CollegeCandy » skank

“NYC Skank” Sues Google

Lauren - University of Michigan — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 19:39:45 +0000

In the old days, if someone ruined your reputation by spreading false information about you, you could sue them for defamation of character. Since the internet came about, however, finding those people who say horrible things about you is not always as easy.

Blogs, websites, Facebook profiles, etc. give everyone with an internet connection the ability to create their own stories and share them with the world. And they can do so without ever telling anyone their name. It happens on Juicy Campus every day, and on other sites all across the internet.

So what do you do when someone starts spreading rumors about you online?

Liskula Cohen, a model in New York, decided to fight back after one blogger anonymously called her a skank and an old hag. (Editor’s Note: Seriously? This woman is smoking!) Since she doesn’t know who it was, Cohen has decided to sue Google, the owner of the blogging site the comment was posted on.

Sure, it sucks when people call you a skank (welcome to my life as a CC blogger), but isn’t a lawsuit a bit much? It’s not like being a skank will prevent her from futhering her career, or that anyone is taking this blogger seriously. Plus, think about what could happen if Cohen wins; this could change the face of the internet and freedom of speech forever.

What do you think? Is Cohen justified, or is she just a bitter skank?

The Latest in Reality Dating Shows: Hookers Need Love Too

Kathryn S — Sat, 12 Jul 2008 21:00:40 +0000

Remember when Girls Gone Wild used to shame party girls across the country who had one too many body shots on Spring Break and had the bad luck to land in front of a camera? Since when has slutty behavior turned into a profitable asset and a celebrity vehicle? Mini Me’s lover is collecting big after a sex tape “somehow” leaked, and now Eliot Spitzer’s ex-whore is getting a REALITY TV SHOW. I can’t believe that we Americans will actually tune in to the lives of nutjobs like the Lohans, the Kardashians, and now, some hooker who happened to win the jackpot.

When Tila Tequila burst on the scene, she had a great gimmick: the first bisexual reality dating show. But after the Bobby Banhart breakup-scandal, and oh-so-predictable opposite-gender-choosing finale in season 2, there’s not much buzz left in Tequilaville. Bring in the hooker! If you thought Tila’s patented, “How will your parents react when they find out I’m bisexual?” act starts to get old, imagine the “How will your parents react when they find out I’m the whore that ruined Eliot Spitzer’s career?” segment.

Yes, Handprint Entertainment, the fine folks who bring the lives of Pamela Anderson and Nicole Ritchie to the small screen, are in talks with MTV to give Ashley Dupre a shot at love. Monica Lewinski must be green with envy. Sure, she got a book deal, but she could have found “true love” in front of millions of strangers, and the producers would probably have thrown in a mansion as well!

If the dating show falls through, I’d like to pitch some backup ideas to Dupre’s new producers:

1. Dupre’s Deal or No Deal- Combination dating-slash-game show: Dupre’s bachelors be able to buy some sex after their “one-on-one” dates. But what about after elimination?

2. Hooker and the Geek- 10 prostitutes and 10 geeks are paired up to learn from each other. The geeks teach the girls financial skills and politics (so they can find themselves their own Spitzer prototype), and, well, you can guess how the ladies reciprocate.

3. What Not to Wear: Escort Edition- I think the name says it all.

4. Real World: The Brothel- This is the true story of seven pimps and prostitutes picked to live in a house…

5. Are You Smarter than a Harlot?- Jeff Foxworthy would host this one for free!

6. The Slutty-real Life- Okay, so my Surreal Life pun needs work. But they can invite back reality skanks Trishelle Cannatella and Adrianne Curry, and let the STD’s begin!

Shows that probably won’t end up in TV Guide: Made: I Want to Have Sex for Money; So You Think You Can Screw; Celebrity F*** Club.

