Written By Sam Rabie

Edited By Carmen Faria

Trigger warning: sexual violence

A group of friends is chatting; they talk about school, that annoying prof, plans for the upcoming weekend, and of course, their prospects. One of them leans in and points toward the neighboring table. “What do you think of that guy? I see him all the time at the gym,” she whispers. The group’s eyes shift in unison, scanning him briefly. In seconds, they’ve gathered all the information they need; his clothes, height, and physique. One of them raises an eyebrow, her expression tinged with disbelief. “Him? Really? Come on, you can do so much better.” The others nod in agreement, reinforcing the sentiment. The girl shrugs, laughing nervously. “Yeah, you’re right. He’s not that cute. I guess I just wanted a gym crush or something. I must’ve been imagining it.” And just like that, any spark of interest is extinguished. The subtle disapproval from her friends, people whose validation she instinctively seeks—shapes and reshapes her desires, defining what a viable prospect looks like and who aligns with the norms of conventional attractiveness. Does that story sound familiar? Although we are not attracted to the same specific people, the boundaries of who we are drawn to, who we decide to pursue or allow to pursue us, and how we engage sexually are heavily dictated by society.

What Drives Attraction 

Desire is a phenomenon that is hard to articulate because of its intangibility. Various theories and disciplines have attempted to explain it. In biology, it is often defined by our need to mate and reproduce, for instance, curvy hips in females have been proposed as indicators of health and fertility to potential mates, though the evidence is not definitive (“Attraction” 4:40). What we do know is that the moment of attraction involves a biological response, triggered by a flood of hormones (“Attraction ” 1:40). However, this initial biological reaction is only one piece of the complex puzzle that comprises human attraction. More significantly, desire is molded by oppressive social structures, which dictate and constrain its design and function.

As long as social hierarchies and power structures exist, internalized social biases will shape perceptions of people based on their belonging to different social groups. These judgments inevitably transmit into the bedroom, influencing sexual attraction. To assume that desire and sex are somehow exempt from the socio-political forces that define our interactions would be naive. Sex should not merely be written off as biological and apolitical, but rather as an interaction shaped by the sociopolitical structures that influence how people develop and navigate their desires. I urge you, the next time you notice someone, anyone, to pause and observe your thoughts or perhaps lack thereof. Why do certain people naturally pique your interest while others remain invisible? Who is strikingly visible, and what sexual assumptions do you make about them? 

Who We Fuck

“Personal preferences are never just personal”

Nothing in our genetics makes us inherently prefer tall, muscular men or skinny yet bottle-shaped women. In The Right to Sex, Amia Srinivasan critiques the narrative of the ‘attractive body,’ describing it as a gendered and racialized construct; a model the dominant group constructed and upholds itself as the standard to arrange all other bodies hierarchically. The ‘attractive body’ is idealized and romanticized as “supremely fuckable”, while everyone else is either marginalized or fetishized, arranged within a hierarchy of relative fuckability (Srinivasan 84). Fetishized bodies are reduced to stereotypical traits, exoticized as hyper-fascinating, and framed as both alluring and alien, further reinforcing societal hierarchies. These marginalized and fetishized bodies continue to be shaped by oppressive social attitudes that reinforce and perpetuate white Eurocentric and heterosexual standards of beauty while subordinating and stereotyping those who don’t fit into this ideal.

Asian men, for instance, are frequently depicted in Western media as nerdy, emasculated, and undesirable (Srinivasan 85). These portrayals reinforce the idea that they should not expect sexual attention from conventionally ‘attractive’ bodies and should instead ‘stay realistic’ in their sexual pursuits. While pervasive tropes of Black men characterize Black male sexuality as both fearsome and fetishized as hypersexual (Srinivasan 84). You don’t need to look any further than the Kardashians to see this fetishization play out. ​​Moreover, the bodies society deems “unfuckable,” including that of trans and fat people are framed as pathological, depicted as sexually repulsive, and in need of  ‘correction’ to conform to dominant social and beauty standards. Trans bodies, in particular, are subjected to cisnormative scrutiny, where their worth is tied to the pursuit of ‘passing’ as cisgender. Even when successful by societal standards, they are perpetually seen as inauthentic, pathologizing their existence as something constantly needing fixing rather than affirming their identities (Serano 128, 137). 

