Video, which doubled as video store and record shop. It was here that my Madonna
fandom truly began when I rented The Immaculate Collection VHS, and it was here that I desperately tried to find
the album that contained “Vogue”. At that time I was more fond of Diana
Ross & The Supremes than of contemporary Top 40 tunes, so I was shocked that my
newfound anthem was on the album
accompaniment to Dick Tracy. That
film sparked my lifelong love affair with Madonna, but until that day in
1991, I had no idea that it was also semi-responsible for giving the world "Vogue".I almost immediately began working to make up for the
sin of such ignorance: it was the beginning of a lifelong penance for failing
to follow Madonna’s career until a decade after the rest of the world. By 1992,
I was an expert in Madonna's work, eagerly anticipated the
release of Erotica at the start of the
fifth grade.
Eroticawas the
first Madonna album that I ever owned on the day of its release. My Mom bought
it for me while I was at school that day in October, and it
was playing in her car when she picked me up. She enjoyed the music, but I don’t think she could hear
a lot of the lyrics: it got Mom-approval even though the track playing as I got in was “Why’s It So Hard”. Anyone familiar with the song knows it is an anthem about embracing humanity and abolishing societal divisions, but I would be fifteen before I figured out the title would be read by most casual listeners as an homage to
erections. I consider myself fortunate, for the
impact of its message superseded the hypothetical snickers of
those looking to keep Madonna propped up as a media punching bag.
The title track and “Bad Girl” were my favorite songs during the early days of my pubescence, and Eroticawent on to become my fifth grade soundtrack. But I could not fathom why Madonna was attracting such scorn, or why my
classmates were not as into Erotica
as I was. Of course, all of my friends who were forced to listen to the album when I
played it in my Mom’s car had a hard time convincing me they were not
impressed. One friend, who constantly underwrote Madonna’s success and adamently declared
her inferiority to Kriss Kross, once even asked to “put Marotica back on”. I
laughed at the mistake he made regarding the title, but never forgot the pride
I got from his request.
Years later, I was thrilled
to discover that my Mom had bought Madonna's Sex book that very same week that Erotica was released. I came to find out that she and my
father got a big laugh out of the amusing photographs of
Madonna hitchhiking, parasailing, and eating pizza—all in Miami, all completely naked. I was sixteen when I found where the Sex book was hidden, and immediately began showing it to heterosexual male friends. I took a great deal of pleasure in proving my theory that Madonna’s appeal to
straight men was as potent and valid as her appeal to gay men. And I cannot say
that I did not take a great deal of pleasure in introducing said friends to the many pages of male homosexuality on display. It was not an attempt
to seduce or confuse said straight friends, and it certainly did not lead to
the sort of adolescent experimentation that I always heard about but never
actually experienced. But it gave me a sense of pride, for it forced my
friends to accept gay male sex as being as valid as the heterosexual/lesbian activity that drew them to the book in the first place. It spoke to the book’s undervalued role in
mobilizing modern gay liberation through art and eroticism, which I maintain is the most effective modus operandi for advancing progressive social values.
By my first year of college, the long out-of-print Sex had become a much sought-after collectible among Madonna fans, so my Mother surprised me with my
parents’ copy of Sex as a
housewarming gift for my new digs. I took it as another moment to feel extremely
grateful for having the coolest parents I could possibly ask for. I also took
it as an opportunity to cap off my first year at Emerson College
by freezing in time my appreciation for one of Madonna’s most vitally important
works of art.
Sourced largely from Madonna’s own words and one of my favorite books of all time, Matthew Rettenmund’s still definitive Encyclopedia Madonnica, this was one of my final
papers written at the very end of my first year at Emerson. The course was taught by Carla Sosenko, the brilliant and prolific author, blogger, and New Yorker whose impact on all of my
writing in the years since is utterly
invaluable. At nineteen, I was leaving behind the sincerity and creative fertility of my teen years and fine-tuning my self-expression in an attempt to be taken more seriously as a legitimate writer. In an attempt to preserve the purity of this college freshman perspective, I have amended very little.