If programming catapults Ashley Dupre to the top of the celebutante ladder, why stop there? Throw in a record deal! If Brooke Hogan and Heidi Montag can cut an album, it might be a charttopping success! They can also add a movie deal, creating a modernized version of Pretty Woman… but in the end, instead of Richard Gere showing up with a limo, a money-hungry producer shows up with a TV contract.

Seriously, though, where are we going to go when this novelty wears off? How dirty is reality television going to get before draw the line? How many talentless nymphomaniacs are going to get rich while we struggle to pay off our student loans? I, personally, am sick of seeing these women re-objectify the gender every week and make a bad name for sexually liberated women who don’t need the cameras rolling 24/7. I prefer my walks of shame to go unrecorded, thank you very much.

I, Slut: Girl-on-Girl Name-Calling

ccandysarao — Sun, 22 Jun 2008 18:00:07 +0000

Ladies, gentlemen: I am a slut.

No two ways around it: I like sex. I like sex with lots of different people. I like sex in lots of different ways. I like talking about sex. I like writing about sex. So I go out, and I hook up, and I do not always stick around to cuddle. This doesn’t mean that I’m all messed up inside, or that I need men’s approval (if you look at my “to do” list, you’ll see that “caring about men’s approval” is on the bottom, directly beneath “personally oversee the freezing-over of Hell”), or that I can’t be faithful or intimate when I fall in looooove.

It’s tough to define my motives for sleeping around, but, if I had to make a guess, I think it might have something to do with the fact that I have a huge freaking pleasure center in my crotch, and it feels good when people touch it. So yeah: I’m a slut. I call myself a slut. I let my friends call me a slut. I even let my dude call me a slut, although that happens exclusively in bed.

When a stranger calls me a slut, though, well…that hurts. Especially if that stranger is a girl.

“Slut” used to be a boy’s word. It originally meant a woman who didn’t keep house – as in Shakespeare’s immortal lines, “Where fires thou find’st unrak’d, and hearths unswept, there pinch the Maids… our radiant Queene, hates Sluts, and Sluttery.” (Ah, literature.) Now, of course, it pertains to a different sort of dirty girl. That haven for sophisticated discourse, Urban Dictionary, defines a slut as “a girl that’s f*cked so many guys she can’t keep her legs shut any more.” This pretty much captures our culture’s overall level of respect for sexually experienced women.

The idea that sexual women are worthless derives, pretty clearly, from a time when women were property; yes, ye olden days. Days when your father could trade your virginity for a goat. In that time, if you had the gall to bone someone before marriage, you damaged Dad’s goods, and might therefore cause him to get a low-quality goat, or no goat at all. It wasn’t really a moral question so much as a question of ownership; your body belonged to Dad or Husband, not to you, so using it for your own pleasure was equivalent to borrowing someone’s car and bringing it back with a broken headlight and a big dent in the hood.

One problem with this line of thought: women are not cars, and, though I am no historian, I think we’ve pretty conclusively decided that owning people is bad. Yet, in today’s relatively goat-free economy, people have managed to hold onto the idea that sexy girl = bad person. (If you wonder why there’s no corresponding stigma for guys who get around, it’s simple: there were no price tags on dudes’ cherries.) Hell, we still have events where Dads proclaim ownership of their daughters’ virginity. As the old saying goes, the more things change, the more your Dad owns your vagina. Oh, and also: barf.

I’ve gotten into the habit of automatically ditching or dismissing dudes who engage in slut-bashing; if they’re too insecure or childish to deal with an assertive, confident, sexual woman, I honestly don’t have it in me to care about their opinions. Girls who slut-bash, though, are more complicated. Their words actually sting, because, silly feminist that I am, I believe in sisterhood, and I want to know why they can’t be sisters of mine.

It’s sad to say this, but women can be bitterly competitive amongst each other – and our bones of contention, so to speak, are usually attached to dudes. The active reasoning behind most girl-on-girl name-calling seems to go like this: I am a perfectly fine cow, and no-one will buy me, because they’re all getting free milk from you, you big dairy whore.