This vat of unfuckable bodies, the ‘everyone else’ is the majority of the dating pool, the hundreds of faces and bodies you swipe left on in dating apps. This does not mean you should force yourself to be intimate with someone you are not attracted to or pity-fuck someone (no parties involved would like that arrangement). However, it also does not mean that your attraction is an inherent, unchangeable fact, immune to scrutiny. After all, personal preference is never just personal, especially when your ‘type’ excludes entire cultural or ethnic groups (Srinivasan 88). While there may be some evolutionary explanations for desiring certain physical traits, little evidence supports the idea of a biological basis for racial preference. Instead, such preferences often reflect political, social, and cultural contexts. Examining the patterns in your sexual past may not be a comfortable task, but what you uncover may reveal deeply ingrained biases and prejudices that can enable you to deconstruct your thoughts and behavior. 

How We Fuck

Similar to how we internalize cultural ideals of the ‘attractive body’ through media, we also internalize how these bodies interact, the roles they perform, and the norms they enforce, all of which shape our sexual fantasies and informal sexual education. Discussions about sex often dominate public debate—whether in conversations about consent, pornography, or sexual norms—but the more pressing question disputed across political ideologies and within feminist movements is how we critique and analyze the world of sex. Where do we draw the line between private personal desires and what warrants social scrutiny? Conversations surrounding consent, while essential for ethical sexual interactions, are insufficient to address the deeper social forces that shape what we desire, how we perceive our bodies, and the roles we inhabit during sex. When framed as the “sole constraint on ethically okay sex,” the topic of consent can obscure the profound ways in which cultural norms and power dynamics influence sexual decisions and fantasies (Srinivasan 84).

Sexual fantasies and kinky sex are not modern anomalies; rather they are natural, longstanding parts of human sexuality. Most fantasies reflect basic human needs: the desire to feel wanted and validated, a yearning for novelty or to break out of routine, and an exploration of power and control (“Sexual Fantasies” 17:20). These themes often overlap with taboos or forbidden desires, underscoring the ways fantasies reflect cultural norms even as they transgress them (“Sexual Fantasies” 11:25). BDSM, which stands for bondage, discipline (or domination), sadism, and masochism, is a practice falling into the “power and control” category and has historical roots stretching back centuries (“Sexual Fantasies” 10:33). Research has shown that among BDSM-related fantasies, the most prevalent are those involving forced sex, often referred to as “rape fantasies,” with 50–70% of people across all genders reporting such fantasies in a study of 4,175 Americans (“Sexual Fantasies” 9:45). These fantasies, like all sexual fantasies “are extensions of our culture,” shaped by the social norms and structures we live within (“Sexual Fantasies” 12:00). 

Patriarchal structures shape all dynamics in society, including sexual preferences, making it impossible to situate them within a vacuum. While we cannot quantify the extent to which patriarchy shapes desire—there is no way to design a social experiment that isolates sexual preferences from gendered socialization—its impact is undeniable. Given this, I remain skeptical that the widespread appeal of dominant and submissive roles, particularly their heavily gendered nature in heterosexual dynamics, is merely a coincidence. While these dynamics may feel natural to many, the mainstream popularity of dominant and submissive roles cannot be separated from a culture that romanticizes power imbalances and perpetuates male dominance.

