OK. So. You know I love you, right? I mean, I love you for the renewable energy source that is Cat Deeley’s awesomeness alone, but also for the inspiration and wonder and insane talent, for the fact that there’s a show on TV that encourages an interest in the arts, and for being a reality show talent competition that revels in building people up without spending much energy at all tearing anybody down.

So. This is hard to say, but...sometimes? You hurt my feelings. I mean, I know you don’t do it on purpose. But it still hurts. Like when you make like it’s some big thing for two men to dance together, when in reality men dance together all the time, both on big professional stages and in the privacy of their own homes and everywhere in between besides. Or when you relentlessly fetishize the female dancers’ butts. All season long. While creating this huge cheesy story about how all the guys are hot for all the women, when odds are some of those guys are gay, and those who aren’t are trying to get taken seriously as dancers. As are the women, who’d probably rather be seen as athletes and artists than as sex objects.

Speaking of which, can we talk about the choreography? Why is it that like 80% of the time when a male and female dancer are paired, it’s a story about a romantic relationship and/or about sexual desire? And yet 0% of the time, when men are paired with men or women with women is it about a romantic relationship and/or sexual desire? You took such a great leap forward this year with the same-gender pairings, but it made me so sad to see the male-male pairs fighting so much of the time, and kissing not at all.

You’re probably thinking I should go easy on you. You’re thinking there are way more offensive shows on TV when it comes to gender stereotyping. And that’s true. Completely true. But that’s also one of the reasons I care: because I can tell you’re trying. You’re trying to be better than those shows, and you succeed in so many ways, and I know you can succeed in this one, too. I mean, look, you still managed to constantly praise this season’s winner, Lauren, for her power and athleticism as well as her sensuality. But I wonder: what if she had been butch? Or trans? What then? If she wasn’t a pretty blonde all-American cheerleader-type, would the athleticism have been OK?

I’m certainly not saying dance shouldn’t be sensual or even sexy. Bring on the hotness! I’m just saying: don’t reduce individual dancers to their sex appeal. I’m just saying: break out of your tiny little idea of what can be hot. You’re all dancers, or people who work in the dance world. You know that many dancers are gay, and that choreography can be done on all kinds of bodies — in fact, some choreography is even more beautiful on “non-traditional” kinds of bodies. And you also know how much pressure is put on dancers to conform, conform, conform. You have arguably the most powerful dance platform in the U.S. right now. You could be leading. You could be modeling a New Dance Order, in which only talent matters, and narrow ideas about gender expression are exploded through movement. You could be as awesome as Cat Deely. Not everyone can say that, so please? For me, and for the millions of young people watching who are still trying to figure out where they fit in the world of gender? Try a little harder next season? It hurts when you fail, because I love you so much.

It's real. It's fleshy and short and caramel-colored and honestly, it's bigger and lumpier and weaker than I wish it was just now. But that's my business. I can do some things about that or not to a certain extent. How much I care varies from day to day. You can think I'm fine or a fat slob, that's your business, whether I like it or not. But what you cannot do, what you should never even wish you could do, is torture my body or anyone else's in order to get rich selling an impossible fairytale about bodies on the teevee, and then pretending It's All True and if the rest of us can't measure up, we just don't want it badly enough. Or, rather, I suppose you can, but you will burn in Hell for doing it. And I don't even believe in Hell.

I've been sick to my stomach for weeks reading Golda Poretsky's three-part interview with Kai Hibbard, a former finalist on NBC's weight-loss boot camp aspirational reality show, The Biggest Loser. It's gut-wrenching (pun intended) and I can't urge you strongly enough to read the whole thing, but let me bottom-line it for you here: that feel-good show about fat people literally re-forming their sad bodies (and by extension, sad lives) through steely determination, exercise and a healthy diet? It's a lie. The whole thing. Start-to-finish. A "week" isn't a week (sometimes it's as long as 14 days), inspiring trainers are actually terrifying dictators more concerned with tv-friendly results than the eating disorders they're instilling, and triumphs of will are really stories about captives gritting through the torture of working out for up to 7 hours dangerously dehydrated and on serious injuries.

In other words? In order to sell us the fairytale that every body can look the same if we all just work hard enough to be healthy, NBC and the producers of this show create a completely unattainable ideal and, in the process, blithley hobble the health of the very "average Americans" we're supposed to emulate.

And on the heels of that, this fresh dump crapped out by Dove, supposed champion of "real" women, casting for their next ad campaign, looking for only "real" women with "FLAWLESS SKIN, NO TATTOOS OR SCARS! Well groomed and clean...Nice Bodies..NATURALLY, FIT Not too Curvy Not too Athletic."

So, dear Unilever, dear NBC, dear Jillian Michaels, dear anyone else who's ever tried to sell me fictional "health" in order to make me feel like a failure so that I'll buy more of your crap: Eff you. You can be my fake friend all day and all night, and I'll still see you for who you really are: the enemy of my strength. And don't be mistaken: I'm getting stronger every day. And I'm not alone.There are legions of us who are stronger than ever, strong enough to know that any food we can swallow is better for us than your lies. We reject social acceptance if we have to be broken or controlled to get it. We know that verbal abuse isn't love, scars don't have to be flaws, and less weight doesn't always equal more health. And we're telling. We're whispering these secrets into more ears every day. We're shouting them from rooftops where we can.

You want to watch a number get smaller and smaller? Just count the days left you have in power.

Glee wrapped up its huge first season on Wednesday with a lot of awesome music, a somewhat too-neat plot resolution... and a peek at the night Quinn's baby was conceived.

Some folks were disturbed by this clip, in which Puck pressures Quinn to say yes to sex, dismissing their loyalty to (her boyfriend and his best friend) Finn, telling her she's not fat, and encouraging her to have another drink. It certainly isn't the picture of healthy sexuality. But is it rape, like some fans are claiming?

I went back and rewatched the scene and I just don't see it that way. Sure, Quinn hesitates. But her objections don't seem to be about her lack of desire - to the contrary, they're arguments about why she shouldn't give in to her desire. She's president of the Chastity Club, she took an oath, she has a rep to protect, she's worried about hurting her boyfriend, Finn - none of these are the same as "I don't desire you, I'm not enthusiastic about having sex with you."

As for the wine coolers, well, we really don't have any evidence of how drunk Quinn was - we only have her appearance, which is perfectly alert and responsive.