This essay was written several months before I would see Madonna live for the first time, during her first-ever dates at The Boston Garden, on August 7th & 8th, 2001. A
little-known secret that will make its way into a future blog: my first-ever sexual experience immediately followed the second of those two
Drowned World Tour shows. This added a whole new dimension to how
intertwined Madonna’s career has been in my evolution, and also insured nothing
I would go on to write after that concert could ever be the same. As such, this essay on Madonna's Sex represents my final work...as a virgin.
Robert Jeffrey
Final Research Project, Spring 2001
In the
history of 20th century popular culture, arguably no figure has
emerged with more authority, controversy, and instant recognizability than
Madonna. In the history of Madonna’s career, Ray of Light is, without a
doubt, Madonna’s finest work of art. I would argue, however, that the vastly
different Sex is a close second. As someone who feels that sexuality
should be celebrated, appreciated, and explored, I applauded the release of
Madonna’s book and the message it carried with it. I was, however, in somewhat
of a minority, and remain part of a minority to this day. Yet the public
opinion that sex should not be celebrated is exactly what Madonna
attempted to expose when she crafted her 1992 masterpiece. That thesimilarly analytical Ray of Light was
actually used to condemn her earlier Sex in a subtle fashion merely
proves that the war waged by Madonna is far from over, and that sexism-and its
influence on contemporary society-still thrives today below the surface of pop
culture.
After her unprecedented success in
the Eighties, Madonna stormed into the Nineties with an astonishing line-up of
consecutive successes. The year 1990 saw the release of four future Top 10
singles, two of which went to #1, and one of which-“Vogue”-became her
bestselling song, shipping over 2 million copies in the US alone. She released
the concept album I’m Breathless in conjunction with Warren Beatty’s
epic comic book film, Dick Tracy, in which Madonna starred. The $25
million film went on to gross $100 million after a record-setting opening
weekend, while I’m Breathless went on to be Madonna’s fifth
multi-platinum album. That summer she embarked on her wildly successful and
highly publicized Blond Ambition tour, and later that year released
another multi-platinum record, The Immaculate Collection. The first
single from that album, “Justify My Love”, went to #1 on the Billboard charts
and sold one million copies in the US. However, its sexually graphic
video was deemed so racy that MTV refused to air it, stirring a national
debate. In the wake of the controversy, Madonna released the promotional clip
for the song as a $10 “video single”, which went on to sell 800,000 copies.
(Rettenmund 80,95, 184, 87, 49-50, 22,
88, 93-4).
The year 1990
was the perfect embodiment of everything that Madonna had represented in the
1980s: music, movies, success, fame, sex, controversy, money, and superstardom.
This, however, merely scraped the surface, for three of her major releases that
year-I’m Breathless, Blond Ambition, and the “Justify My Love
Video”-would serve to foreshadow with shocking clarity the direction Madonna’s
career would travel over the course of the ensuing decade. I’m Breathless
was an album that told a sort of “life story” of Breathless Mahoney, the
character Madonna portrayed in Dick Tracy. Each song offered a glimpse
into the psyche of the character and into the world she lived in. Blond
Ambition was a revolutionary performance that showcased not only Madonna’s
singing talents, but her flair for theater as well. With numerous costume and
set changes, she used her music as a backdrop to explore issues of sexuality,
power, money, religion, family, and identity as they exist in society. And
while Madonna’s most controversial video up until that point may have had the
world “love” in its title, the “Justify My Love” music video offered a
surprisingly dark and gritty portrayal of overt sexuality and sadomasochistic
practice. The themes of each project-performance through alternative mediums,
the pursuit of understanding and truth through performance, and the use of
sexuality in such a pursuit, would ultimately be encompassed in the most
controversial work of Madonna’s career: Sex.
Madonna’s first literary work, Sex,
is perhaps impossible to put a label on. It is at once humorous, erotic,
shocking, and audacious. Presented as an oversized coffee table book, its thick
pages are bound between sheets of metal by a notebook spiral. Within are a
collection of nude poses, pages of “softcore” photographs, letters, song
lyrics, musings, a sexual comic strip, a racy CD single, and erotic fiction.
The book was written by Madonna, photographed by Steven Meisel (Madonna 1), and
told through the lens of Madonna’s alter ego: “Dita Parlo” (Rettenmund 158).
