It is universally acknowledged not that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife, but that dating, hookups, and playful encounters between two people who are hot for each other must yield salacious text messages. Picture it: you are in the throes of a new fling. You have limited time to see one another, due to pesky responsibilities such as work, school, children, or things like basic needs. Time is precious, and you want to savor every moment with your newfound sweetie that you can.
To tide you over between date nights, you send suggestive texts, make innuendos, and tantalize your darling until they can hardly stand the distance between your meet-ups. In my community, we call this ‘love jail’ or ‘love island,' wherefore you become so entranced with another person’s genitalia that you have all but found residence in their tangled sheets.
Love Island, or “the honeymoon period,” is a beautiful place to be. It is the incomparable moment when you are getting to know your lover’s body in ways that are genuinely new, and the kid gloves are coming off. You find yourself slowly shedding inhibitions; what began as a sultry text turns into an off-color picture, video, or other visual representation of your lust. Perhaps, as you begin to delve into the kinks and wants of another person, you may even create an x-rated video together, so that your time apart may be best spent watching the consummation of your carnality. My god, you think, can there be anything hotter than your body in this moment, coming at me through my tiny smart phone screen? The access to high-quality digital images has done great service to the business of sending lusty photos over satellite; now you can not only send your paramour numerous photos of your libidinous body, but you can also filter the photos according to tones, as in an Instagram of desire.
Of course, we know these truths to be self-evident: one, that the beginning of romance is spectacular, invigorating, and sexy as fuck, and two, that the end of romance can be atrocious, cruel, and full of a vengeance that even the Count of Montecristo would balk at. What began in the thick of desire can quickly become a reason to avoid the internet altogether: revenge porn. The Guardian states: “The bill, which takes effect immediately, makes it a misdemeanor to post identifiable nude pictures of someone else online without permission with the intent to cause emotional distress or humiliation. The penalty is up to six months in jail and a $1,000 (£620) fine.”
Quite simply, revenge porn is constituted as making public the extremely private nude photos or videos that pass between couples with vengeful design. This ground breaking law (which is the first of its kind to protect breakup victims) is especially relevant and intuitive in a world of social media, youtube, and Twitter, where a video or photo can go viral in mere seconds.
My concern with this law is an umbrella charge: it is, on one hand, incredible that Jerry Brown in Sacramento, California is creating a law that protects victims, however as with any victim-based crime, the issues of consent and intention are slippery ones. How do we judge who intends to harm? The matters are further complicated when romantic entanglements become involved; those to whom we expose our most vulnerable selves are in the most opportune position to hurt and harm us. The result of the contention is a moral gray area; how do we contend with cases where consent and knowledge of public exposition are a moral gray area?
Breakups, as a general rule, are nasty and dreadful affairs, full of spite, malice, and are cause for entire lives to upend themselves in a short amount of time. Most of the change is good: with the hardship of tumult and transition comes a necessary shedding of skin. However, as with any rupture of relationship, breakups can cause mutual feelings of vulnerability that could leave one party feeling raw and the other (or others, in the cause of polyamorous couples) feeling vengeful. Thanks to Jerry Brown and the grand, golden state of California, breakups can be a little less soul (and body!) baring. So your ex may still leaving flaming bags of canine excrement on your doorstep, but (at least in my fair, orange-poppied state) breakups no longer include the scot-free threat of exposition.