I don't know, maybe I'm off-base here, but it just doesn't seem like enough evidence to call it rape. Was he putting pressure on her? Sure. Did he take advantage of her body image issues? Unfortunately yeah. Realistic? Yep. Is that cool? No, it's really not. But that doesn't mean it's rape. There are lots of not-cool things people can do to other people, sexually, which don't rise to that level. It's important not to get confused. Quinn could quite easily have been enthusiastic in her desire to sleep with him, even if it was for less-than-healthy reasons.

Glee's real woman problem is becoming clearer and clearer to me as I rewatch the earlier episodes. When this show started out, it was really progressive about sex. I'll never forget how my heart skipped a beat when Rachel made her speech to the Chastity Club about how girls want sex just as much as guys do, or even, in the same episode, how boldly Rachel tells Finn, "You can kiss me if you want to." Talk about enthusiastic consent!

But a funny thing happened in the back nine episodes - the ones that were produced after the show had become a megahit. Suddenly, as if they've decided that because there are so many of us, we must all be 9-year-olds, Glee has been backsliding into afterschool special territory in ways that are not really so special. In the Madonna episode, three characters consider having sex for the first time, and the only one who goes through with it is the dude. The two female characters are just "not ready," even though they're contemplating doing the deed with guys they love and who ostensibly love them, and Finn, our now-deflowered hero, is sleeping with Santana pretty much just for the heck of it.

Coincidence? I wish. They've also declawed Jane Lynch's genius villain Sue, making her a grouch with a heart of gold instead of the hilariously dangerous egomaniac we all fell in love with. The unabashedly slutty competing choir director played by Idina Menzel goes from macking on Mr. Schue to settling down with a baby in no time flat - leaving Santana & Brittany, who get about two lines each per episode if they're lucky, the only females on the show who actively pursue sex. And if I have to sit through one more lecture by Will about how the boys need to learn to treat the girls more delicately, I'm going to be singing my own version of Papa Don't Preach, for real.

So, no, I'm not troubled by the complex, real interaction between Quinn & Puck. I'm not interested in being black-and-white about them. I just wish the show would return the favor.

You may have heard that Kendra Wilkinson, ex-Playboy bunny and Girl Next Door, has a sex tape that's just been released against her wishes. What you may not know is that this isn't a sex tape at all. It's a rape tape.

Sasha Basulka watched (so we don't have to), and breaks it down in a post on The Evil Beet, later republished at Jezebel:

Kendra doesn't really want to be videotaped. She says so on quite a few occasions.

"Please don't do it," she says. "Please?"

"Kendra," he says, annoyed. "I'm barely zooming in. Just go."

"Can you not?"

"You'll like it. Trust me. Watch. Go."

Kendra seems resigned to her fate, and, almost instantaneously, she shifts characters, from a very young woman being pressured into a sexual situation she finds uncomfortable to a willing sexpot, grinding obligingly on the bed with a black panther blanket across it. (Jesus Christ.)

As her male companion puts the camera close-up on her vagina, she shuts her legs.

"What?" he whines. "Just do it. Just keep messing around."

She pushes him and the camera away several times after that, each time slipping instantly back into character as soon as he expresses annoyance.

He begins performing oral sex on her. She's not entirely comfortable with this. She wriggles around and clamps her legs close, against his head.

"Keep ‘em open. Keep ‘em open. Keep ‘em open. Open your legs. Open ‘em. Open ‘em."

They have sex. He has trouble staying hard. He's gross, really - a balding redhead in his late teens or early twenties with a pube-hair goatee, bad teeth and a too-large nose - pudgy and pale all over.

He comes inside her, even though she's obviously asked him not to. She makes a face and she rolls off the bed. He acts surprised and upset by her action. She tells him she doesn't like it when he does that. He mutters something about a blow job.

Let's count the consent violations here, shall we?

1) She doesn't want to be videotaped, says so, and he continues taping her.
2) She shuts her legs against both him and the camera, and he keeps shooting and goes down on her anyway.
3) He ejaculates inside her, even though she's asked him not to.

To review: he performed at least three sexual acts on her that she clearly denied him consent to do. And yet even Sasha, who's posting about how disgusted she is by the content of the tape, goes on to say, "This isn't rape - not even close."

Say what?

The only world in which this isn't rape is one that sees sex as a commodity transaction in which the woman is the supplier and the man is the purchaser. (Queer sex doesn't exist in this world, doncha know.) Only in this purely mercenary light can we see this as a "fair deal" in which, despite her protestations and clear lack of desire, he eventually convinces her to "give it up" to him. If she agreed to the exchange, it doesn't matter what the circumstances are. Doing a deal under pressure is fair game in the business world, where feelings don't matter.

Thing is, sex isn't a business deal. In the real world of sex (and sexual violence), feelings matter very much. That's why the principle of enthusiastic consent should be at the core of every sexual interaction: it says that it's the responsibility of everyone to ensure that their partner or partners aren't just not objecting to what's happening, they haven't just finally yielded after refusing consent over and over -- they're actually enthusiastic about whatever's going on. It bears repeating: it's always your responsibility to find out if your partner is actively into what's happening. And if you do something sexual to/with someone while knowing they don't want you to do it? That's rape. Period. And that's what's happening on this tape.

There seem to be three key problems in getting people to see this case for what it is. The first is that Kendra's made her living and her fame playing by the rules of the commodity model. We see this over and over again -- the mistaken belief that women who work in the sex industry or in any way profit from their sexuality can't be raped. It's false of course - agreeing to pose naked for Playboy (or even to be in a relationship with a famous older man) in exchange for fame or money doesn't mean you consent to anything any guy might want to do to you ever. But sadly, a lot of folks still think it does.

The second barrier to recognizing this as rape is the common delusion that sex is one thing -- that once a person has said yes or no to "it," that's all their partner needs to know. The tape starts with Kendra already naked and in bed with this guy. We, the average viewers, are meant to assume she's already consented to "having sex" with him. But even if that's true, what did she consent to? Even if she said, "yes, let's have sex," does that mean she's consented to being recorded? Did she consent to oral sex on camera? Did she consent to him coming inside her? Clearly not. Even if she consented to any of these things in advance, does that mean she can't change her mind? We have to stop thinking of consent as a contract, and start viewing it as a process, an experience, an emotional state which can and will change as the situation changes. Ensuring consent isn't a matter of just asking a question. Ensuring consent means you stay in communication with your partner the whole time you're interacting sexually, and you listen, and you respond appropriately. That's obviously not what's happening in this video.

The third and possibly most insidious obstacle in the way of our understanding this video for what it is is an attitude I encounter nearly every time I speak on a campus -- the belief that that can't be rape because if it is, then rape is happening to all kinds of women, all the time.

