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

