A couple of overconfident sentences aside, Second Skin makes the case for the broad understanding of what Fedorova likes to call “extended sexuality.” Understanding humanity’s “multiplicity of pleasure and fulfillment” can lead to acceptance, interest, and better sex. Communication is the central point, and shedding the social stigma requires conversations, even if it’s a boner-killer during pillow talk. “To take away the complexity [of fetishes] would be to take away our agency to interrogate boundaries and taboos,” she explains. “To write on fetish is to face the ugliness and the messiness in ourselves.”
Despite this, I yearned to learn about something truly disgusting or horrifically boundary-pushing. Fedorova briefly dives into when fetish becomes objectification, examining “race play,” in which the races of sexual partners (along with slurs and objects associated with racial history) are used to enforce a power dynamic. But that’s the thorniest example in the book. A foot fetish is old hat—you couldn’t find anyone who likes to be pissed on?
Even if the internet has birthed some truly pearl-clutching admissions, Fedorova is right that “for the first time in history, our knowledge of desire is not limited to our own experiences or to those of our close confidants.” Open Reddit and find some of the most insane dating stories or mortifying disclosures to know that it’s a place of hedonistic beauty, not shame. “We should all know less about each other,” a New York Times opinion essay famously starts. Wrong! We can get as close as we can to another human by knowing what makes their engine run.
Yet there was another idea in Second Skin that I disagreed with initially—when speaking about issues of consent, boundaries and community pleasure, Karl Verboten, who runs London’s kink-heavy Klub Verboten, says that a shift in the culture has occurred: “We’re less transactional with each other, we’re thinking a little bit more about responsibility for each other.”
Perhaps in England, this reads differently, but my American mind couldn’t help but recall the pandemic that was exacerbated by others’ ignorance and indignity, along with the narcissist we’ve elected, twice, who is now running the country having promised a steady diet of cruelty, rage, and self-preservation. At least for the general voting public, it appears we’ve become more selfish, scared, and willing to forgo responsibility in the name of what’s best for us.
But maybe the fetishists have a point, or simply operate under a different guide—their shared shame pointing them to kindness instead of anger, understanding instead of vitriol. I certainly won’t be showing up to work in a gimp costume tomorrow, but sexual exploration—a brief realm where one can engage in fantasy, sublimation, and pleasure—can bring a greater understanding of what makes us tick, the power structures beneath us, and, if you’re lucky, an orgasm. There is space, in all of our bodies, for more.
So can a politics of desire be transformed into a politics of, well, politics? Should the next “No Kings” protest be led by dominatrixes in twelve-inch heels whipping dog-masked men? New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani recently shouted out the gay hockey romance Heated Rivalry during a press conference—is a rubber-laden chief of staff next? Second Skin finds this possibility necessary and obviously a little erotic. It’s a matter of time before “In God We Trust” is replaced by “Different Strokes for Different Folks.” And isn’t that a more fitting American dream?