When Sex
hit bookstores in October of 1992, “the book that nobody was sure would
sell sold 150,000 copies in the U.S.
on its first day” (Rettenmund 157). In its first week out, it topped the
list of the nation’s Twenty Five best-selling books, selling more copies than
the combined total of the 24 books below its rank despite a hefty $49.95 price
tag. The book went on to sell 1.5 million copies worldwide, and sold out its
lone U.S.
print by the end of the year (Rettenmund 157). Despite its unprecedented
success, record breaking business was not the focus of discussions on the book.
The first
line of Sex would be its most incessantly quoted: “This book is about
sex. Sex is not love. Love is not sex” (Madonna 2). However, most Americans
were left asking the inevitable question: what is Sex? The book was
widely promoted in the months before its publication as being a collection of
Madonna’s own sexual fantasies, a misleading notion that nonetheless managed to
leave many heterosexual male readers disappointed (Rettenmund 157, 161).
Madonna asserted that sexual titillation was hardly her intent in writing the
book. “It was never meant to be this incredibly hot, arousing, erotic piece of
porn. In fact, I was poking fun at everybody’s prejudices about other people’s
sexualities and their own sexuality” (St. Michael 98). However this
intellectual pursuit in the wake of its graphic content raised the bar for
Madonna’s task. “The Sex hype promised..[a] great, revolutionary work of
art” (Sischy 212). Whether or not the book lived up to such a promise would be
the topic of much Sex-ualdiscussion
in the years following its release.
Interestingly
enough, some of the most scathing criticisms of Sex came from the very
same people whom one might expect to be adept at supporting Madonna. “Sex was
published to considerable public outcry, but little public concern. The right
wing kept quiet, allowing left-wingers to crucify the suddenly radical pop star
and her dirty book” (Rettenmund 157). According to its editor, Holly
George-Warren, “from the beginning Rolling Stone was as fascinated by
Madonna as were its readers” (Rolling Stone xi). Yet despite their
frequent and longstanding support of Madonna, the magazine criticized Sex for,
it would seem, its lack of eroticism. The book is described as “cheesy”, with
“campy fashion-ad photos” and “erotic text so dumb..that it makes the dialogue
from an X-rated Ginger Lynn movie sound like vintage Anais Nin. Sex is,
forgive the expression, an anticlimax” (Rolling Stone 212).
Another
active supporter who offered that Sex didn’t go far enough is
controversial feminist Camille Paglia. In an article entitled “Madonna-Finally,
A Real Feminist”, Paglia declared Madonna “the true feminist”. Paglia points
out that she “exposes the Puritanism and suffocating ideology of American
feminism” while teaching “young women to be fully female and sexual while still
exercising total control over their lives” (Paglia 168). This support of
Madonna’s brand of feminism lay at the root of her criticism of the Sex book.
“Sex should have been a major achievement, documenting and exploring
Madonna’s important artistic ideas for her core audience and a whole new one,
the serious reading public who doesn’t listen to pop music and whose view of
Madonna is a tabloid caricature” (Paglia 367). Paglia criticizes a “long..list
of bad or mediocre pictures” and its “jumbled and gimmicky” assembly (Paglia
369, 367), but still manages to “find glints and glimmers of the
book-that-might-have-been” (Paglia 368).
Despite her
criticism of the book’s composition, Paglia did offer high praise for “the
important issues it raises”, namely “the relation of love to lust [and] the
sluttishness of the fully sexual woman” (Paglia 369). “Madonna boldly attacks
feminist ideology head on. I applaud her” (Paglia 368).She offers strong support of Madonna’s blunt
depiction of sadomasochism (Paglia 368), particularly her statements in which
she links domestic abuse to S&M..“I
think for the most part if women are in abusive relationships and they know it and
they stay in it, they must be digging it. I’m sure there are a lot of women in
abusive relationships who don’t want to be..but I have friends who have money
and are educated and they stay in abusive relationships, so they must be
getting something out of it” (Madonna 27). Although Madonna is writing from the
perspective of a fictional character, Paglia applauds this “psychological truth
ignored in our victim-obsessed culture”. Paglia also praises Madonna’s musing
on pornography. “I don’t see how a guy looking at a naked girl in a magazine is
degrading to women. Everyone has their sexuality. It’s how you treat people in
everyday life that counts, not what turns you on in your fantasy. I love
looking at Playboy magazine because women look great naked” (Madonna
16). Paglia suggests that such a statement is indicative of Madonna’s
revolutionary brand of feminist thinking. “The Puritanism of American feminism
is proved by the failure of the pro-porn wing to publicly embrace the men’s sex
magazines” (Paglia 368).
