The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com 10 — Wednesday, December 9, 2020 statement P eople love listening to other peo- ple talk about sex. The fear is actually talking about it themselves. Aside from the awkward sit-down discussions some parents force upon their adolescent children and the inad- equate sex education classes most students are subjected to, talking about sex is gener- ally considered taboo — most especially for women. Most men are granted a free pass in this department. As I’m sure you’ve heard as many times as I have, boys will be boys. Our society frames men as more dominant, ag- gressive, sexual and outright horny in their nature, so who can blame them when they want to talk about how good a partner is in bed, or how badly they’d love to sleep with someone? And when the current United States president has said, on record, to, “grab ‘em (women) by the pussy,” it makes sense that no one bats an eye when the sex talk is male-dominated — no matter the content or harm it implies. This isn’t the case for women, or for anyone who isn’t a cisgender, heterosexual male for that matter. The narrative around sex has historically been that it’s a private act people engage in for the purpose of two goals: 1) To reproduce and 2) To please men. And if women are going to talk about it, it better be about at least one of those two things. The distinction here comes from where and when it is discussed: If it’s about having a child, it’s permissible to discuss in public; If it’s about pleasing a man, well … that’s a conversation for behind closed doors. Anything not adhering to these in- visible yet unspoken rules is deemed by po- lite society as dirty and impure. It should be at least somewhat obvious that everything I just mentioned is objec- tively backward in tradition and oppres- sive. All people, regardless of their identi- ties, should be able to talk about all of the intricacies of sex. Whether it be shifting the dialogue around pleasure, or making people feel less alone in discussing what often are universal experiences, we must break the barriers around these conver- sations. But what’s the best way to do so? The answer may lie in the media. Media inevitably shapes public opin- ion, as it proves to have a strong influ- ence on who and what is normalized. For years now, different types of media have worked to make discussing women and sexuality more acceptable. Breakthroughs began with the emergence of sex-positive feminists in the 1960s and ‘70s, with a fo- cus on deconstructing the stigma around sexuality to improve intimate relationships overall. From then, the media improved with developments like the pioneering ca- reer of sex therapist Dr. Ruth Westheimer, the 1960s shift in Cosmopolitan’s focus to sex initiated by Helen Gurley Brown or the 1998 premiere of “Sex and the City.” With these markers, sex-based conversa- tion among women has made significant strides. These changes have helped women across the country feel a sense of reassur- ance and empowerment in their sexuality, undoubtedly marking some degree of prog- ress. Though these programs started off as progressive for their time period, modern culture has inevitably changed — and with it comes a change in demand for pushing boundaries. Introducing: “Call Her Daddy,” a new and popular female-led, sex-focused podcast, which has turned what’s considered permis- sible for sex and media right on its head. The show doesn’t talk about sex in a way that lacks depth; instead, “Call Her Daddy” immediately dives into all of the dirty de- tails of explicit sex techniques and common mishaps. In an attempt to be relatable and authentic, the podcast spits in the face of ex- pected pleasantries: It’s unfiltered, explicit and extremely raunchy. They swear — they refer to sex as fucking; genitalia as dicks, pussies, tits and ass and common sexual acts like oral as blowjobs and eating out. And lis- teners seemed to like it — in 2018, the show hit two million downloads just two months after its creation. When I first heard about Call Her Daddy, I was overwhelmed with excitement. As a sex-positive feminist, I’ve recognized the importance of and called for this type of nu- anced sex media since I began studying gen- der and sexuality. A podcast with this much success felt groundbreaking and promising. I was sure that this was a step of progress that society so desperately needed. Yet after ac- tively listening for a handful of months, my honeymoon phase began to deteriorate and a wave of clarity forced me to take a step back. The closer I paid attention to Call Her Daddy’s content, the more I realized that it was full of issues. The show preached em- powerment, agency and autonomy, yet had misogynistic undertones with arguably prob- lematic messages. Not to mention, at the time the show was hosted by two conventionally attractive, heterosexual, young white women — a standard that is by no means the norm and comes with a set of undeniable privileg- es. With this in mind, I began to question: Who does this podcast really serve, and how is it shifting the public discourse around sex? A Crash Course on Call Her Daddy In the fall of 2018, roommates Alexan- dra (Alex) Cooper, 24, and Sofia Franklyn, 26, were living and working in New York City. At the time, both women were unen- thusiastic about their day jobs, so when they gained positive attention for “talking candidly about sex” from strangers in an Austin bar, they seized what they saw as an exciting opportunity. They took their casual, off-the-record conversations to the internet, creating the infamous “Call Her Daddy” podcast. And with this setup, the “Call Her Dad- dy” brand was born: a name that purposely attempts to take back the power from men by attributing a patriarchal position of power to women. The duo began releasing half-hour episodes with eye-catching titles such as “SEXT ME SO I KNOW IT’S REAL” and “Fine Dining: An