The sad truth is: it really is that common. And it's this attitude that leads to an epidemic of underreporting on campuses across the country: women who are raped, or whose friends are raped, will do anything to resist calling it that. Who wants to believe she's a rape victim? But denying that what happened to you was rape doesn't prevent you from experiencing the trauma of rape - no wonder Kendra herself calls the release of the tape "probably the hardest time" of her life. No, refusing to call it rape only prevents you from accessing the community and services that can help you overcome that trauma, and it prevents you from seeing your rapist stopped before he rapes again. And refusing to call this video for what it is -- a rape tape -- doesn't stop it from being a rape tape. It just makes it harder for women who are similarly treated to get the help and justice they need.

Did you know that plus-size women are hotter than Victoria's Secret models or Pussycat Dolls?

On the face of it, that seems to be the takeaway from the scandal that broke this week when plus-size retailer Lane Bryant accused ABC and Fox of discriminating against their new lingerie ad just because if features fuller figures. Here's the ad:

Lane Bryant says that the two networks treated their ad differently than they have similarly revealing Victoria's Secret ads, demanding unreasonable edits and denying them airtime on prime shows like American Idol and Dancing With the Stars (a show which, as the picture below demonstrates, clearly isn't shy about showing female flesh:)



If that's so (and Lane Bryant has since provided some documentation backing up their claim), it's a little astonishing on the face of it. After all, this is how less-than-skinny-model-perfect bodies are usually portrayed in ads: to asexual, comic effect:



So what gives? Why is a size 16 woman in bra and panties suddenly too hot to handle for a network that puts Pam Anderson in spandex on at 8PM?

It has to do with a (not-so) little thing we call appetite. See, bigger women aren't just scary to the mainstream culture because we refuse to adhere to Hollywood beauty standards. We big gals freak people out because we refuse to deny our appetites. And if you've got a woman who isn't ashamed to want what she wants - even if what she wants is simply to not starve herself - you've got a woman who can't be controlled.

Put another way: Nicole Scherzinger's body may be sexy, but it's far from threatening. In fact, the lead Pussycat Doll has made her career by sculpting herself into the most mainstream idea possible of the ultimate male fantasy. But plus-size women (I'm deliberately not saying "fat" here, because I just don't think Ashley Graham, the model featured in the ad, is fat by any measure) obviously can't be controlled in their appetite for food, so who's to say they can be controlled in their appetite for (*gasp*) sex? And any woman whose sexual appetites can't be controlled and directed is obviously far too threatening to the status quo to be allowed to into the "family hour." You know, that sacred, wholesome time of night when we gather 'round the television to watch Bikini Girl.

Congratulations. You have written a column encouraging dudes to rape drunk girls, and it's now earning you 15 seconds of internet fame. Well played. I hope you're making the most of your moment.

Here's the thing though: you're using my body to do it. Your "edgy" little missive does more than puff up your resume -- it also tells the world that if I (or any woman) drinks in public, I've irrevocably consented to pretty much any sexual act with any guy I might make eye contact with, regardless of what I actually want to do with my own (admittedly drunk) body. So suffice it to say I take this a little personally, and I've got a few things to say about it.

First, don't kid yourself into thinking you're groundbreaking or even original. People have been telling women who "misbehave" that they deserve/secretly want "whatever happens to them" since the dawn of time. The threat of rape is one of the main ways women have been controlled throughout history. So, way to go on telling drunken sluts they asked for it. It's been such a taboo subject for so long. In Opposite Land.

Second, you really think poorly of straight men, don't you? Do you honestly think most guys can't tell the difference between a woman who's into having sex with him, and one who is freaked out, passed out, or too drunk to consent? Or is it that you don't think most guys care about the difference? Either way, that's cold. And, according to good research, it's also false - most rapes are committed by a very small minority of men, who know exactly what they're doing. The rest? They prefer to get down with women who are actually enjoying themselves. But why be bothered by a little thing called research when you're busy making a name for yourself on the internet?

Third, your editors should be ashamed of themselves for publishing your flimsy victim-blaming crap. Free speech is a legal standard, not a journalistic one. Journalists are supposed to, y'know, have ethics. And fact-checkers.

Fourth, and lastly, please go directly to hell. I have just as much right as any man does to go out and have a few drinks without having a violent felony perpetrated against me. I am sick to death of my body being used for the amusement of jackasses like you, even theoretically. You may think a scandal is good for your ego, or your career. You may even be right about that. But trading women's safety for a little notoriety is a deal with the devil if I ever heard of one. And I hope you pay.

by Jaclyn Friedman

A few weeks ago, I was interviewed by the incredible Amanda Hess (who writes The Sexist column for the Washington City Paper. You must read her regularly. Seriously.) about the pitfalls and opportunities of trying to date while feminist. 

I have to admit, I agreed to the interview for pretty selfish reasons: dating is confusing, and I'll take nearly any opportunity to get some help sorting it out. But what I got when the interview went live (aside from a sense of exactly how popular Fight Club is, sheesh) was way better than any how-to tips: As feminists from around the blogosphere responded and related, I suddenly understood I'm not alone, and the things I'm having trouble with - trying to parse personal ads to figure out who has feminist potential, figuring out how to talk about what I do on a first date, men who want to treat me like a wild animal that they can tame - aren't my troubles, after all. They're our troubles.

Then, just this week, I visited Williams College. The first chance I got, I made a beeline for the Clark Art Institute. Now, the Clark is a really great museum - surprisingly good for a museum at a small school located in rural Western Massachusetts. But it wasn't just the quality of the art that drew me in. Thing is, back when I was in college, a guy I knew sexually assaulted me. And it threw my world into chaos. And one of the things I did to cope with the aftermath is to escape to Williams - where a good friend of mine was at school - for a week.

I don't remember much about that week at Williams. I remember feeling safe for the first time since the assault. I remember being so grateful to have a friend like Bernie, and for the refuge he gave me while I started to sort out the pieces. And I remember spending hours at the Clark, staring at the Homers and Monets and Degas, finding in their gauzy and untroubled worlds a way to imagine that things might once again feel good.

Eighteen years later, all it took was the first glance at one of those paintings and I was thunderstruck with my own emotions: a queasy fear clashed with the swell of hope, and, as I took a deep breath, a wash of comfort and gratitude settled in even as my knees wobbled unsteadily. And then it hit me: this is why art matters. Because a painting can hold unspeakable feelings for decades until you're ready to remember them. Because storytelling can reveal that what feels like a personal failing is actually a social problem. Because no artist can know what their work will mean to someone else.

