Amia Srinivasan

Essential lessons on the world we live in, from one of our greatest young thinkers – a guide to what everybody is talking about today 'Unparalleled and extraordinary . . . A bracing revivification of a crucial lineage in feminist writing' JIA TOLENTINO 'I believe Amia Srinivasan's work will change the world' KATHERINE RUNDELL 'Rigorously researched, but written with such spark and verve. The best non-fiction book I have read this year' PANDORA SYKES ------------------------- How should we talk about sex? It is a thing we have and also a thing we do; a supposedly private act laden with public meaning; a personal preference shaped by outside forces; a place where pleasure and ethics can pull wildly apart. Since #MeToo many have fixed on consent as the key framework for achieving sexual justice. Yet consent is a blunt tool. To grasp sex in all its complexity – its deep ambivalences, its relationship to gender, class, race and power – we need to move beyond 'yes and no', wanted and unwanted. We need to interrogate the fraught relationships between discrimination and preference, pornography and freedom, rape and racial injustice, punishment and accountability, pleasure and power, capitalism and liberation. We need to rethink sex as a political phenomenon. Searching, trenchant and extraordinarily original, The Right to Sex is a landmark examination of the politics and ethics of sex in this world, animated by the hope of a different one.

The Right to Sex

“Laser-cut writing and a stunning intellect. If only every writer made this much beautiful sense.” —Lisa Taddeo, author of Three Women “Amia Srinivasan is an unparalleled and extraordinary writer—no one X-rays an argument, a desire, a contradiction, a defense mechanism quite like her. In stripping the new politics of sex and power down to its fundamental and sometimes clashing principles, The Right to Sex is a bracing revivification of a crucial lineage in feminist writing: Srinivasan is daring, compassionate, and in relentless search of a new frame.” —Jia Tolentino, author of Trick Mirror: Reflections on Self Delusion “Amia Srinivasan reveals both the material opportunities and dead-ends of a century-long conscious trajectory towards female empowerment. The Right to Sex reminds us of the foundational complexities to Women's Liberation ideas and why we are still grappling with them. This gathering of evidence invites readers to create new knowledge.” —Sarah Schulman, author of Let the Record Show: A Political History of ACT UP New York, 1987-1993 Thrilling, sharp, and deeply humane, philosopher Amia Srinivasan's The Right to Sex: Feminism in the Twenty-First Century upends the way we discuss—or avoid discussing—the problems and politics of sex. How should we think about sex? It is a thing we have and also a thing we do; a supposedly private act laden with public meaning; a personal preference shaped by outside forces; a place where pleasure and ethics can pull wildly apart. How should we talk about sex? Since #MeToo many have fixed on consent as the key framework for achieving sexual justice. Yet consent is a blunt tool. To grasp sex in all its complexity—its deep ambivalences, its relationship to gender, class, race and power—we need to move beyond yes and no, wanted and unwanted. We do not know the future of sex—but perhaps we could imagine it. Amia Srinivasan’s stunning debut helps us do just that. She traces the meaning of sex in our world, animated by the hope of a different world. She reaches back into an older feminist tradition that was unafraid to think of sex as a political phenomenon. She discusses a range of fraught relationships—between discrimination and preference, pornography and freedom, rape and racial injustice, punishment and accountability, students and teachers, pleasure and power, capitalism and liberation. The Right to Sex: Feminism in the Twenty-First Century is a provocation and a promise, transforming many of our most urgent political debates and asking what it might mean to be free.

Feminism in the Twenty-First Century

Helen 

These disgraced but loved, ruined but rich, never to be employed again until they are employed again, prodigal sons of #MeToo: they and their defenders are not, for all their protestations of innocence and accusations of lynching, outraged by the falsity of women's accusations. They are outraged by the truth of those accusations. They are outraged, most of all, that saying sorry doesn't make it all better: that women expect them, together with the world that brought them to power, to change. But why should they? Don't you know who the fuck they are?

As the legal academic James Forman Jr. puts it, abolitionism asks sto 'imagine a world without prisons, and then...work to try to build that world'.