We all want love, or sex, and we’re all scared at times that we’re not going to get it. Therefore, if a girl flirts more than you do, she’s a slut. If a girl sleeps with more guys than you do, she’s a slut. If a girl does things in bed that you don’t want to do, she’s a slut. If you worry that a girl is more attractive than you, she’s a slut. And it all comes back to that basic insecurity: the fear that she might steal, or keep you from meeting, your man.

Look; you are pretty. You are sexy. There are people in this world who want you, exactly as you are, and exactly in the way that you want to be wanted. I don’t care who you are – I know this to be fact. If it can work out for me, I’m pretty confident that it can work out for anyone. Everyone has a match, or several, and you are going to meet yours. Another woman’s success, or beauty, or charm, does not detract from yours. So, stop calling girls names because you’re scared. Just go out into the world, and ask for what you want.

You know, like us sluts.

My New Haircut (Caution, Explicit and Hilariously Familiar Dialogue)

CC Staff — Tue, 08 Apr 2008 21:30:05 +0000

If you’ve ever had the pleasure of stumbling across the stereotypical d-bag AKA Guido AKA meathead AKA frat boy, you probably also had the pleasure of wondering if perhaps showering in bleach will burn the creep-residue off your skin.

Identified by his spiked hair, popped collar, big muscles, and a tan that looks like he just spent the last two months in the Caribbean, he is a guy that people really love to hate.

In fact, people love to hate this guy so much a video tribute was made to celebrate the very essences that makes this character so unique. Check out the video, and for bonus enjoyment check out the spin-off editions, odds are you probably have seen those guys, too.



Blackout Drinking Is The New Pink
Sara - NYU — Mon, 10 Mar 2008 18:30:49 +0000

If there’s one thing in this world I know, it’s this: You gotta know your limit.
I don’t mean like how smart you are or how hard to push yourself when you’re working out or anything trivial like that. I’m talking about knowing how much you can drink.
One day a few months ago, a friend invited me out for a night of dancing and fun. I thought, hey, yes, I like dancing and fun. This will be excellent.
Cut to me four hours later in a blackout state, still dancing but question mark else? I don’t know because I was f*&cking wasted.
All I know is, I threw up in the bathroom of that club. And then I threw up in a diner afterwards. Twice. And then I think I took a cab home and went to sleep, but I know for sure that four hours later, I woke up and puked on and off for five hours, into my toilet, into plastic grocery bags, and all over myself. In fact, I vommed so much I burst a blood vessel, giving myself what I have affectionately termed zombeye. Zombeye, a bright red bloody eye, lasted two entire weeks.
But, of course, better zombeye than chlamydia. Another time I blacked out, I ended up going home with some random guy I met that night and suddenly coming to in his apartment with him on top of me. Fortunately, he stopped when I said stop, but I couldn’t believe what an asshole I was to put myself in that kind of situation. I drank until I lost control and I could have really paid for it.
Anyway, the point is, you have to know how much liquor you can handle. Otherwise you end up being a jerk, or being a skank, or ending up with zombeye.
I can drink two shots of tequila but three is sure death. My friend Katie can drink eight beers but can’t do shots. It doesn’t really matter what your limit is as long as you know it.
Right?

         