Those of us who write about pop culture get accused, on occasion, of being frivolous. After all, there are more serious problems in the world than the lyrics of Lady Gaga, or the meaning of Eryka Badu's new video. But the truth is, art is one of the main ways we understand our own emotions, and connect with each other across whatever differences we think we have. And so, I for one think it matters what kind of art we have access to. Does it affirm our lives, or erase them? Does it celebrate our bodies, or judge them? Does it increase pleasure and safety, or pain and fear? If art matters, then these questions do, too.

Last Sunday, I published an op-ed in the Washington Post about the crisis of rape on college campuses, and how schools should be handling it. In the piece, I discuss my own experience of being sexually assaulted when I was in college. I've spoken about this experience in public before, so I knew what to expect: a barrage of emails, comments and blog posts from people who want me to Shut. Up. They call me a liar. They make crazy and false assumptions about what happened to me in order to shore up their beliefs about the world. They tell me I deserved it because I had been drinking, because I was at a party with men, because I dared to exist in the world. They tell me I must have wanted it and then had "buyer's remorse," as if rape is a TV you really like but shouldn't have splurged on. They compare me to a drunk driver, and to the Nazis. 

I also knew to expect the opposite: an outpouring of support from survivors and/or anti-violence advocates, thanking me for speaking out. They gamely take on even the most hateful rape apologists, methodically dismantle the arguments mounted against my call to action, and help spread the word. And very often, they call me brave.

More...

The Pitsburgh Steelers' star quarterback, Ben Roethlisberger, has been accused of sexual assault. Again.

Very few details are yet known about the case. We just know that Roethlisberger and some buddies were partying at a club outside of Atlanta Thursday night, and were seen "mingling" with a particular group of women, and the next day, a woman from that group told local police that Roethlisberger had sexually assaulted her.

This column isn't about whether or not he "did it." (Though I tend to believe people who claim they're victims of sexual assault as a default position, both because so much of the culture doesn't, and because rates of false reporting are around 5-7%, which means, statistically speaking, it's at least 93% likely that an accuser is telling the truth.)

This column is about the illogical and dangerous defense his camp is already mounting against the allegations. Quoth his agent, Ryan Tollner, "Obviously, given the prior accusation against Ben, we are skeptical of motive, but we will continue to cooperate with everyone involved.”

Wha?

Let's break this stunning leap of logic down. What Tollner seems to be saying is that this new allegation was inspired by the previous one? That somehow, the woman accusing Roethlisberger in Georgia looked at the awesome time the woman from Lake Tahoe (who previously accused Roethlisberger) is having, and thought, wow. This is a golden opportunity to make some cash and have fun doing it?

More...

I've been avoiding writing about Tiger Woods, in part because so many other people are already writing about him, and in part because I think his so-called scandal is really a tempest in a teakettle. As this cheeky chart so ably demonstrates, Tiger Woods never promised us anything, and so he also owes us nothing. His wife? Sure. He owes her big time, probably more than he can ever repay. But us, the viewing public? Why should we care about whether or not a great golfer has broken his wedding vows?

Still, the story has reared its ugly head (sorry!) yet again, this time due to Woods' recent carefully-crafted public apology. And all the chatter that's followed has reminded me that, if we're going to keep talking about it and talking about it, there are at least a few important points to be made about this marginally meaningful case:

We need to have a serious, for reals talk about marriage and monogamy. Once and for all: there's nothing wrong with sleeping with lots of women (or men, for that matter). What's wrong is lying about it, and doing it without practicing safe sex. If Tiger wanted to sleep around, he just need to a) use condoms and b) not enter into a monogamous marriage. But if he didn't have the perfect wife and kids, would he have been such a marketable hero? Would he have had all those endorsements? Our culture equates monogamy and marriage with being a respectable citizen. Isn't it time we, well, divorced our moral judgments from whether or not a person has a life partner to whom they've promised sexual exclusivity? What matters is not what promises a person makes, but whether or not ze keeps them.

More...

I'll be honest: I'm not really a sports fan. There isn't a single sport I follow on a regular basis. (Back before the Red Sox won the World Series, I'd get invested whenever they made the playoffs, because I can't resist an underdog narrative, but that's about it.)

But between the Super Bowl brouhaha and the relentlessly addictive Olympics broadcasts, I've been watching a lot of sports and sports commentary in 2010. And as hard as it is to resist getting sucked into one of those soft-focus tinkly-piano Olympic athlete backstories, it's equally difficult to avoid noticing how retro our gender and sex politics get when it comes to sports.

It goes almost without saying that the Super Bowl has has a messed up relationship with women and sex. But men's figure skating? Women's snowboarding? Ski jumping? Downhill skiing? In 2010? Sadly, yes. To wit, just a few of the nearly infinite offenses from the past week of the Olympics:

-When introducing a profile of the top three female U.S. snowboarders - who happen to be three of the top women's snowboarders in the world, and were favorites to sweep the medals in halfpipe - NBC Olympics anchor Bob Costas didn't praise their incredible strength, crazy hard work over so many years, or the daredevil bravery it takes to get to the top of a sport like halfpipe snowboarding. No. Instead, Costas turned them into modern-day Charlie's Angels:

They are of course rivals, but they're also friends. Each with a defining aspect to their character. Kelly Clark's spirit, Hannah Teter's generosity, and the winning glamor of Gretchen Bleiler.

-At least the female snowboarders get to compete. Women's ski jumping is still not an Olympic sport, because officials are too concerned that it will hurt our fragile ladyparts! (They claim it's also because the sport isn't big enough worldwide, but it's bigger than ski cross, which got added to the Olympics this year. A sport that looks a LOT more dangerous than ski jumping, but actually allows delicate, fragile ladies to compete. Imagine!)

-The Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition for 2010 features four (white, U.S., and no, I'm not linking to it) female Olympic athletes, including aforementioned snowboard champion Hannah Teter (posing in a bikini for S.I. is evidently still not enough to get you called the glamorous one?), and skiing phenom Lindsey Vonn, who overcame a painful injury to win gold in downhill. But that's evidently not the most compelling thing about her. Google "Lindsey Vonn skiier," you get 4,560,000 hits. Lindsey Vonn pictures? 5,960,000.

-Lest you think the Olympic men get a free pass, consider men's figure skating, where bitter silver medalist Evgeni Plushenko has been essentially (and very publicly) questioning the manhood of gold medalist Evan Lysacek, all because he managed to win by focusing on footwork and other less "butch" technical skills, at the expense of landing the uber-masculine (I guess?) quad jump. Is it any wonder that even the most flamboyant skater men's skating has ever seen - the incomparable Johnny Weir - refuses to discuss his sexuality in any way?