But a feminist politics which sees the punishment of bad en as its primary purpose will never be a feminism that liberates all women for it obscures what makes most women unfree.

the family as a site of feminine care serves capitalism by giving men emotional and sexual compensation for the coercion of market relations. The hidden cost of this is the coercion of the patriarchal home: a cost borne principally by women. Incels' real complaint is that there are no women to offer them respite from the very system that their ideology - in its insistence on women as status-conferring commodities -props up.

Must the transtormation of desi a disciplinary project (wilfully altering our desires in line with ou politics) –or can it be an emancipatory one (setting our desires free from politics)? 

Sex is no longer morally problematic or unproblematic: it is instead merely wanted or unwanted. In this sense, the norms of sex are like the norms of capitalist free exchange. What matters is not what conditions give rise to the dynamics of supply and demand - why some people need to sell their labour while others buy it but only that both buyer and seller have agreed to the transfer. 

A feminism that trades too freely in notions of self-deception is a fem- inism that risks dominating the subjects it presumes to liberate.

Still we can ask: why does the woman viewer have to become man to exert power? 

You're doing it wrong. Porn w for this young man the normative standard of sex, against which i. girlfriend was measured and found wanting, Porn is not pedagogy yet it often functions as if it were. 

A 2010 meta-analysis concluded that there is a 'signiicant over- all relationship between pornography consumption and attitudes supporting violence against women.The association was 'signif- cantly stronger' in the case of pornography classed as 'violent, but was still statistically significant in the case of 'non-violent' pornography. 

As Catharine MacKinnon has pointed out, affirmative consent laws simply shift the goalposts on what constitutes legally acceptable sex: whereas previously men had to stop when women said no, now they just have to get women to say yes, How do we formulate a regulation that prohibits the sort of sex that is produced by patriarchy? Could the reason that this question is so hard to answer be that the law is simply the wrong tool for the job? 

A woman going on with sex act she no longer wants to perform, knowing she can a n get up and walk away but knowing at the same time that this will make her a blue-balling tease, an object of male contempt: there is more going on here than mere ambivalence, unpleasantness and regret t. There is also a kind of coercion: not directly by Bonsu, perhaps but by the informal regulatory system of gendered sexual expec- Sometimes the price for violating these expectations is steep, even fatal. That is why there is a connection between these episodes of 'ordinary' sex and the 'actual wrongs and harms' of sexual assault. 

To situate the discussions on sex is to also understand its elusive history, a concept avoided by conservatives and progressives alike. On one side of the spectrum, some right-wingers reprimand the idea of sex work, or sex as a whole, as they pride themselves as chaste and preservers of moral traditionalism. On the other hand, the Left has always viewed sex with caution, rejecting the notion of “sex work” since it legitimizes the subjugation of women and preserves the capitalistic framework that maintains predatory industries. It’s a tricky terrain to explore, yet Amia Srinivasan was brave enough to go there. In just six essays, Srinivasan covered relevant issues pertaining to sex: false rape accusations, the incel movement, fuckability, teacher-student relationship, carceralism, and prostitution.

Nobody is as intellectually honest as Srinivasan. She understands the bounds of an argument, so she’s able to filter absolutist takes, offering a nuanced perspective on issues that seem, from back then, simply black and white. Her discussion on “false rape accusations” interrogates as much as it clarifies. According to her collated data, victims of false accusations were predominantly Black men who were poor and disenfranchised. But she did not mention this sad statistic just to garner sympathy for defamed men, she wants to put an intersectional vantage for us to see how there are minor pitfalls in feminist campaigns like “#IBelieveHer”—something that can still be rectified. She also challenges the fixation of feminism on the prison system, asking an important question of “whether a carceral approach that systematically harms poor people and people of color can serve sexual justice.” 