While
Camille Paglia may cheer on Madonna’s S&M enactments, some critics did not
share her view. In a forum discussion that coincided with the book’s release,
the Boston Phoenix asked a number of prominent feminists in the Boston area to comment on
the book. Gail Dines, a professor at WheelockCollege and “a vocal
anti-pornography activist” (Knapp 4) was among this group. Dines said that she
felt “angry” while reading the book. “Madonna is using the common pornographic
terms in this society and all she’s doing is mainstreaming pornography. This is
no feminist account of sexuality; Madonna is using the patriarchal paradigm of
sexuality, and I think what she’s doing is unbelievably dangerous to
women…[she] is refining things like violence and S&M, and legitimizing
them, and…saying that this is acceptable” (Knapp 4). Lynn Courier, a
choreographer, was also one of the more critical members of this discussion.
Courier describes Madonna as “the summation of how disturbed our culture is…the
embodiment of a conflicted female”, and the product of “the mixed messages
women are brought up with” (Knapp 4). Courier argues that Madonna is mixing
what she thinks of as “images of sexual freedom and women being in control with
a lot of images that are totally patriarchal and violent and representative of
the subordination of women. I feel like the book reduces something that should
be exciting and intimate into a simple question of power, which is what
pornography does. There is a way to celebrate female sexuality and the female
body without exploiting and using the same images that men have used for years”
(Knapp 4, 5).
Another
common area of criticism regarding the book was its frank depiction of
homosexuality. The book’s first 15 pages contain eight full pages of Madonna
engaging in acts of bondage with two “lesbian skinheads” (Madonna 8-15). Among
the book’s ensuing gay content are fictional letters Madonna writes to a male
lover about her lesbian experiences (Madonna 33, 51); photographs of a naked
Madonna embracing an androgynously dressed Isabella Rosselini and photographs
of the two of them frolicking naked in a swimming pool (Madonna 88-9); and,
perhaps most controversial of all, a 9-page spread of naked male models in
various sexual acts (Madonna 58-67). This drew some of the most wildly varied
reactions among critics. Camille Paglia pointed out the book’s “theme of
bisexuality, or sensuality in general, as a liberated view of life. The book
has Freud’s ‘polymorphous perversity’, the infant’s indiscriminate total
responsiveness” (Paglia 368). Participating in the Boston Phoenix forum,
Jane Shattuc, a film professor at EmersonCollege, offered a
similar response by noting that Madonna “does..offer representation. There’s
Madonna with gay men and Madonna with straight men and Madonna with women. She
at least says that we’re not all clean-jean heterosexual nuclear families,
which I think is good” (Knapp 5). Lynn Courier contested, offering that the
book has Madonna “showing a very raw kind of sexuality, out of context of any
kind of intimacy. She is not showing the whole essence of humanity, or of gay
or lesbian culture” (Knapp 5). Scott Cardwell, a Boston Phoenix editor
who also participated in the discussion, pointed out that “there are thousands
and thousands of homosexual men who have sex and don’t tie each other up. I
mean, she is showing stereotypes” (Knapp 5).
When Sex
was released in the Fall of 1992, Madonna explained her take on the work.
“I never meant it to be the definitive statement on the most erotic fantasies
ever made, and it’s not meant to be taken so seriously. On the other hand, it
is” (Rettenmund 161). This somewhat amusing dichotomy, seemingly impossible to
interpret on the outset, is actually the defining statement about Sex: the book itself and its social
impact. Madonna’s statement implies that sexual fantasy and depictions of
sexuality should not be “taken so seriously”, that they are natural and human
and acceptable. As such, the contents of the book shouldn’t be analyzed.