Mud Bowl of Dueling Notes: ROL 2 Recap: Episode 5
CC Staff — Thu, 21 Feb 2008 16:30:02 +0000
Last time: Aubry looked a fool and…that’s really it.
It’s the morning of Episode 5 in the ROL house and nine girls remain. Rather, three women, one dummie and five skanks. Big John gathers the naughty nine or whatever Bret’s calling them; I don’t know because I’m so fixated on Big John’s scarfless head. Unlike Bret, lurking under Big John’s scarf is a full head of his own hair. He even styled it. Big John’s on the prowl for leftovers!
The challenge for this episode is Bret’s Mud Bowl 2. Daisy the Blowfish says that she’s never played – good, I hope that you get injured.
The teams are named the Sweethearts and the Fallen Angels, which sound like cheesy girl biker gang names. Bret looks absolutely ridiculous in shorts with those chicken legs. Dude, my grandpa’s legs are buffer than yours.
This game will feature Bret as a quarterback, Big John as the ref and the controller of weather.
Naturally, Catherine with the beehive is captain of the Sweethearts and Destiney is the captain of the Fallen Angels. The captains get to choose their teams of four but because there is an uneven number, one will be left out without a chance at a date. The team that wins will get a group date, their MVP gets a solo date. Stupid Megan is not chosen and I think that she’ll be spending most of the game trying to figure out the math on how the teams were split up.
I hope that she gets tackled on the sideline.
Kick off in the rain. Please kick each others asses and actually entertain me. Why do guys have an unnatural love for muddy ass? It’s not hot.
Daisy the Blowfish camera-dramatizes the girls being stupid about football. Better than being generally stupid like you, fish lips.
Ambre scores two to touchdowns for the Sweethearts, KJ scores one for the Fallen Angles and then fake snow falls on the field. The slipping and sliding looks painful, but Bret gets his muddy girls and that’s all the matters. Who cares if they get hurt, right, Bret? Douche.
Daisy the Blowfish gets desperate and starts to actually play. Inna is disappointing me until she scores and ties things up. As the girls get ready to play Sudden Death to determine the winner, I notice that Bret is far too clean for being on that field while everyone else is getting hurt and dirty. Someone tackle Bret.
Ambre’s back hurts and I’m sure that she could use some geritol right about now.
Sudden Death kicks off in the rain and Ambre looks like she has the game sealed until she fumbles and Daisy the Blowfish Skank grabs it, runs with it, and scores (did they just moon Bret?!). KJ, Inna and Destiney win the group date, and the Most Valuable Skank, Daisy, gets the solo date. Ambre the Injured gets her geritol.
Daisy the Blowfish Skank is nervous about having her first real date with Bret – yet she ALREADY HAD SEX WITH HIM. Bret takes his silicone skank goddess to a trashy lingerie store for their date. Seriously? Is he going to buy this shit for her? Oh, God, I have to watch her try it all on. Her body is hot, but her face could stop a truck.
Catherine and Whiskey Voiced Peyton have an General Foods International Coffee moment as they worry about their status over the fire pit.
Bret and Skank Spice Daisy eat dinner in the lingerie store, where Daisy keeps on a trashy dress and bores Bret with her questions. The best one: “Do you like to travel?” OMG, the best. question ever. Because he’s on tour nine months of the year.