Beyond these interrogations, Srinivasan never fails to dissect the logic that is behind every feminist sentiment. She asserts the rarity of false rape accusations, how it’s astutely similar to a plane crash, “an objectively unusual event that occupies an outsized place in the public imagination.” She also shares her frustration with the legal system where the burden of proof rests with the accuser, not the accused. It takes a lot of dehumanization to prove that a woman was raped. This is why for Srinivasan, “believe women” is not an injunction to forego legal principle, but a political response to the unfair application of the law. 

Another interesting topic that cemented Srinivasan’s unparalleled writing is her discussion of “fuckability.” Does anyone really have the right to sex? She takes an interesting angle about desire and love, and how all our pinned identities predict our chances to be desired.  She writes it perfectly in this quote: “There is no entitlement to sex, and everyone is entitled to want what they want, but personal preferences—NO DICKS, NO FEMS, NO FATS, NO BLACKS, NO ARABS, NO RICE (ASIAN), NO SPICE (LATIN), MASC-FOR-MASC—are rarely just personal.” This means that our preferences are mainly shaped by political forces. For Filipinos, our preference for light-skinned people is a testament to our colorism, the colonial vestiges of being occupied by white colonizers for so many years. Then there’s preference for muscles, the able-bodied, the perfectly toned people, all influenced by how media, especially Western media, has shaped the archetype of “what is desirable.” Then there’s preference for the already wealthy, which is automatically political in and of itself. But Srinivasan is wary that her good intention of surfacing this observation might be labeled authoritarian, so as a matter of good politics, she wants us to look inward and not ask if there is a right to sex, but whether if there is “a duty to transfigure, as best as we can, our desires.” She hopes that we will reach a time when our desires “can cut against what politics has chosen for us.”

Amia Srinivasan also imparts a sharp insight into the current debate about "sex work." She recognizes the need to have a future where there will be no prostitution, but such a future cannot happen instantly, so the sensible route to take is to ground ourselves and improve the conditions of the women who sell sex today. 

But Srinivasan is not preaching, her arguments intend to augment more arguments, more questions. She wants readers to build upon what she knows, and to do this, she writes digestible essays where all jargons come with little quoted explanations. Although this is an admirably imperfect text, it’s a good reference for those who want to deepen their feminism regarding contemporary issues. 

Kent Reymark Tocayon

To situate the discussions on sex is to also understand its elusive history, a concept avoided by conservatives and progressives alike. On one side of the spectrum, some right-wingers reprimand the idea of sex work, or sex as a whole, as they pride themselves as chaste and preservers of moral traditionalism. On the other hand, the Left has always viewed sex with caution, rejecting the notion of “sex work” since it legitimizes the subjugation of women and preserves the capitalistic framework that maintains predatory industries. It’s a tricky terrain to explore, yet Amia Srinivasan was brave enough to go there. In just six essays, Srinivasan covered relevant issues pertaining to sex: false rape accusations, the incel movement, fuckability, teacher-student relationship, carceralism, and prostitution.

Nobody is as intellectually honest as Srinivasan. She understands the bounds of an argument, so she’s able to filter absolutist takes, offering a nuanced perspective on issues that seem, from back then, simply black and white. Her discussion on “false rape accusations” interrogates as much as it clarifies. According to her collated data, victims of false accusations were predominantly Black men who were poor and disenfranchised. But she did not mention this sad statistic just to garner sympathy for defamed men, she wants to put an intersectional vantage for us to see how there are minor pitfalls in feminist campaigns like “#IBelieveHer”—something that can still be rectified. She also challenges the fixation of feminism on the prison system, asking an important question of “whether a carceral approach that systematically harms poor people and people of color can serve sexual justice.” 

Beyond these interrogations, Srinivasan never fails to dissect the logic that is behind every feminist sentiment. She asserts the rarity of false rape accusations, how it’s astutely similar to a plane crash, “an objectively unusual event that occupies an outsized place in the public imagination.” She also shares her frustration with the legal system where the burden of proof rests with the accuser, not the accused. It takes a lot of dehumanization to prove that a woman was raped. This is why for Srinivasan, “believe women” is not an injunction to forego legal principle, but a political response to the unfair application of the law. 