In Slate this week, Hannah Rosin argued that at least Vonn's bikini-clad romp features an adult woman actively owning her sexuality, as opposed to the more traditional Olympic eye-candy featuring 16-year-old glitter pixies on ice. There's some truth to that, though I'm not sure that posing doe-eyed for SI is exactly the highest bar for empowered sexuality.

Still, it's not surprising that sexuality, gender and sports are all tangled up. It's not even necessarily a bad thing - would we want a culture in which we collectively and intently focus our attention to an activity involving tight clothes, strong, fluid bodies, emotional passion and physical exertion, but we're not allowed to think about gender and sex? I wouldn't. But I do want a culture where more than four of the over 5,000 athletes competing at the Olympics this year feel comfortable being out as queer. (And one where any male athletes could be out would also be an improvement.) Where there are more choices than princess or vixen, stud or fag. Where female athletes get more attention for their accomplishments than for their looks, and aren't prevented from competing in the sport of their choice because we'd rather think of them as delicate sex objects than as world-class athletes.

It would be easy to let the Olympics off the hook, to argue that they just reflect the sexual culture we're living in. But, according to their own propaganda, the Olympics are supposed to be an aspirational event. A time for the world to come together to transcend our differences and limitations and embody a vision of how we could be. My vision is this: it's well past time to hold them to that when it comes to sex and gender.

Want to hear something funny? When I sat down to watch the game on Sunday I thought, maybe this year the ads won't be so bad for women. Maybe this year will mark a sea change.

[insert hysterical laughter here]

I've said plenty already about the Super Bowl's sexual culture in general, and about the Focus on the Family/Tim Tebow ad in specific, so I won't be ranting about either here (though I have to say: WTF? Tim Tebow tackles his mom? That's... somehow funny?)  Instead, let's take a look at what last night's ads taught us:

Megan Fox is so hot it's a public health hazard.

Seriously. Her much-hyped Motorola ad is a retread of every tired trope about unchecked female sexuality. It will cause destruction and injury! Even gay men can't resist it! Men are helpless to do anything to control themselves in the face of it. If she doesn't keep it under wraps people will get hurt!



A hot babe is almost as awesome as a cold beer.

Sometimes, possibly awesomer! In these ads, we learn that women are valuable because they're reward-objects for men (or in a few cases, boys, your children's toys, and what I think was a violin-playing beaver), much like beer and chips and really good tires are.

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By now, you've probably heard that there's going to be a controversial ad aired during the Super Bowl. It's an ad produced by the extreme right-wingers at Focus on the Family, and it features Heisman Trophy winning quarterback Tim Tebow and his mother, discouraging women from having abortions. What makes the ad particularly controversial is that it represents a stark departure from CBS and the Super Bowl's previous policy of refusing all "issue advocacy" ads, notably, in recent years, several ads with politically progressive messages.

There are so many problems with this situation, it's hard to know where to start. For one, CBS only claimed they'd changed their longstanding policy on "issue ads" last week, after they started taking heat for having approved the Focus on the Family ad - far too late for any progressive group to take advantage of this stunning reversal by a) producing a spot worthy of the Super Bowl and b) raising the nearly $3 million it costs to air one.

More than that, though, it's still unclear how changed CBS's policy really is. News broke late this week that the following sweet and goofy ad for gay dating site ManCrunch had been rejected:



CBS is claiming that the ad was submitted too late and they've run out of ad space, but that's pretty unlikely given the current economic climate and the constant reports of sluggish ad sales that were plaguing the Super Bowl until the very moment this story broke. So what gives?

Well, let's take a closer look at CBS's statement on their policy change. A spokesman says that the network "will continue to consider responsibly produced ads from all groups. [emphasis mine]" But who decides what's "responsibly produced"? And on what planet is two dudes kissing "irresponsible" but the propaganda of an anti-choice hate group "responsible"?

And what about that propaganda? The ad has yet to be viewed publicly, but we know it features Tebow's mother recounting how she was encouraged by her doctors to have an abortion (she had taken some medication before she knew she was pregnant that was likely to have caused serious harm to her fetus), but decided not to, instead giving birth to Tim. So, this ad features a woman who was free to choose for herself what she wanted to do with her body, but concludes that you shouldn't be. And it also features a woman who is celebrating going against her doctor's advice because it happens to have worked out well for her, and encouraging you to do the same if it involves carrying a fetus to term, nevermind how statistically unlikely her happy ending was and how many women may suffer if they take her advice. That's certainly not my definition of responsible.

Even if CBS were applying their new policy fairly, it sets a troubling precedent. In these rough economic times, do we really want to encourage a system which sells the most influence on an issue to the highest bidder? The Supreme Court may think so, but in my book, that's antithetical to the very principles of democracy and equality. 

What do you think? Want to let CBS know? It's not too late.

(Before we get into this week's column, a note: I've been having fun playing around with formspring.me, a site where you can ask users anonymous questions. So, if there's anything you'd like to ask me anonymously, from the silly to the severe, personal to policy, just click here to have at it, and I'll be happy to answer.)

This week marked the 37th anniversary of Roe v. Wade, the landmark Supreme Court decison that made abortion legal in the U.S. (for at least some people. More on that later.). And television marked that anniversary by blowing my mind with awesomeness, and then breaking my heart.

First, the good. Because it's really, really good. Remember last fall, when I wrote that pissed-off column about how films and TV shows unilaterally refuse to use the word "abortion," even when they're discussing, y'know, abortion? Well, this week, two totally different shows went and did it. In episodes about characters considering abortion, both Friday Night Lights and Private Practice allowed one or more of their actors to utter the word "abortion" on network television. (And the shows didn't even sink under the weight of it. Imagine!) And one of the characters then goes ahead and actually has an abortion.

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I am not a sex worker. But if I were in DC or NYC or San Francisco, I could be arrested on suspicion of being one. (And yes, I do wear some... provocative outfits sometimes, but that's not why.)

My longtime boyfriend and I broke up this summer. Once the dust had settled, and I began to brace myself for going back out into the dating scene, I bought myself a little present to help - a cute red vinyl condom case.

As soon as that case came, I filled it with the three condoms it's designed to hold, zipped it up, and slipped it in my purse. It goes with me everywhere - the grocery store, the office, the post office, the mechanic - not because I expect to get laid in the produce aisle, but because that way I know I'll always have 'em when I need 'em. It's a small reminder that the world is full of possibility, and I'm prepared to make the best of it. (And if something should happen to happen over the ripe melons, well, more's the better.)