Peyton’s worry prompts her to writes Bret a note and put it on Bret’s door. Megan writes one, too, and declares that Peyton’s note is “ugly”; I guess when you’re stupid, notes can fall under the ugly category.
Wait – she can write? And read that the other note is from Peyton? I love how she pronounces Peyton’s name – “Pey-ton” like she’s still hooked on phonics. Peyton sees that her note is missing and Stupid Megan lies about removing it. PUNCH HER, PEY-TON!!! For me. Please? Megan removes Pey-ton’s second note. I hate you, Stupid Megan.
Bret returns from the date and everyone plays a game of pool. Catherine uses her cue skills to get some time with Bret and then Daisy the Blowfish camera-insults her by calling her Peggy Bundy. Sure, Catherine has a little beehive, but YOU, Skank Spice, will not look like that when you’re 45, so shut up. I love that when Daisy tries to interrupt them that she gets shut down and then feels rejected when Bret chooses to sleep alone.
The next day, Ambre’s bruised up from the game and I feel badly about my old lady geritol jabs.
Group date: Inna, KJ and Destiney meet Bret at a racetrack, where he pulls up in a Lotus, which is pretty hot. He makes them dress up in these awful spandex jumpsuits which are totally not hot. Destiney drives first around the track, then KJ and then Inna and her massive cleavage.
After they drive, they sit down for lunch on the track, which is way, way better than dinner in a lingerie store – I’m just saying. Bret talks about the girls and brings up Do Nothing Jessica, whom he says is very nice. Yawn.
KJ talks about her restraining orders on Ex #1 and soon to be Ex #2. That sounds so trailer park and I wonder at what point Bret says, “You know what? That’s f*cking crazy and I’m afraid of the idea of being with you.” I mean, I like her, but I’m not a guy so I don’t have to worry about that mess.
Back at the house, Peyton’s fiending for Bret time and the air is thick with Lady Stetson and desperation. Bret smells it when he gets home and talks to Peyton. She busts out with the tears and says, “Are you attracted to me?” What follows is the most convoluted and strange non-rejection rejection that I’ve ever heard. I couldn’t even record, it left me so dumbfounded. Just say no, man.
Elimination time! You can ignore that exclamation point. Since I couldn’t even tell you who’s leaving, I’m not as excited about it.
Stupid Megan thinks that she and Bret have a “mental Superman psychological connection.” I was stricken with some temporary Megan brand stupidity upon hearing that and was unable to take notes for a minute or two. When I recover from the Ditz Bomb that Megan dropped, I notice that Megan is in a bra and I don’t know how much more of this idiot that I can handle.
And then the idiot gets a pass. Of course. Pey-ton, you’d best kick her ass if you don’t get yours. Do Nothing Jessica is somehow still in. Pey-ton gets called and…
DAISY THE BLOWFISH SKANK IS WITHOUT A PASS. Rejoice! Peyton is chosen and we get to see her possibly destroy Megan in the next episode!!
Wait – what? He saved the best for last? She’s staying?
I throw my notes at Bret’s eyeliner and weave.
I am so pissed off. He wanted to be nice and give everyone a chance, sleep with Daisy again and possibly exchange Aqua Net tips with Catherine.
Next week: Two will be kicked off as Rodeo brings back her crazy eyes, the big laugh, and the wrinkles for some challenge that involves horses and pig wrestling. Delicious.