Eating Out Special.” Each episode was structured as a conversa- tion between Alex and Sofia, touching on elements like stories from their pasts, out- of-the-box sexual theories like the concept of “post nut clarity” and advice on how to have better sex. They were young, carefree, funny and unapologetically detailed as they discussed the intricacies of their sex lives. Following its release, “Call Her Daddy” gained thousands of listeners and climbed the charts of Apple podcasts. It was evident that their first listeners experienced “Call Her Daddy” as a breath of fresh air, transform- ing the show into an overnight sensation. For many, the podcast represented a sort of fly- on-the-wall look into how young women re- ally talk about sex with their friends. People started to take notice of this success and af- ter only a month of content, Barstool Sports, a well-known, polarizing digital media com- pany, acquired the rights to the show. It’s important to note that Barstool Sports, led by University of Michigan alum Dave Portnoy, is an extremely controversial company. What began as a sports newspa- per grew into an empire, with content rang- ing from food to pop culture. Barstool has a target audience of men aged 18 to 34, so much of its material is catered to male col- lege students. This premise is not problem- atic in its nature but is misogynistic in its execution. They have affiliate accounts like Barstool Smokeshows — an Instagram dedi- cated to showing off “hot” young women in an extremely objectifying manner. They told a female staffer that she will not “be able to put her face in front of a camera in five years, because people will throw up,” and publicly said ESPN sportscaster Sam Ponder’s main job requirement is “to make men hard,” among other disturbing instances. With this in mind, I found it peculiar that a corpora- tion so evidently tainted by toxic masculinity would be interested in purchasing a podcast that claims to empower women. Nevertheless, the Barstool acquisition pushed “Call Her Daddy’s ratings over the edge, catalyzing the creation of a loyal fan- base known as the “Daddy Gang.” And even after drama between the two hosts and Bar- stool itself — Cooper is now the sole host due to a widely publicized dispute with Franklyn — the show still has millions of listeners, its Instagram has 1.8 million followers and the brand has numerous items of merchandise. It’s safe to say that “Call Her Daddy” is no longer just a podcast but also a community. Testimonies from the “Daddy Gang” To further understand the intricacies and implications of the mass consumption of “Call Her Daddy,” I interviewed fans of the show to see why they like it so much. Their answers were wide-ranging and passionate, illustrating a deep care for the subject mat- ter. I first spoke to LSA sophomore Jordyn Staff over Zoom, who reflected on her ex- periences with the podcast. Enthusiastic and well-spoken, she told me that she was introduced to “Call Her Daddy” her fresh- man year by her male friends and has been hooked ever since. “After I started, I began listening almost every day, and I fell in love with it,” Staff said. “I’ve listened to every single episode.” What excited her about the podcast, Staff said, was how real and unfettered it was. “What initially hooked me was the show’s rawness,” Staff said. “You’re listening to the craziest of conversations that sound like the ones you have with your friends, and it’s just validating … All girls have these conversa- tions but nobody ever talks about it because women are not supposed to be sexually out there.” This sentiment mirrored my frustration with the lack of authentic sex-based discus- sion among women in the public sphere. “There’s a standard that men know what women want more than women know what women want,” Staff said.“‘Call Her Daddy’ is working toward balancing the playing field … It’s a form of empowerment, and it’s a form of education that has been stripped by people trying to censor fluidity and freedom of expression. And they introduced the new medium of empowerment, focused on wom- en pleasing themselves, or doing things for themselves that is so ignored by any other media platform.” LSA junior Daniel Glickman offered a similar analysis, especially focusing on the podcast’s current-day relevance. “For what it is, the podcast gets into a space that not many others do. ‘Call Her Daddy’ illustrates a new age,” he explained. “For example, Samantha from ‘Sex and The City’ is so open about sexuality, but Alex re- cently graduated from BU and is telling sto- ries from college or reading her Instagram DMs. That sort of thing is just more modern. It’s a new exploration of sex relatable to a younger crowd.” Glickman is a recent initiate into the Dad- dy Gang, having started the podcast over the summer. For him, the show’s biggest selling point is its fearlessness in describing sex and sexuality. “For me, I’m kind of shy when it comes to talking about that stuff, and it shows that people can be candid and talk about their ex- periences, so I like that it exists,” Glickman said. Glickman and I spent a good amount of our interview discussing how the normaliza- tion of sex-based conversation can be reas- suring for many people. “Call Her Daddy” makes an overt effort to do this while still engaging viewers, accepting questions from their audience in a way that preserves the asker’s anonymity. In doing so, the podcast not only creates but reinforces a sense of community. “When they read direct messages from people, it allows audience members to step back and realize ‘OK, that experience was something similar to what I’ve had, but I didn’t acknowledge it, or I didn’t see that there could be a similarity between me and someone else,’” Glickman said. Let’s talk Let’s talk about talking about talking about sex about sex BY ANDIE HOROWITZ, STATEMENT DEPUTY EDITOR Read more online at michigandaily.com COLLAGE BY EILEEN KELLY