Mirror Mirror on the Wall

What is it that you experience when looking in a mirror?  Do you see yourself?  Do you see yourself in a virtual room behind the wall?  Do you see yourself in this room behind the wall looking back at yourself?  Would you consider the space of the mirror a utopia: an unreal place full of ideal forms?  Would you consider it a heterotopia: a space "different" (hetero-) from but related to virtually all other spaces; a sort of enacted utopia outside of, yet in tension with, all other spaces?

The mirror is, after all, a utopia, since it is a placeless place. In the mirror, I see myself there where I am not, in an unreal,virtual space that opens up behind the surface; I am over there, there where I am not, a sort of shadow that gives my own visibility to myself, that enables me to see myself there where I am absent: such is the utopia of the mirror. But it is also a heterotopia in so far as the mirror does exist in reality, where it exerts a sort of counteraction on the position that I occupy. From the standpoint of the mirror I discover my absence from the place where I am since I see myself over there. Starting from this gaze that is, as it were, directed toward me, from the ground of this virtual space that is on the other side of the glass, I come back toward myself; I begin again to direct my eyes toward myself and to reconstitute myself there where I am. The mirror functions as a heterotopia in this respect: it makes this place that I occupy at the moment when I look at myself in the glass at once absolutely real, connected with all the space that surrounds it, and absolutely unreal, since in order to be perceived it has to pass through this virtual point which is over there. (Michel Foucault, "Of Other Spaces")

Sexuality is that mixed-topos of the mirror: both u-topic and hetero-topic: both a “non-place” place populated by ideal forms and an “other-place” place that is “a kind of effectively enacted utopia in which the real site, all the other real sites that can be found within the culture, are simultaneously represented, contested, and inverted.” Objectifying myself, taking myself as an object that will offer itself to me to be known, I myself know myself reflexively by making use of a third-party surface that can reflect me back to me. So I objectify knowable, and indeed already-known, others. 

What’s more, knowing these others knows them as having an essential worth. I thus place myself into a moral relation of other-cherishing and/or other-loathing so that, within or against these others, I might “see myself [over] there where I am not.” In knowing the other, in other-cherishing and/or other-loathing, I can know myself and thus cherish or loathe myself in kind. In knowing myself as within, as of, the other I cherish myself if I cherish this other and loathe myself if I loathe this other. In knowing myself over and against the other, I can cherish, loathe, be ambivalent, or be indifferent to my sense of difference or exclusion. 

Of course, in these self-reflexive epistemological methods of self-knowing/valuation, I am not seeing any particular other in his or her singularity. The others that I draft into my processes of self-making are all instances of some idealized other, a reflective surface that shows me to me as though in a mirror: “in an unreal virtual space that opens up behind the surface.” My sexual self that appears in a virtual room that stretches out behind the wall is thus “a sort of shadow [a doppelgänger] that gives my own visibility to myself, that enables me to see myself there where I am absent.” This is sexuality as utopia.

Of course, the ideals that the singular other instantiates are hardly products of my fancy.  These ideals are the deeply entrenched and rather recalcitrant grids of intelligibility, the dispositif, against which I make sense of my world and within which my life is enmeshed.  Thus, the mirror that is this other is not utterly ideal, it “does exist in reality, where it exerts a sort of counteraction on the position that I [actually] occupy.”  This is sexuality as heterotopia.  

Through sexuality, functioning heterotopically, I discover my absence from “the place where I am,” viz. in the utopic space of the mirror, as I see myself in an “over there” that is “back here,” in the real space of my room, facing a mirror.  “Starting from this gaze that is, as it were, directed toward me, from the ground of this virtual space that is on the other side of the glass, I come back toward myself” and “I begin again to direct my eyes toward myself and to reconstitute myself there where I am.”  Thus sexuality, as a mirror is a mixed-topos experience.  It “makes this place that I occupy at the moment when I look at myself in the glass at once real, connected with all the space that surrounds it, and absolutely unreal, since in order to be perceived it has to pass through this virtual point which is over there.”

sexuality?

sexuality: it is allegedly some sort of inborn erotic compass that attracts an individual to this gender or another or else whose pointer has arrows at both ends. since there are purportedly only two genders one can be attracted to, viz. one's own or one's opposite, sexuality comes in only two legitimate flavors: gay and straight (bisexuals are often perceived to either have a broken compass or else to merely be confused as how to read it or else as falsifying the reading). evidently, then, all that is needed to establish one's sexuality is to determine which of the two genders is the object of love (but not all love) as well as the object of physical affection (but not all physical affection). it seems to me that there are countless ways to love and engage in physical contact. we all initiate, dissolve, and maintain a wide range of loving relations in the course of a lifetime. we all engage in countless processes of physical contact in the course of a lifetime. love is often present without physical intimacy. physical intimacy is just as often present without love. i can only assume that the idea is that there is a certain way of loving that is always accompanied by a desire for a certain type of physical intimacy and vice-versa. it must be this special type of love-physicality dyad that flows forth from one's sexuality. or is it that one's sexuality emerges within the dyad? either way, i cannot imagine which of the infinite ways of loving and equally infinite types of contact (ways and types that once were, now are, or are yet to be imagined) are self-evidently those to be cited as evincing a so-called sexuality. it seems to me that any of the particulars that might be pointed to as particular to this special sort of love-mode and concomitant physical desire will not only be arbitrary (at best) but will often fail to be exclusive to the special and indicative love-physicality mode. and, two genders? the qualifications for one gender or another are also largely arbitrary and always include too few or too many. further, is the love-desire attraction a biological attraction (based, for example on penises and vaginas) or is it an attraction to types (e.g. to masculine people or feminine people)? if we can nary construct a definition of so-called romantic love that neatly separates it from so-called non-romantic love while remaining other than farcical and we can nary conceive of a definition of gender that splits the human race neatly into two camps, what are we to make of this meta-concept, sexuality?

are you queer?