But that's not how the city of Washington, D.C. sees it. In their eyes, I'm not a woman prepared for safe pleasure. I'm a woman who poses a public danger. That's right: my cherry-red condom case makes me a walking red-light district, because in some areas of D.C., carrying three or more condoms is grounds for arrest on prostitution charges.

Three. Three condoms. If you think there's a chance you're getting laid, and you're sleeping with someone who has a penis, why would you ever pack fewer than three condoms? What if one rips when you take it out of the package? What if you want to do it (*GASP*) twice? Three condoms is not a lot of condoms, people. IMHO, it's the bare minimum. I once used over a dozen in a particularly memorable weekend. And I still wasn't a sex worker.

And what if I was? As has been pointed out elsewhere, all this law (and laws like it in NYC and San Francisco) are doing is encouraging sex workers to not carry condoms. You know what that's going to do? It's not going to reduce sex trafficking. It's not going to improve the lives or working conditions of sex workers. It's not going to lock up abusers or pimps. It's going to spread disease. It's going to increase the spread of STIs (including HIV) among sex workers and their clients. And those clients will spread it even further out into the general population. And those of us who aren't sex workers but don't feel like risking arrest en route to a hot date? Some of us are going to carry fewer condoms and catch and spread more disease, too. And those of us who carry lots of condoms so we can distribute them and help other people stay safe? Well, we're obviously a criminal element, aren't we?

This law isn't helping sex workers or their clients or the general population (who are somehow harmed by sex workers... working?). The only people it's helping are the governments of the cities in which it's being implemented. It's helping them look Tough On Crime. Meanwhile people are getting fatal or incurable or even just painful diseases, people are getting pregnant when they'd rather not be, women are being trafficked against their will, and sex workers struggle with some of the worst working conditions of any profession.

But you know what all the people who will suffer and die because of this asinine law have in common? They're all people who are likely deliberately having sex outside of marriage. And the people who'll get arrested because of this asinine law? They're women having sex outside of marriage. (You think any cop's gonna arrest a dude for carrying three condoms?) And in the U.S., in 2010, people who have sex in ways the abstinence-only crowd and the Catholic Bishops don't approve of are obviously disposable. So sure. Criminalize condoms. You're not hurting anyone but the sluts, anyhow, and they're just getting what they already deserve.

I'm going to sound old for a moment. I promise it's in service of something good, so bear with me, OK? Here goes:

I am so thankful that I grew up before the widespread use of the internet, blogs and online social networking. (Heck, I didn't even have email until college. Yes, I'm really that old.) You know why? Because when I grew up and started trying to be taken seriously as a professional, there was no digital trail of my youth to hold me back. And I assure you - there would have been a trail.

Would I have sexted my high school boyfriend, Andy? Would I have sent him explicit emails and NSFW pictures of myself? You bet I would have. I wanted to have sex with Andy all the time, every day, but between parental supervision and the hour drive that separated us, we got to be together in private a lot less than that. We would have been thrilled to have digital means to get it on with each other. (As it was, I was only allowed to talk with him for 10 minutes every day. This was before cell phones, too, and there was only one line in my house. I told you I was old.)

Would Andy have deliberately shared my private messages with anyone? I doubt it. He was a pretty good guy. But he miiiight have shown a little sample to his BFF Tom, just to brag a little. And Tom miiiiiight have decided to play a practical joke on Andy by stealing the photo or message and posting it to his Facebook wall. You see where I'm going with this.

But let's say that didn't happen. Let's say Tom couldn't figure out how to steal the photo, or Andy never showed it to him, or I never sent it. Let's say I got through high school with nary a pixel's indication that I'm anything but sexually pure. But then, at college, I decide to start keeping a blog of my life on campus - including my dating exploits. Or maybe I decide to write for the school paper, and I put together a first-person expose of an underground sexual culture on campus. I write about sexuality all the time now - it's not hard to imagine I would have done it then. And that's exactly what one Harvard student did - he wrote a very popular piece for the Crimson about his "use of Craigslist to look for sex with closeted Harvard jocks." Now, according to this story about him that aired on On The Media in December, he's legally changing his name so that he can become a teacher without that article haunting him. Here's what he had to say about the decision:

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When 39 Democratic members of the House of Representatives - many of them theoretically "pro-choice" - voted in favor of Bart Stupak's now-infamous amendment that makes it illegal for any federal dollars to be spent on insurance plans that cover abortion, we were told it was OK. Those of us that care about women having access to one of the most common medical procedures in America were assured it was just some political calculus, and that it would be undone in the Senate. We were also told it was in the service of the greater good - preserving a public health insurance option.

Right.

That must be why the Senate just passed a bill with almost exactly the same ban. Plus, it restores previously removed funding for the morally bankrupt failure that is abstinence-only education. Oh, and no public option.

Let's do some math ourselves. Our government - our overwhelmingly Democrat-majority-run government - doesn't want you to know about how to prevent pregnancy. But if you do get pregnant, they're refusing to help you choose abortion. So basically, in the middle of the worst recession in recent memory, if you can't afford to fund your own abortion, or buy your own separate abortion insurance with your own money, you have no right to choose what happens to your body if you get pregnant. Even simpler: if you're female-bodied, unless you're rich, one of the risks of sex will now be forced birth.

It's time for drastic action. And considering we won't have the chance to vote these fools out of office for nearly a year, we're going to have to get creative. Possibly, a little Greek. And so I humbly submit to you the question: WWLD? What Would Lysistrata Do?

The thing is, I like sex too much to suggest a full-on sex strike. And honestly, I don't want to perpetuate the idea that sex denial hurts men more than it hurts women, because I don't believe that's true. But it's half-past time for drastic action, so here's what I propose:

Stop having sex with partners who think your reproductive health is negotiable.

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Finally.

A study out of University of Minnesota this week reveals the truth that neither Hollywood nor the Religious Right want you to know: casual sex won't damage you emotionally. Not even if you're a girl!

The researchers interviewed over 1300 sexually active young adults between the ages of 18 and 24 about their last sexual encounter, and then assessed their emotional wellbeing. Guess what? The 20% who last got it on with a casual partner were no more emotionally damaged than the 80% who had most recently played with a committed partner. They weren't more depressed, and they had just as much self-esteem.

The researchers were shocked. "We were so surprised," said study author Marla Eisenberg, "The conventional wisdom is that casual sex, 'friends with benefits,' and hooking up is hurtful."