Yet readers were inclined to take the book at face value, and while critics
thought themselves adept at analyzing and criticizing its every page, many
displayed their prudishness and prejudices in the content of their reviews.
Caryn James of The New York Times asserted that “some of us actually
like the opposite sex” (Rettenmund 160). QW magazine’s Daniel
Mendelsohn, apparently mistaking the book for hardcore pornography, wrote that
“Sex reveals the erotic imagination as daring as that of a middle-aged Westchester housewife out to shock the girls on Bingo
night” (Rettenmund 161).
For all the high minded
deconstruction and flashy vocabulary offered by critics, it would appear that
most of them—not unlike the mainstream public—were mistaking the work as
pornography, and judging it as such. In one of the more accurate assessments of
the book, Kerig Pope of Playboy pointed out that “I’ve seen lots of
pornography. This is not pornography. This book is about how sex is involved in
the culture” (Rettenmund 159). Madonna herself felt that this misconception
played a role in the public’s failure to understand the book. “I’m sure lots of
men were completely offended by all those pictures in my book of two men
getting it off”. As a result of failing to adhere to the expected conventions
of (heterosexual) pornography, “there’s probably a lot of men out there who
really aren’t quite sure what to think of me” (St. Michael 99). Years later, it
would appear that Sex is perhaps as misunderstood as it was in 1992. In
a 1998 article for Vanity Fair, Ingrid Sischy described the book as
“pure titillation, a calculated matter, a rip-off of those who had genuinely
put themselves on the line to fight AIDS-era repression” (Sischel 212).
In the end, Sex was not so
much a book as it was a catalyst for the very controversy that continues to
shroud it, a controversy that underlines the very issue that Madonna was
raising in the first place. “Everyone went out and bought Sex, it was
sold out in two seconds. And then everybody slogged me off. That, to me, is a
statement of the hypocrisy of the world that we live in. The fact that
everybody is so interested in sex but won’t admit it. I made my point
completely and people know I made my point and that’s why they’re so pissed off
at me” (St. Michael 98). After the critical drubbing had finally ebbed, Madonna
still had no regrets about her work. She considers the book the most enjoyable
project of her career (ICON 22), has no regrets about her social statement,
refusing to give in to negative critical sentiment because “even as a child, I
never felt my ideas were terribly popular”(Smith 107). Although it never
escaped the shadow of controversy, and perhaps has yet to be fully understood
and appreciated, Sex was one of the boldest and most significant statements
of 20th century popular culture. Never before had a person of such
celebrity status taken such a professional risk. It is not likely that it will
ever happen again in the near future, yet it speaks for Madonna’strue devotion to her craft. “I will explain
to [my daughter] that the Sex book is a work of art—underlining the
importance of irony and provocation in an artist’s life” (St. Michael 99).
While Sex stirred up a whirling mass of controversy, critique, and analysis,
Madonna’s 13th album was “her first universally applauded critical
success (Flick 49)”. A monumental achievement that drifts effortlessly between
relentless danceability and soothing balladry, Ray of Light would serve
as the beginning of a new chapter in Madonna’s career. Whereas Sex successfully
attempted to expose the underbelly of American sexuality and societal
hypocrisy, Ray of Light offered a more personal and intimate exploration
of Madonna herself. The album recalls her most introspective (and critically
acclaimed) album up to that point, the brilliant, semi-autobiographical Like
A Prayer. The Like A Prayer album dealt with such tender issues as
the death of Madonna’s mother, her divorce from Sean Penn, her troubled
relationship with her father and other men in her life, and her complicated
affiliation with Catholicism. Yet whereas that album was essentially based upon
the past and its effects on the present, Ray of Light is rooted in the
moment but focused on what lay ahead.
Ray of
Light begins with the frequently quoted song “Drowned World/Substitute For
Love”, an intensely personal reflection on the price of fame and the factors
that drive people to seek it. Yet it also draws a parallel between fame and
other “substitutes for love”, Madonna’s term for comfort devices used by those
who lack love in their lives. The message of“Drowned World/Substitute For Love” sets the tone for the entire album.
