Could Samantha Jones, our favourite sass goddess from Sex & the City be our new romantic anti hero and sexual pioneer? Our beloved Sam Jones represents the archetype of the slut, touting an MO that frames intimacy and sex as disposable. She's a figurehead of sexual liberty that I personally believe we are too fearful of letting into our lives for the worry that we’ll explode into shame. Although she challenges the popular diaspora of promiscuity, its unfortunately not without negative connotation. Openly preferring sex, romance and passion to come with an expiration date Samantha aims to keep her sexual encounters short and sticky. I mean, sweet. Don’t be mistaken though, SJ doesn’t shy away from romance or intimacy, she just likes it in small, controlled doses.
Before we dive into the psychoanalysis of her daddy issues, can we not just enjoy the symbolism on an uncomplicated level; a woman (human) who likes sex. And why should she not? Sex may be the only thing in life that is natural, free and enjoyable and we all have the same ability to experience it as such. It’s only a matter of attitude, choice and impatience in wanting to label it.
The disposable dating culture in 2021 is both compromised and elevated by hook up apps like Bumble, Grinder and Happen. Aside from changing the way we initially meet and interact (and shortening our patience and challenging expectations along the way) is it really just a case of reinventing the wheel? When I found myself questioning the validity of Samantha Jones’ preference for fucking and leaving an analysis of her sexual agenda gave me answers.
And here it is:
First dates are a lot of things, including nerve racking and effort inducing, and although those 2 components may never be removed for some, when you subtract hope, expectation and the hypothetical “what nexts” it can actually become enjoyable. Imagine first dates in the same way we slap situations with a #YOLO as a reason to do (and enjoy) an experience completely, without fear of what happens next.
Expiration dating takes the pressure off impressing past tomorrow because nobody is questioning your family lineage or counting white blood cells. At the same time, a first date always requires the delicate dance of effort, chemistry and charm and the silent compliance that the prospect of getting naked together isn’t completely atrocious. There’s an innocent freedom and magic in knowing that the connection is limited to a one time only thing; you drop inhibitions, expectations and allow those oft repressed and just as mysteriously magic, carnal desires to take the reigns. As bizarre as it may seem, humans don’t go out of the way to try and disappoint each other, which means that during a first encounter with a new lover we’re still trying to impress, even with the limitations of practicality and time in mind, and that is multiplied when our own pleasure is at stake. Forgive me for making a positive of the shallowness of deriving pleasure from short lived encounters based only on chemistry, scent and the way someone touches their glass or parts their lips. Perhaps it may not be the perfect recipe for a happily ever after, but when you’re walking down the street the next day, smiling to flashbacks of sweaty limbs, intertwined pleasure, sweet compliments and a wonderful bump of serotonin then why the fuck does it matter? You’re happy. They’re happy. Sometimes that’s all it is, and the simplicity of it is damn sexual.