         


Pipe Cleaning & PinUps: ROL 2 Recap: Episode 4
CC Staff — Mon, 18 Feb 2008 19:00:47 +0000
VH1 was smart – rather than being trounced by the Super Bowl in the ratings (because I would have been the only one watching Rock Of Love), they made me wait a week so that I could properly heal from the blow of losing Trantastique.
…And to learn the surprising news that Daisy has probably slept with Bret. And by surprising I mean like the total opposite of surprising.
I can’t believe that she waited a whole three days.
Anyway, the house rumor that starts Episode Four is that Daisy and Bret did IT. I don’t see why everyone’s making such a big deal about it since she’s probably not going to be the only one who sleeps with Bret before this mess is all over. I laugh at my Ice Princess Kristy Joe’s camera-emphatic “Skank!” and applaud Aubry’s stretch Escalade confrontation.
This week’s challenge: the girls will be split into two teams to build a motorcycle. The lead mechanic wins a solo date, the other team members get a group date and the losing team’s head mechanic has to clean Bret’s bike with a toothbrush. Whiskey voiced Peyton is excited. Yawn. I’m not. Seriously, I’m so close to done with these annoying chicks, except for Inna, because I want to get drunk with her, and Kristy Joe, because I just like her for no good reason.
This not-so-delicious-looking guy with a deliciously hot accent will oversee the two teams but all that matters is that Inna’s leading team black, Peyton’s leading team pink and this guy has many tattoos and a nice accent.
Can someone explain to me why there are so many exposed bellies for the bike building? Stupid Megan says that she only cares about looking good in this challenge. Good strategy, stupid. But really – can’t anyone put on a shirt and just let it hang as it should? No? Sigh.
One of the girls should go after Tattooed Accent Man and his Mohawk. I love him. I’ll spare you the boring details and tell you that team black wins and Inna and Bret ride off on the newly completed motorcycle to go on their date.
Daisy, Aubry, Megan and Ambre win the group date. Because Destiney was such a dumbass in the challenge, she has to help Peyton “clean Bret’s pipes” with a toothbrush. Must she’ll wear a bikini to do it? And the double entendre is so far from clever. Stop with the pipe cleaning.
While Bret and Inna have their date and Peyton and Destiney clean, Aubry freaks out because Bret didn’t kiss her good night the night before because he’s subliminally not attracted to her.  Uh, sweetheart? I’m sure that he’s pretty aware of how not attracted he is to you.
Aubry is so distraught about her attractiveness factor that she pulls Bret away from Inna and the girls who’ve just cleaned his bike to confront him and it is during their talk that Aubry utters the single funniest line ever spoken on reality TV: “I’m a karaoke host, okay? I know people.” She said that. OUT LOUD.
Bret doesn’t like Aubry’s nagging but I love it. This little talk is going to get Aubry kicked off with the “Let me go if you’re not feeling this.” Yeah, he’s not feeling this.
Aubry and KJ talk – and KJ, why are you crying again? And why are you there if you’re still married to your SECOND husband?
KJ gathers the girls together because she’s torn about staying. Uh – so why are you asking them? 1) They don’t want you there and 2) They can’t concentrate on anything for more than 72 seconds because their thoughts wander to when they’re getting their next drink.
Ambre points out that KJ’s krying is indeed krazy because she’s been in the house for five days. Krying KJ goes to Bret’s room. Ugh. Krying, kids, house, dogs, husbands…Bret’s actually willing to deal with emotional baggage. So Bret can handle pretty KJ and her immense baggage but not Aubry’s talking. Or her face.
(Side bar: Bret’s eyeliner is always perfect. One of the dates should consist of him giving tips because I can really learn a thing or six from Bret since I don’t know how to wear eyeliner properly and he’s got two decades of experience.)
Next day: group date. Bret planned a 50s pinup photo shoot. I think it’s a cool idea – I’d like to rock a Marilyn Monroe shot and I start planning my outfits when Megan’s stupid voice cuts through the reverie, “I don’t want to look like I’m in my 50s.”
You know that she was the kid who had Velcro sneakers because she didn’t learn how to tie her shoes until she was 11.
Aubry wants a Bettie Page look; Ambre does a sailor girl thing. Bret LURVES Daisy and her anti-1950s silicone gel. After the pictures, the girls stay in their outfits to eat lunch with Bret and I’m so distracted by this move. I can’t eat if I’m not fully clothed; it just feels wrongs.
During the meal, Bret smack-talks KJ saying that karma will bite her in the ass and that he knows that there are fakes in the house. Does anyone understand the concept of karma anymore? If you do, can you call Bret and tell him? I’m too busy recapping his sh!tty show and trying not to sound like the biggest bitch ever while doing it.
OF COURSE Aubry tells KJ and KJ kommences krying. She konfronts Bret but it’s not nearly as exciting as I want it to be because they smooth everything over quickly. (I’m done using the K everywhere; it’s not fun anymore).
Eliminations. Finally. This show is draaaaaaaaging. Aubry kept her weird looking 50s photo shoot hair; weird because it doesn’t look right on her. On anyone else, it would probably be cute. Anyway, she’s totally going home because she’s not as genetically gifted as KJ.
Daisy gets the first pass because the lovin must be that good.
As he gives her the pass, Bret tells Megan that he’s not feeling anything from her. Dude, that’s because the stupid blocks it.
When the hell is boring Jessica going home? She looks like a fifth rate Jessica Simpson. And she doesn’t DO anything.
Down to KJ and Aubry. KJ, stop crying already.
And then
AUBRY SACRIFICES HERSELF. 
WHAT?!?
You’ve known Kristy Joe for FIVE days. Enough time to bone Bret, but to become someone’s best friend? What kind of karaoke host worth her salt is that desperate for friends?
They both cry and I don’t mean to laugh – but, yeah, never mind, this is hysterical.
KJ cries for the 80th time and after Aubry makes her dramatic exit, Bret reveals the pass.
Aubry was going home anyway. HA! HA!
And I feel vindicated somehow when KJ and Bret make out.
Next week: Mud Bowl. Someone please knock Daisy out. And someone else distract Megan with long division so that she’ll be silent through the episode.

