"What do you want to do?" Hugh asked."I don't know," I answered.
It was Saturday night and one friend was sick, another was in New York, and the third was helping her mother out of the reach of the fires that were (and are) licking the Hollywood hills, leaving me and the Aussie alone...again. Since this seems to be a regular occurance nowadays, we're becoming a bit boring. What are you doing? Nothing. What are you doing? Nothing. What do you want to do? I don't know. What do you want to do? I don't know. Hey. When did we get married? Umm...
"Have you ever seen a whore in Los Angeles?" Hugh randomly asked.
"No, I don't think I have," I replied after thinking about it for a moment. "However, I did once read that the internet has driven prostitution to sites like Craigslist and off of the streets."
And it's true, making it hard out here for a pimp.
"According to the movies -- and they're never wrong -- prostitutes are on Hollywood Boulevard," I said. So, after dinner we drove over there to find a Pretty Woman.
As we were driving up La Brea to the Hollywood intersection, Hugh pointed out a girl. "Is that a whore?"
As we were driving up La Brea to the Hollywood intersection, Hugh pointed out a girl. "Is that a whore?"
She was a bleach blonde wearing a black lycra mini-dress and come-fuck-me boots, with a big black tattoo on her arm, crossing the street by herself. She was kinda hunched over and looked like she was looking for her next score or john or both.
"Definitely," I answered, assured in my middle-class knowledge of a ho's life. But as we turned the corner and started to head south on Hollywood, I became less assured and more horrified in a very generic way. We didn't see prostitutes, but we did saw a whole lotta hos. Or wannabe hos. Or girls who want people to think that they're hos without actually being a ho. Or girls who aren't hos but will probably sleep with you at the end of the night for the price of four Jaeger bombs. Ahem. Seriously, these girls were auditioning to be the next Girl Next Door, except they were probably too cheap to catch Hef's discerning eye. Suddenly, I began to wonder, what came first: Frederick's of Hollywood or the clientele (and if you use that link, some of FoH's dresses are actually longer and more modest than what I saw on Saturday night. I'm not kidding). I was beginning to feel out of place in my lemon yellow linen shift from the GAP and was happy to be in car and not street walking with the rest of these, umm, ladies(?).
It reminded me of a book I read a couple of years ago entitled Female Chauvinist Pig. It highlighted American culture's curve towards pornography and raunichiness. Stripper poles as exercise, Jenna Jameson selling foam replicas of her body parts, Paris Hilton's sex tape as marketing ploy, etc. In the book, the author interviewed a 12-year old girl who said -- and I'm paraphrasing here, but not too much -- that a girl needs to look like a slut, but not act like one. In other words, our power as women continues to reside in being able to excite men. I can dress like a whore, act like a whore, talk to you like a whore, even have sex with you, but you're not allowed to think of me like a whore because that is sexist. Sigh. This is equality? An important part of Ariel Levy's thesis was that women aren't even thinking about sex when they dress this way or try to emmulate Playboy bunnies cum starlets; that female sex is no longer about her physical passion or desire but about using her sexuality as a power play. You may want me, but you can't have me unless I say you can. Desire me, so I can reject you and feel better about myself. As with most buzz-worthy books, this might be a tab hyperbolic and boiling things down to their lowest common denominator. But with that said, I know plenty of women who hold contrary views about their own sexual empowerment; like a woman who will sleep with a guy that she doesn't like because she "has needs" and she's going "get [hers]," but won't sleep with a guy she does like because she doesn't want him to get the "wrong idea" about her. Umm....
Recently, a friend of mine handed me a book entitled A Return to Modesty. I haven't had the chance to read it yet. But I find it interesting that a book can be published under the guise that modesty is radical. But then again, after trolling Hollywood Boulevard with its plethora of young women dressed like they're ready to attend the AVN Awards, maybe it is.
"Definitely," I answered, assured in my middle-class knowledge of a ho's life. But as we turned the corner and started to head south on Hollywood, I became less assured and more horrified in a very generic way. We didn't see prostitutes, but we did saw a whole lotta hos. Or wannabe hos. Or girls who want people to think that they're hos without actually being a ho. Or girls who aren't hos but will probably sleep with you at the end of the night for the price of four Jaeger bombs. Ahem. Seriously, these girls were auditioning to be the next Girl Next Door, except they were probably too cheap to catch Hef's discerning eye. Suddenly, I began to wonder, what came first: Frederick's of Hollywood or the clientele (and if you use that link, some of FoH's dresses are actually longer and more modest than what I saw on Saturday night. I'm not kidding). I was beginning to feel out of place in my lemon yellow linen shift from the GAP and was happy to be in car and not street walking with the rest of these, umm, ladies(?).
It reminded me of a book I read a couple of years ago entitled Female Chauvinist Pig. It highlighted American culture's curve towards pornography and raunichiness. Stripper poles as exercise, Jenna Jameson selling foam replicas of her body parts, Paris Hilton's sex tape as marketing ploy, etc. In the book, the author interviewed a 12-year old girl who said -- and I'm paraphrasing here, but not too much -- that a girl needs to look like a slut, but not act like one. In other words, our power as women continues to reside in being able to excite men. I can dress like a whore, act like a whore, talk to you like a whore, even have sex with you, but you're not allowed to think of me like a whore because that is sexist. Sigh. This is equality? An important part of Ariel Levy's thesis was that women aren't even thinking about sex when they dress this way or try to emmulate Playboy bunnies cum starlets; that female sex is no longer about her physical passion or desire but about using her sexuality as a power play. You may want me, but you can't have me unless I say you can. Desire me, so I can reject you and feel better about myself. As with most buzz-worthy books, this might be a tab hyperbolic and boiling things down to their lowest common denominator. But with that said, I know plenty of women who hold contrary views about their own sexual empowerment; like a woman who will sleep with a guy that she doesn't like because she "has needs" and she's going "get [hers]," but won't sleep with a guy she does like because she doesn't want him to get the "wrong idea" about her. Umm....
Recently, a friend of mine handed me a book entitled A Return to Modesty. I haven't had the chance to read it yet. But I find it interesting that a book can be published under the guise that modesty is radical. But then again, after trolling Hollywood Boulevard with its plethora of young women dressed like they're ready to attend the AVN Awards, maybe it is.
As for Hugh and me, after about thirty minutes of this game, we went home -- separately and without having sex-- without seeing a sex worker (prostitute is sooo 20th century). But all is not lost, at least not for Hugh. He leaves for Thailand this week. They've got a red light district in Bangkok. Makes it easier to find the women who are willing to get paid for it.
2 comments:
That's so funny. When you mentioned "return to modesty" the other day, I thought to myself, "There the mainstream goes again, discovering Judaism and calling it theirs..." And just now I clicked on the link and read the review and am delighted to see the author was indeed inspired by orthodox jewish women. It's nice to be acknowledged for once. The orthodox are so invisible.
LOL! I love that you and Hugh did that! Awesome. Hugh has lots of prostitute stories. I think he encountered some in NYC as well.
Too much!
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