A while back, I posted a poll on my Instagram story: “Is swinging a kink?” The response was mixed, with no identifiable pattern among respondents. A few weeks later, I read an essay by Susan Bratton about “Praise Kinks,” whereby someone is aroused by being praised, often with particular language but not always. I asked myself, as she argues in the essay, is that really a kink? If most people find being praised arousing, is it a kink?
“Listen, there is no such thing as a “Praise Kink.” Because it’s not “kinky” to want to be adored and praised. It’s normal.”
-Susan Bratton, BetterLover.com
Still, many people argue that a Praise Kink is a real thing.
So, what does a “kink” entail? Does it need to be something that a small percentage of people find arousing, but most others do not find arousing? Does it need to be something with an element of perversion, shock, or disgust? Does it need to be unconventional?
I’ve now heard a couple men who play with men in the Lifestyle refer to male-male play as a kink. Can something that many people do on the daily, or even integrate as part of their public identity, qualify as a kink for others?
And, does a kink even need to be sexual?
I recently saw a post by The Kink Collective (@kink_collective) explaining that BDSM play is not always sexual. I’m skeptical. Sure, the BDSM dynamic is about more than just sex, but isn’t BDSM the most obvious and enduring (sexual) kink of them all? If someone asked someone on the street to name a kink, I think BDSM would be near the top of most common responses.
At the same time, this description of BDSM as non-sexual does comport with my experiences of BDSM settings, as well as what I’ve learned from friends who engage in BDSM arrangements. Which is it?
“BDSM parties (play parties) have a very low “sexual component.” The erotic charge is absolutely there, often even more than in swinger parties, but not in the classic sense of sexual intercourse.”
In my mind, there are two possibilities. The first is that there is a definition of kink, and it involves something sexual and unconventional. If that’s the case, then swinging would likely be considered a kink to people who do not swing, just as male-male play could be a kink for men who typically do not engage in such activity. In that situation, BDSM is a kink, but only when its sexual. Under this definition I don’t think a Praise Kink would typically be a kink, because it’s not unconventional – everyone has it.
The other possibility is that a kink can used to describe anything one enjoys, sexual or not. This is perhaps a political use of the word, but not necessarily a bad one. I say political because whenever we change the meaning of a word it’s political. If it used to mean one thing, and then a person or group seeks to expand its meaning, there is an agenda there. What could the agenda be to dilute the word “kink”?
I can think of a few reasons. First, if we broaden the word to include sexual and non-sexual activity, it becomes more inclusive to those who don’t identify with the previously-accepted forms of sexuality. For example, asexual people may have kinks. They may enjoy BDSM but not in terms of the sexual arousal we used to connote with the word. In this way, they get to participate in something that would have previously excluded them.
Similarly, when thinking about a Praise Kink, it’s a way to get everyone to accept they may have kinks. This also can be good. It can destigmatize other kinks, just like, say, realizing you have any peculiarity can increase your compassion for those with others, even if theirs strike you as more peculiar. Suddenly you are on the same spectrum. Someone may be more extreme than you, but they are harder to shame and more socially acceptable given you, too, understand the concept of unique forms of arousal. Here I’m thinking of a suburban housewife, who loves being called a “good girl.” Even though this is extremely common, it’s possible naming it a “kink” gives her permission to let go of some shame and identify with a fellow cohort of women who like this. Perhaps, thinking of herself as a little kinky lets her explore other kinks. And, even further, she may be less likely to shame a friend who says she’s really into pain-play given she herself also has a “kink.”
But any time we change the meaning of words, it causes confusion. If you search the web right now for “kink,” a lot of people seem sincerely confused about whether their sexual desires are kinky or not. Maybe it doesn’t matter, but I think it does. Things that were written about kinks ten years ago–perhaps writings that brought people comfort and helped them make sense of themselves–won’t make sense now. People with unconventional sexual kinks who want to find community with others will have a harder time doing so. They will need to create new words and events to identify their people and describe their experiences. We’re watering something down. For many people, their “kink” shaped their sexual identity – but when everyone is kinky, it can feel like no one is.
In any event, I think it’s fair to say the use of the term “kink” is changing. Is this a good thing? What do you think?
Kinky no matter the definition,
Honey
P.S. Is it possible the issue of defining a kink difficult because the line between what is sexual and what is not also lacks definition and clarity? I think so. As once said by the beautiful and likely-kinky Janelle Monae, “Everything is sex, except sex, which is power.” Food for your kinky thoughts.