You can say that again. From abstinence-only education in schools to the anti-hooking-up book-boom of the '00s, from Salt-N-Pepa (vid above) to Taylor Swift, girls especially are taught every day that having sex outside of marriage or a committed relationship will leave us emotionally broken in ways that can't be repaired. (It's easy to pick on Taylor Swift, I know, but come on: "And Abigail gave everything she had/To a boy who changed his mind. And we cried." Really? Can she never have sex again? Did he rob her of all of her possessions? Otherwise, I fail to see how she "gave" anything more than he did, just because they had Teh Sex.)

Not shockingly, this study has received precious little media attention. But if these results are replicable, and if they could be followed-up by a longitudinal study showing that those friends-with-benefits are just as happy as their more monogamous counterparts even later in their lives, it would go a long way to revealing the anti-casual-sex argument for what it is: a way to keep women's sexuality taboo and mysterious, so it can be used to control our behavior and sell us things we don't need.

Moreover, if we could all collectively stop wringing our hands about the mythical psychological risks of "hooking up," we could get down to the actually important work of educating each other about how to prevent the real risks that come with sex - STDs and pregnancy - risks that abstinence-only education has failed utterly to deal with. And we could start having frank conversations about how each of us can decide in any given situation what we personally want and are ready for, without having some one-size-fits-none pronouncement from the culture at large to contend with. 

 

It would be almost as if sex were a perfectly healthy act that most adults enjoy in one way or another.

In her essay for Yes Means Yes, Latoya Peterson wrote powerfully about "The Not-Rape Epidemic" - the thousand ways men sexually violate women every day that don't rise to the legal definition of "rape." This week, one young woman took a stand against "not rape" that just might work.

This past Tuesday, news broke that three lacrosse players at Sacred Heart University in Connecticut had been accused of conspiracy to sexually assault the girlfriend of one of the accused players. As details emerged, it became clear that the boyfriend of the accuser had invited his buddies to "secretly" come watch while he was having sex with his girlfriend - without her knowledge or consent.

The boys lawyered up, as you do when you're charged with a felony. And then their lawyer came out with this gem:

I can appreciate that this young woman was put in an embarrassing set of circumstances through some sophomoric, college-boy antics, but there's no indication from what I can see or discern so far that there was any sexual assault there.
 

Let's break this down. The accuser consented to one act - sex with one person, in private. The accused conspired to force her into a different act - at our most generous, we could call that sex in front of a group of people (though it's entirely possible it seemed to her that the sudden, unwelcome presence of two other guys in the room meant that they were about to get in on the "action," and it's also entirely possible that they intended to do just that. But we don't know, so let's be conservative and go with "sex in front of a group of people.") They worked together to force her into this act without giving her an opportunity to consent (and, quite probably, knowing she wouldn't have consented if they'd asked).

Now keep in mind that "sexual assault" is a broader charge than "rape," legally speaking, and can include a whole host of unwanted sex acts.

So you tell me - do you see any indication of "conspiracy to sexually assault" in this story? Because I surely do.

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It's that time of year, and I, for one, am glad. It's easy, when you do this kind of work, to get mired in all the horrible things that need to change, like, two decades ago, and to miss out on the fact that we've actually got a lot to celebrate. Here, in no particular order are a few of the things that are making my gratitude list this year:

-I'm thankful that Emma Thompson responded to the petitions of feminists and withdrew her name from the list of famous Roman Polanski apologists. And I'm even more thankful that Caitlin Hayward-Tapp and everyone at Shakesville had the vision and optimism to inspire her to do it.

-I'm thankful for Glee, despite its flaws, for continuing to be such an unabashedly sex-positive show. And for being so freaking fun to watch. And I'm thankful for Precious, despite its flaws, for presenting the story of an abused young black woman who manages to transcend her brutal circumstances without a makeover or a man. And for introducing us to the fantastic Gabby Sidibe, whom I hope to be seeing a lot more of on my movie screens in the near future.

-I'm thankful that Tucker Max's movie bombed at the box office. For a ton of reasons, but primarily because that means we probably won't get a sequel, or a bunch of copycats.

-I'm thankful that Amanda Hess started writing her The Sexist column for the Washington City Paper, because she makes me laugh and makes me think and makes me feel so much more sane and generally cuts through epic amounts of BS on the regular. The only part of me that's not thankful for her is the part that's jealous of how good she is.

-I'm thankful that congress passed The Matthew Shepard Act, which expands the 1969 United States federal hate-crime law to include crimes motivated by a victim's actual or perceived gender, sexual orientation, gender identity, or disability, and that Obama signed it.

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So. The day has finally come. And gone. Levi Johnston, infamous babydaddy to Sarah Palin's daughter, Bristol, posed for his much-hyped Playgirl shoot last Thursday. And I have some questions. And none of them are about size.

1) What if the roles were reversed? What if Palin had a son who impregnated his girlfriend? And what if, after the election and the birth, she decided to pose for Playboy. What would we be saying about her? Would she be getting puff pieces in Vanity Fair? Would she be considered a credible source by the Associated Press?

2) If Johnston were a girl, would posing nude be seen as a smart strategic move that would help launch her career as an actor and/or country singer?

3) What if the gender switch happened instead at the candidate level - what if Palin had herself been a man? Would we expect Palin to go on Oprah and lovingly invite Johnston home for Thanksgiving? Our would we expect him to vow revenge against the guy who dared sully his precious daughter?

4) What does it mean that someone who got famous solely because he had unprotected sex is now being sold to us as a sex symbol?

5) Why do so few famous dudes pose nude, and yet so many famous women do? Especially when there's so much less shame put on men for being sexual. Is it just because men don't have to be sexual to succeed in the entertainment business, but women do?

6) Since posing nude is obviously a "girl" thing to do, why does it seem to be working out so well for Levi? Is it because he isn't really quite famous yet, so has little to lose and everything to gain?

7) If Levi had knocked up the daughter of a sex-positive candidate, instead of the queen of abstinence-only education, would the scandal have been greater or lesser? Would we still be talking about him? Would we be seeing him in Playgirl?

8) When the pictures come out in January, are you going to look?

Ever since that hideous day in February when we learned that Chris Brown had beaten Rihanna, I've had serious misgivings about expecting Rihanna to represent anything other than herself - one young woman struggling, under extraordinary circumstances, to deal with the all-too-ordinary experience of being a woman who's been beaten by a man she loved.

After all, while Rihanna may have signed up to be a celebrity, she certainly never signed up to be the poster child for survivors of dating violence. Nor was it her actions that led the public to expect her to be one. So every time she did something that raised the "What kind of role model is she being?!?" question - whether it was getting back with Brown after the attack, posing in bondage gear in Italian Vogue, or releasing an ambiguous song about an abusive relationship as her first single, I tried to remember that she was just one young woman, doing what seemed best for her in a situation she never asked for or deserved.