"Are you queer?" The question came so unexpectedly. I looked at him and was silent, unable to speak. I wanted to formulate a coherent sentence but the stark absence of response was so loud; a growing silence. I couldn't think. The silence where an easy response should've been had hijacked my cognitive mechanisms. I blurted without knowing exactly what was going to come out. "No. No, I'm not." He nodded, hands in pockets. No change in his expression, no change in his slumpy relaxed demeanor. "Huh," he said and then strolled casually away from our table to tend to the other patrons.

It bothered me. Why did I answer that way? Why did the question throw me so far off balance? And, of course, there was my usual qualm: why are we so entrenched in these categories? Though, as far as categories go, I must say, I like "queer" more than any other.

Queer: strange or odd; tilted away from perpendicular; an ill fit with regards to the norm. To "queer" something is to ruin it, spoil it, pull it away from perpendicular, or to simply make it odd or strange.

I wanted a do-over. I wanted a rewind button. I wanted to say, "Yes. Totally queer. Not straight, not gay. But definitely queer."

I understand the utility of the categories. For the sake of lubricating our interactions we insist on reducing one another to caricatures according to some arcane schema. In courtship and love, in touching and especially sex, we are forced to preconsider all of the possible interactions one might have with another human being, gauge how we are likely to feel in a preponderance of possible cases, and then carve the result into our skins, providing the defining term, the essence of our identity, to others upon request.

For me this is a pressing concern. And here is why: these categories are the most useful, they are invaluable, in the pursuit of using someone else as a means to one's own self-oriented end. In a world in which people are ends unto themselves, in which the joy is in engaging another and the sharing of oneself, in such a queer world, preemptively and severely constraining the dynamics, the gestures, the movements, the values, and worst, the possibilities by the invocation of categories is not only unnecessary it is a subtle tyranny.

speaking of vaginas . . .

during a recent conversation, a friend of mine (and member of our intrepid goup!) told me about an email exchange that they'd recently had with a beloved old aunt. the subject of the exchange was the Eve Ensler production titled The Vagina Monologues. i have not yet seen this show but have heard a great deal about it. the main gist, from what I understand, is that a rotation of characters on stage present short vignettes that have to do with womanhood, vaginas, feminism, vaginas, sex, and, of course, vaginas.

my friend (who would like to remain anonymous and thus shall be referred to from here on out as #23) thinks (and I agree!) that there might be some themes, issues, and/or positions within the brief exchange that took place with dear ol' aunty worth discussing and has thus submitted it for your consideration.

AUNTY: You never answered my question back then to say if you had enjoyed it. What did you think of it? The audience here had a few men, but mostly women. A lot of it was very funny, and some very moving. Altogether well done (I read that the playwright, Eve Ensler, originally did all the roles herself!)

#23: ...I saw it with the actress who played Sue Ellen in Dallas. My favorite part was when the narrator was talking about some guy examining her, but talking about how plain he was. Not some guy who listens to Prodigy and eats spicy food, or some guy who blah blah blah.

The reason that was entertaining, is because the entire group I was with, turned and looked at me at that point. This is because I was (and probably still am) known for, both, listening to Prodigy and eating spicy food.

It has been many years since I have seen the play, but from what I remember a lot of the play seemed to vilify men. I do not remember the context [of our conversation], because I am sure I had a point, but right now I would say that it seemed (and this is a gross simplification) fairly sexist...

I maintain an open mind and I can enjoy and learn from other people's view points. But I prefer it, if they are balanced and just. The Monologues did not seem so.

One other story that sticks in memory is [of an] underage girl experiencing her first lesbian encounter with an older woman. She had to be maybe 12 in the story. The older woman was not presented as a pedophile, but she was. Such an upbeat story, I have to wonder if the older person in this story had been a man, would it have been presented in the same
way? Would it be socially acceptable?

One of the definitions of monologue: "a long utterance by one person (especially one that prevents others from participating in the conversation)". I do think it is aptly titled. I would assert that this monologue is concerned with the self, without the consciousness about others and the world around you. It represents a selfish perspective that is a luxury, more frequently of those that cannot break out of molds presented by society, while attempting to appear as "out of the box". It is definitely, "in the box".

Now, like I stated above, I have not yet seen The Vagina Monologues. But some interesting questions came to mind when I read #23's review. In no particular order, they were: to what extent is a certain amount of vilification unavoidable or even necessary in a reclamation project (of one's comfort with or ownership of their own femininity, blackness, sexuality, or what not)? To what extent is The Vagina Monologues a reclamation project (were vaginas co-opted?) versus a celebratory one? If it is celebratory, it would likely have little appeal to men (who have no vagina to celebrate), but what does such a celebration have to do with denigrating men? Should gender matter when it comes to salacious, lude, pornographic, or pedophilic content? Does it anyway (whether it should or not)? The word 'vagina' is in the title and from what I understand there is plenty of (shocking? provocative?) content to go with it - is this play empowering/liberating or is it a series of gimmicky vignettes? I am sure that there are plenty more interesting questions, but you get the idea.

Thanks to #23 for contributing.