A phrase I have heard friends say when discussing their latest hook-up is, “he was nice; he didn’t pressure me to have sex with him,” or “he really wanted to have sex, I didn’t want to, it was kind of hot how bad he wanted me, but don’t worry nothing about it was rapey.” These sentiments reflect how male sexual assertiveness is normalized, stemming from the belief that men possess uncontrollable, primal sex drives (Conley al.). This narrative not only justifies male entitlement to sex but also frames women’s bodies as vessels for male pleasure. Such beliefs naturalize male dominance and female submission as a biological gendered difference. Media representations of rape fantasies have long reinforced these dynamics, with Fifty Shades of Grey standing as one of the most prominent contemporary examples through the dynamic between Anastasia Steele and Christian Grey. In the film, Christian’s aggressive pursuit of Anastasia is romanticized, even though his behavior reflects many of the problematic tropes of male entitlement to sex and power. These portrayals reinforce the expectation that men should be dominant and relentless in their pursuit of sex, while women should be passive, existing to satisfy male desires often at the expense of their own autonomy and pleasure. This normalization of gendered power imbalances is pervasive in dominant media representations, which shape our collective cultural knowledge, including, unsurprisingly, pornography (a topic that deserves its own discussion).

Another common sentiment among young women today is shock when men prioritize their pleasure first. This reaction underscores how male sexuality and pleasure are often prioritized in heterosexual encounters, leaving women to evaluate their sexual experiences based on how well they satisfied their partner rather than being in touch with their own pleasure and satisfaction. Socialist feminist Alison Jaggar explains this phenomenon through Marxist alienation theory, arguing that under patriarchy, women are alienated from their sexuality due to objectification and the expectation to perform their sexuality for male pleasure rather than experiencing it for their own (309). When a hookup goes poorly, women frequently internalize it as a personal failure: “Was I not attractive enough? Did I do something wrong?” This dynamic inhibits women’s ability to connect with their own sexuality and desires, as they focus instead on their partner’s pleasure and perception of them—a phenomenon known as “spectatoring” (Lewis). How a woman is positioned, what she plays up or downplays during sex, is “micromanaged by society’s representations of female sexuality” (Lewis). Female sexuality must first be freed from its confines under the control of male sexuality to allow women to freely explore their sexuality within their body rather than through the perspective of the male gaze.

While I acknowledge that sexual fantasies are a normal part of human experience and can serve as meaningful expressions and outlets for many, the mainstream prevalence of gendered dominant and submissive roles and violence in sex, demands examination within our patriarchal social context. This examination does not mean shaming our own or others’ sexual preferences or denying ourselves the sex we enjoy because it is entrenched in patriarchal power dynamics. What this examination does entail is being critical thinkers and reflecting upon the ways in which sex and desire are political. We are society’s sponges; the personal is political, and so, too, is how we fuck.

The Malleability of Desire

Desire is not fixed; you are not born with a ‘type,’ nor are you inherently destined to certain sexual preferences based on your identity. Instead, desire is shaped and reshaped by the present societal structures. Much like biases, desire operates in the background of our consciousness, requiring active awareness and scrutiny to deconstruct and dismantle the oppressive forces that influence it. Next time you find yourself in bed with someone, I urge you to acknowledge the third party in the room—society. It will always be present, but by recognizing it as an external presence, rather than an intrinsic part of your desire, you can begin to challenge it with greater clarity and genuinely engage in the journey of your sexuality. Sexuality is not a static truth; it is a dynamic process, and by understanding its malleability, we open ourselves up to more meaningful and genuine sexual connections. 

References 

Amia Srinivasan. The Right to Sex. S.L., Bloomsbury Publishing, 2021.

Attraction. Sex, Explained, season 1, episode 1, Netflix, 2020.

Conley, Terri D, et al. Love Is Political: How Power and Bias Influence Our Intimate Lives. 6 Dec. 2018, pp. 117–137, https://doi.org/10.1017/9781108658225.007.

Jaggar, Alison. The Politics of Socialist Feminism. 1983.

Serano, Julia. Whipping Girl: A Transsexual Woman on Sexism and the Scapegoating of Femininity. Berkeley, California Seal Press, 2007.

Sexual Fantasies. Sex, Explained, season 1, episode 1, Netflix, 2020.