Another interesting topic that cemented Srinivasan’s unparalleled writing is her discussion of “fuckability.” Does anyone really have the right to sex? She takes an interesting angle about desire and love, and how all our pinned identities predict our chances to be desired.  She writes it perfectly in this quote: “There is no entitlement to sex, and everyone is entitled to want what they want, but personal preferences—NO DICKS, NO FEMS, NO FATS, NO BLACKS, NO ARABS, NO RICE (ASIAN), NO SPICE (LATIN), MASC-FOR-MASC—are rarely just personal.” This means that our preferences are mainly shaped by political forces. For Filipinos, our preference for light-skinned people is a testament to our colorism, the colonial vestiges of being occupied by white colonizers for so many years. Then there’s preference for muscles, the able-bodied, the perfectly toned people, all influenced by how media, especially Western media, has shaped the archetype of “what is desirable.” Then there’s preference for the already wealthy, which is automatically political in and of itself. But Srinivasan is wary that her good intention of surfacing this observation might be labeled authoritarian, so as a matter of good politics, she wants us to look inward and not ask if there is a right to sex, but whether if there is “a duty to transfigure, as best as we can, our desires.” She hopes that we will reach a time when our desires “can cut against what politics has chosen for us.”

Amia Srinivasan also imparts a sharp insight into the current debate about "sex work." She recognizes the need to have a future where there will be no prostitution, but such a future cannot happen instantly, so the sensible route to take is to ground ourselves and improve the conditions of the women who sell sex today. 

But Srinivasan is not preaching, her arguments intend to augment more arguments, more questions. She wants readers to build upon what she knows, and to do this, she writes digestible essays where all jargons come with little quoted explanations. Although this is an admirably imperfect text, it’s a good reference for those who want to deepen their feminism regarding contemporary issues. 



Srinivasan is so sharp in her critique. this is a great survey on a few of the most blurry and exciting topics in feminist jurisprudence

Heiki Riesenkampf

I was motivated to read something I would not agree with. Instead of what I hoped for, the book felt like a recollection of different sides of feminist movements and how they represent different parts of the discussion around sex. I would have honestly loved to read much more about the author's own opinion on different topics.

Really thought provoking essays on feminism, porn, student professor relationships and much more. Easy to read and passionately engaging. 

Julia Rivera

Shameera Nair Lin

'On Not Sleeping With Your Students' should be mandatory reading for professors.

Bradford Fults

Just very, very good. An intense and unblinking look into the maw of misogynist murder and hatred. Linger with her in these un-talked-about spaces long enough to absorb her clarity of thought and inform your own perspective. You will be a better person for it.

Lorena Avila

𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓮

Emma Nash

Milly Schmidt

Sebastian Leck

lala

Karolina Klermon-Williams

Nicholas Barnard

Sam D

Misha

kate

Thrilling, sharp, and deeply humane, philosopher Amia Srinivasan's The Right to Sex: Feminism in the Twenty-First Century upends the way we discuss—or avoid discussing—the problems and politics of sex. How should we think about sex? It is a thing we have and also a thing we do; a supposedly private act laden with public meaning; a personal preference shaped by outside forces; a place where pleasure and ethics can pull wildly apart. How should we talk about sex? Since #MeToo many have fixed on consent as the key framework for achieving sexual justice. Yet consent is a blunt tool. To grasp sex in all its complexity—its deep ambivalences, its relationship to gender, class, race and power—we need to move beyond yes and no, wanted and unwanted. We do not know the future of sex—but perhaps we could imagine it. Amia Srinivasan’s stunning debut helps us do just that. She traces the meaning of sex in our world, animated by the hope of a different world. She reaches back into an older feminist tradition that was unafraid to think of sex as a political phenomenon. She discusses a range of fraught relationships—between discrimination and preference, pornography and freedom, rape and racial injustice, punishment and accountability, students and teachers, pleasure and power, capitalism and liberation. The Right to Sex: Feminism in the Twenty-First Century is a provocation and a promise, transforming many of our most urgent political debates and asking what it might mean to be free.

The Right to Sex

Reviews

Highlights