Part I: Aperitivo, or, Aziz Ansari is coming to dinner
Conversations about sex are always mysterious. Everyone can agree that it’s a topic of general interest and certainly universally relevant; despite this, sex still feels private. The expressions, movements, gestures, and words released during a sexual encounter constitute a portal leading inside an actual person, one revealed only in their most carnal and inelegant state. In the past, publicly broadcasting details of these moments was unquestionably gauche, and privately recounting them was unquestionably delightful. Learning about someone’s sex life means expanding the knowledge base from which you draw conclusions about their character, and most likely, their flaws; this may be a given since familiarity breeds contempt.
People crave information from Aziz Ansari right now. There are things we want to know.
What (if anything) do you feel went wrong during your evening with Grace? Why do you think she was uncomfortable? When did you realize she wasn’t having fun? Why did you meet up with a 23-year-old photographer from Brooklyn? What were your intentions? What were hers? How many times have you done this? Would you act this way with me? Are you okay? Are you mad at her? Do you want to tell people she’s lying or egged you on, but know you can’t? Why did you brush Grace off initially? Are you worried that other women are going to start sharing all those times you fucked up? Are you even sorry?
These questions cannot and will not be answered accurately — ever. Even if he recorded his entire life, answers to these questions are still only guesses, estimates, or biased recollections. All we know of the accuracy of someone’s recall, the likelihood of their version of events, and the veracity of their answers is what we can prove, what we can infer, and most importantly, what we choose to believe.
Most of these questions are relevant to anyone who has not checked if a companion is in the throes of discomfort, uncertainty, or hesitation following something they’ve said or done that could elicit such a reaction — like asking them a personal question or shoving fingers into their mouths without washing their hands. They’re relevant to people who compulsively doubt their friends’ or significant other’s affection. They’re relevant for people who are routinely told they’re “overly affectionate” or “really touchy-feely.” They’re relevant to people who have come out of interactions from job interviews to networking events or anywhere a conversation felt forced. They’re relevant, as these examples suggest, to everyone who has ever experienced an unpleasant encounter.
Of course, if you ever find yourself being asked these questions, you don’t have to tell the truth; not to yourself and certainly not to anyone else. You can fool anyone as long as you’re a better actor than people think you are.
I am not particularly attached to #MeToo. I support it and its aims, but the way this iteration came about did not sit well with me at the time and bothers me to this day. That large women’s movements of the past two years have become synonymous with “white feminism” and “POC erasure” for me is clear evidence of my bias, and I will stand by the statement that #MeToo posts are, however unintentionally, a form of reverse doxxing to trigger people to death. Nevertheless, it is what is happening and it is important. Important enough that a wave of people have posited “Babegate” will completely invalidate it, as though the now-President’s dalliances with adult film stars was just barely the fourth most interesting news story of the week. Important enough to cause a wave of people in my newsfeed to implicitly profess to understanding what “consent” means adroitly enough to attack others overs it.
I have heard and read the word “consent” several hundred times over the past 72 hours and every instance has reaffirmed my belief that 1) our current definition of “consent” is a failure and 2) culturally, our sexual experiences exist within a binary of “rape” and “not rape.”
Now, for the time and effort it takes to begin understanding the chaotic intricacies of “socializing,” you might end up accidentally writing (or reading) a Russian novel. As an audience member of “Babegate,” I take breaks every so often, because to immerse oneself in an examination of so mundane a story is to examine why it demands one’s attention. Why do I care? Why are there so many think pieces about the article, the incident, and how it is normal/ordinary/not unique, while the now-President’s indiscretions with an adult film star, a doctor’s abuse of at least 140 young girls and women, and a TV actor’s revelation of her abuse as a child star all hit at the same time? Is it easier to have an opinion on something that doesn’t feel like as much of a big deal as those three things? Is it because I identify too closely with either of the romantic leads? It has been a few days, do I even care anymore?
I discuss my experience absorbing the issues at hand and their accompanying bevy of think pieces in Part II of this series. Parts III & IV are an examination of our individual characters’ trajectories and their brief intersection in nauseating detail. (The only pre-requisite for character-status is the possession of agency. “Agency,” as used here, is most unscientifically interchangeable with “capacity, potential, timing, or, the ability to do something to influence a situation”). Part V is a discussion with a too-woke actor friend who I believe practices what we purport Ansari to have preached. Part VI is an analysis of my research and a whole bunch of opinions. Part VII is a discussion of #MeToo, Ansari’s options, and my suggestion for his next steps. Part VIII is, in a way, a palate cleanser.
This is not a story. This is an essay about a story. It is filled with research, inferences, educated guesses, and sometimes, wild assertions. There are many ways to respond to it. You can share only the parts you agree with, discourage people from reading it all, call it overly sympathetic or not nearly empathetic enough for either side, or, my favorite: fish out quotes that summarize your feelings exactly, all without thinking about why it takes so many words to arrive at grossly oversimplified conclusions. Bon appétit.