Although intensely personal in many respects, it is also ambiguous enough that
listeners can place the lyrics in the context of their own lives. This sense of
understanding and unity underlines the distinctly spiritual element of the
album. The album touches upon themes of love, sensuality, enlightenment,
euphoria, loss, sin, redemption, and parentage, yet it is the album’s non-secular
religiosity that is most prominent. The album begins with the verse “You see?”,
spoken by a rabbi with a sense of paternal compassion. His simple yet
enlightening words embody the notion that one must live to learn. Each song
represents some sort of growth, resulting from both positive and negative
experiences, and voluntary and involuntary choices, and the album as a whole
illustrates Madonna’s own spiritual journey and personal evolution. Set to a
backdrop of richly textured electronic soundscapes, the music of Ray of
Light is every bit as surreal and intoxicating as the spiritual awakening
it so vividly describes.
In sharp
contrast to the reception received by Sex some five and a half years
prior, Ray of Light was released to glowing reviews. Vanity Fair’s
Ingrid Sischy offered that “with its techno productions evoking intergalactic
sights and spiritual insights, Ray of Light is completely of the moment.
[Madonna’s] lyrics…are more personal than ever. Like a heroine in a serial,
Madonna seduces us with the drama of her evolution and her life force. And
frequently it’s riveting pop art” (Sischy 270, 208). Steve Dougherty of People
Magazine described the album as being “complex, challenging, and ultimately
entrancing music” which he pointed out “may do for electronica…what U2 and
other dabblers have failed to do: popularize it without sacrificing its sense
of edgy danger” (Dougherty 29). Karen Schoemer of Newsweek dubbed Ray
of Light “the most human music [Madonna’s] ever made. Her singing has genuine
force and clarity. We’ve watched macho rockers…screech and skid into middle
age. What a thrill it is to watch the premier diva of the 80s fight to grow up
and stay relevant. Judging by Ray of Light, she’s doing a hell of a job”
(Schoemer 77).
What’s more unique and fascinating
about Sex is that she then forces
the audience to look inward at the actual discussions she has provoked, to
further question why explicit sexuality should be such a taboo subject that it inevitably
warrants analysis in the first place. The majority of Madonna’s work and life—from
her song “Material Girl” to her film Evita to her own maternity—has been
scrutinized, analyzed, and critiqued. What makes Sex so different from
the rest of her work (aside from being the most provocative and “shocking”) is
that it marked the first time that she actually baited her critics. The book
was intended to incite national
discussion about the issues it portrayed, and the optimistic Madonna probably
felt that it would ultimately serve to promote an acceptance and understanding
of human sexuality. Sadly, she underestimated her art while overestimating the
intelligence of the American public.
Failing to recognize their own
prudishness in the wake of the book’s controversy, the majority of critics and
consumers reverted to condemning Madonna. Rather than acknowledge Madonna’s
artistic credibility in writing the book, or at least making an attempt to
understand her message, most Americans seemed inclined to brand Madonna with a
scarlet letter. Madonna herself recalled the period in a 1997 interview with Rolling
Stone magazine. “People didn’t attack me in a personal way before the book.
After the book, they did. I’m talking about criticizing everything from my choice
of men to my body—things that have nothing to do with my work. I think that not
only men but women responded in a really hostile way. I found myself the
subject of any interview done with a female. Writers used to just throw my name
up there to get six paragraphs of sensationalistic journalism” (Hirshey 98).
The Sex book
marked a rather fascinating period in Madonna’s career: itwas one of
Madonna’s three high profile projects that dealt with the role that sexuality
plays in America. The other two were her Erotica album, released at the
same time, and the 1993 film Body of Evidence. Body of Evidence was the
least commercially successful of the three works, but perhaps it was the most
entertaining. This is largely because it was not actually “a Madonna project”.
Though she headlined the all-star cast and initially promoted the film as one
of her best, her participation was primarily limited to her performance.
Additionally, she completed the project before working on her album and book,
canceling the media’s notion of it being a final chapter in some sort of
trilogy.
While these three works did not necessarily
represent a calculated era in Madonna’s career, they did represent an era in
her life when she was fascinated and frustrated by a nation’s uncomfortability
with all things sexual. With Erotica, she executed this intent though
exploring the dark, pessimistic view of sexuality in an America ravaged by AIDS-hysteria.