         


Paris Update: Email your Displeasure to LA County Supervisors
CC Staff — Thu, 07 Jun 2007 21:15:50 +0000
I think global warming is an issue, but I still drive my Rav4. I hate animal cruelty, but I think I have a fur SOMETHING in my closet. I bitch about politics, but I still don’t think I voted last time around.
Yet somehow, this Paris Hilton 3 day county-funded vacation really pisses me off. SO, in my attempt to be proactive about something for once, I did some  searching. Below, you will find the email addresses of the LA County Board of Supervisors. You will also recognize them as new members of the Hilton Family “Fruit of the Month Club.”
zev@bos.lacounty.gov; molina@bos.lacounty.gov; seconddistrict@bos.lacounty.gov; don@bos.lacounty.gov; fifthdistrict@lacbos.org
I have even taken the liberty of formatting it for you, complete with semi-colons – i know…dedication! Again, not looking for the death penalty, just think fair-is-fair and little Miss Simple Life should sit in jail and not by her pool. It was drunk driving. I don’t need to rant on the statistics of drunk driving fatalities – but if I see Paris on a MADD PSA – I might go bat-shit insane.

         


To All My Fellow Sluts…
Jill - University of Wisconsin — Mon, 07 May 2007 21:00:15 +0000
Ah the slut, we all know her very well. She is the girl slurring out “another vodka tonic please”, the girl wearing a dress that looks like it would fit your ten year old sister perfectly (as a t-shirt), the girl stumbling home with your crush. She is the girl that other girls whisper about and that the boys will happily stumble home with.
If anyone outside your social circle called you a slut, you would be pretty pissed. So I must ask: why is it that when my best friend greets me with a cheery “Hey Slut” I am not in the least bit offended? Rather I know that we have reached an extreme level of closeness?
I can’t count the number of times I’ve called my friends sluts as a term of endearment. One of my best friends, Lauren, is better known to me as ‘Laur-Whore’. And how many times have you come across pics online titled: “me with my favorite sluts!”
Why is it that close groups of girls can call each other a name that society has deemed taboo for others outside that circle to label her as? Much like the N-word, Slut is most often used in a derogatory and demeaning fashion. So why do both African Americans and women alike, make light of words that have historically taken away their place in society to be seen as equal? And instead, belittles them and places untrue and unfair stereotypes upon them?
The Merriam Webster Dictionary defines the word slut as either a: “slovenly (dirty/disheveled) woman”, or a “Promiscuous girl, especially a prostitute, a saucy girl.” Yet this is what we call each other to express our love and closeness for each other?!
By using the words slut/whore/skank as a term of endearment, we are only perpetuating the use of such a degrading word, enabling both men and other women to use it to judge, demean and label us.
“Slut” has become so commonplace and casual that there are even slut products promoting the word. You can order a Red Headed Slut at the bar, buy slut lip balms, bubble bath and more. Us women can’t escape the word, and more importantly the label. If you drink too much coffee you’re a “coffee slut” if you spend countless hours online, clearly you’re an “internet slut”. But please someone tell me — why does society get to determine how much coffee, online time and sex is too much?
By using the word slut in every day chit-chat, we are continuing to give the go-ahead to society to define us and to keep placing stereotypes upon us based upon their personal judgments of our sexuality. So what if I wear a cleavage-y top to the bar? Does that make me a person who sleeps around? And If I do, how does that make me less of a person, much less a prostitute? Women have become captive to the sexual double standard in this society for far too long.
So my fellow ‘sluts,’ let’s stop throwing around a word that continues to hold us back. And next time I see you out on the street, it may be old and boring, but I’ll be sure to settle for a “Hey, what’s up?”