That's why I initially avoided RiRi's sit-down with Diane Sawyer on Friday night. Obviously, with the new album out and the need to do publicity for it, Rihanna was going to have to talk about the elephant in the room eventually - it was a canny move on her part to get it over with in a high-profile interview on her terms. But I mostly felt sad for her that she had to do it - she hadn't seemed to have any inclination to talk about the incident to the press previously, and it seemed likely that she was doing it now out of necessity and not out of her own desire to speak out.

Boy was I wrong. Rihanna is ferocious in this interview - ferociously honest, ferociously vulnerable in parts, but at all times ferociously sure of what she thinks and feels about all of it, and ferociously aware of how many young girls are looking to her to show them how to think and feel about violence against women. But why am I paraphrasing when you can watch it for yourself?



As moving as it is to see her transform in front of us from a hurt girl who watched her father repeatedly beat her mother (and who feels humiliated that she found herself in a parallel situation) into a Mama Bear choosing to be strong on behalf of all the young girls watching her, what comes next is even more powerful. She has some very clear things to say to those girls, and to all of us, about whether or not being a "strong woman" can protect you from violence (sadly, no), whether being a victim of violence means you weren't strong (also: no), and whose fault the violence is at all times (the perpetrator the perpetrator the perpetrator). And then she says the most important thing of all, because it so rarely gets said:

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It pains me that I have to say this. That it's not so obvious it can remain unspoken.

By now, a lot had been written about the gang rape of of a 15 year-old girl outside a high school dance in California. And a lot of people seem to want to write off the fact that as many as 20 people watched or participated in the brutal, 2-hour assault as just the latest example of the bystander effect.

Now, the bystander effect is real. What it means is that the more people are witness to a crime, the less likely anyone is to do anything about it, because everyone thinks someone else will do something. (BTW, if you ever witness a crime as part of a group - please don't make this same assumption. Do something!)

But the bystander effect wasn't the primary force at play here. How do I know? Because people weren't just standing by, horrified. They came to the scene when they found out what was going on, called there by texts and emails. They came because they wanted to watch or participate. They weren't passively paralyzed. They were actively involved.

It's also been said that "street culture" is to blame. That local gang violence had inured these kids against the horror of what they were doing/watching. And it's true that when an entire community is poor, violence increases. When kids don't think they have any better options, gangs are more likely to seem appealing.

But let's dismount our class-privilege high-horse for a minute and consider: what if this had happened at a frat house at an elite university? It's pretty easy to imagine, because rape isn't an act that's linked to poverty. And if this hideous assault had happened in that elite setting, we'd all be saying it was allowed to happen because these are the children of the wealthy and they believe they can get away with anything.

It's understandable to want to find meaning behind such an unthinkable act. It's human to want to figure out why it happened, so that maybe we can prevent it the next time. And the sad truth is, the answer's just not that complicated.

It happened because, in the absence of comprehensive, pleasure-based sex ed from an early age, kids are learning about sex by watching gonzo porn that fetishizes violence against women.

It happened because rape is literally treated as a game by the powerful video game industry.

It happened because Whoopi Goldberg and scores of other Hollywood heavyweights made it perfectly clear that if you're talented and powerful, it's no big deal if you drug and rape a 13 year-old girl. And who doesn't want to think of themselves as talented and powerful?

It happened because when women accuse men of rape, we automatically question her motives, which leaves rapists free to rape again and again.

It happens because movies treat rape like a punchline, and pop music treats women's bodies like trophies or dolls.

It happened because we live in a rape culture. And if you're not actively working to undo that, you're supporting it. And we're all reaping what you sow. Including that 15 year-old girl who's going to have to live with this unspeakably brutal violation for the rest of her life.

I know this is supposed to be a pop-culture column, but I've got to talk about a story from real life instead this week.

I've been traveling a lot recently, talking with college students across the country about Yes Means Yes and how to create a sexual culture that's genuinely pro-pleasure and anti-rape. I love doing this - I learn so much everywhere I go, and I get to experience first-hand something I want all of you to know: we're not alone. If the schools I visit are any indication, there are thousands of students across the country and beyond that are fed up with the lies our culture tells us about rape and sex and are ready to do what it takes to make a different world - many more than even read and write on this most excellent website.

But I want to tell you about some very specific students at a very specific school. I'm not going to name the school, because I don't want to expose the students there to more risk than they've already chosen for themselves. What you need to know is that it's a Catholic university. The students there don't get sex education - they don't even get abstinence education. They certainly don't get condoms on campus, but they told me that every time a female student goes to the health center for any reason - a cold, a headache, whatever - they are given a pregnancy test. The only information they've been given about rape was a skit the RA's put together and an offhand comment made by an orientation speaker who said, "If a girl's really drunk and you have sex with her and she regrets it in the morning, that's rape, so don't do it."

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An affluent man does a big favor for the au pair employed by one of his neighbors - he replaces a ruined dress for her, a favor big enough to save her from being fired. As she's expressing her gratitude, he suggests they celebrate together - alone. She politely declines his advance, being sure to mention her boyfriend. He leaves, but returns a couple of hours later, drunk. He insists that, in return for all his trouble in getting the replacement, she "owes" him at least to try it on for him. Reluctantly, she lets him in. Once he's in her bedroom, she attempts to go get the dress, but he physically blocks her from leaving. Instead, he announces his desire to kiss her. She does not respond at all, staring at him, frozen. He kisses her passionately, and then proceeds to have intercourse with her.

Was it rape? Not if you're a character on a popular television show, evidently.

As some of you have no doubt recognized, that exact scenario played out on Mad Men last week. And while I have no doubt that show creator Matthew Weiner wrote that interaction as a rape scene, TV critics and commentators seem disturbingly reluctant to name it as such. Here's what Television Without Pity had to say:

And while I don't think he physically intimidated her (I mean, look at him, how could he?), he obviously took advantage of the situation. I think he did feel bad for her when he offered to help her out, and if she'd invited him in willingly when he first turned up maybe there wouldn't have been a problem, but she made it clear earlier that she didn't want to do this, and taking advantage of her fear of being sent home, even if he didn't explicitly say anything about that, is at the very least horribly awful and gross.

Wait, what? He shut the door on her and prevented her from leaving, but he didn't "physically intimidate" her? At least Entertainment Weekly doesn't make that error, but they do make some doozies:

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