In Body of Evidence, she voluntarily took part in what may have been the
most sexually explicit Hollywood film of all time, and attempted to elevate
such a feature into the realm of high art. And with Sex, she combined
the intentions of the aforementioned projects-and took them to the next level.
She sent up conventions of pornography, womanhood, and fame, all for the sake
of crafting a new realm of art in which the ensuing discussion served as part
of the total experience.
After the
release of Ray of Light, the media was quick to label Madonna with such
terms as “The Ethereal Girl” for her newfound interest in spiritual fulfillment
(Dougherty 208). Billboard Magazine described the multi-platinum success of the
album and its singles as proof that “after a nearly a decade of controversial
sexual titillation, fans were more than ready for a spiritually enlightened
Madonna” (Flick 88). Clearly, Madonna was a much happier person in 1998 than
she was in 1992. She admitted to being rid of the anxiety that plagued her
regarding her role in culture and the negative light cast upon sexuality in America.
Her interests were now invested in maternity (between Sex and Ray of
Light she gave birth to daughter Lourdes Maria) and spirituality, a much
more fulfilling focus that brought her inner-peace and personal fulfillment.
Yet she did not turn her back on her sexually charged work in the early 90s,
nor was her spiritual journey the calculated career move that cynical critics
cited as a response to the Sex backlash. As Madonna herself bluntly put
it, “I dealt with my sexual rebellion. I worked it out of my system. But while
I do feel spiritually enlightened, and while my daughter has completely changed
my life, I haven’t become a saint! I’m the same person. Only better, I hope”
(Smith 106).
Madonna herself argued that while Sex
evidenced her rebelliousness and frustration—not to mention her distinct
sense of dry humor—it was also a unique feminist statement. “Sexuality has
always been forced down our throats,” she stated, “but it’s always been from a
male perspective. The woman is always objectified. And in this circumstance, it
was the opposite” (Hirshey 98). Madonna felt it was her responsibility as an
artist to inform and enlighten American culture about the merits of sexual
liberation and understanding through her own public rejection of conventional
celebrity roles. This stance was, in fact, not so far off from the one she took
with her Ray of Light album, albeit from a very different perspective.
In 1992, Madonna was a thirty-four
year old woman attempting to understand sexuality and a woman’s role in it through
a work of art that was as raw and uncompromising as anything ever released in
America. In 1998, she was a thirty-nine year old mother celebrating the beauty
and joy of her maternal side, an exhilaration that she presented to her
audience visa vi an album that explored motherhood and spirituality with the
intensity with which her 1992 book had analyzed sex. Both projects were
commercial successes, but only Ray of Light was a critical success. She
was applauded for her introspective delve into the realm of maternity, but
punished for offering such a glaring depiction of sex in America, and for
further “turning the mirrors” on those that criticized her (Hirshey 98). In a
“postmodern” age that is supposed to be devoid of the rampant sexism and gender
typecasting that plagued many previous decades, it would appear that society
has changed very little from the days when women were not encouraged to venture
outside of the homestead. While Madonna’s life as a mother (and now a wife) is
certainly happier than it was during her era of sexual rebellion, her stature
as an artist remains untouched. To suggest that Ray of Light is an
artistic advancement miles ahead of Sex, as so many critics did, only
serves to reiterate the point that Madonna was making a decade ago.
Works Cited
Hirshey, Geri.
“The Women of Rock Interviews: Madonna”.
Rolling
Stone Nov. 1997: 98.
Madonna,
Ray of Light. 1998.
Madonna. Sex. New York: Warner Books,
1992.
Paglia, Camille. Vamps
and Tramps. New York:
Vintage Books, 1994.
Rettenmund,
Matthew. Encyclopedia Madonnica. New York:
St. Martin’s Press, 1995.
Rolling Stone
Magazine. Madonna: The Rolling Stone Files. New York: Hyperion, 1997.
Sischy, Ingrid.
“Madonna and Child”. Vanity Fair March 1998: 206-12.
Smith, Liz.
“Madonna Grow Up”. Good Housekeeping April 2000: 104-107.
St. Michael, Mick.
Madonna: In Her Own Words. Great Britain: Omnibus Press, 1999.
