Abstract
Similarly to what was assumed thirty years ago about research on gender, “mainstream” sociologists dismiss the study of sex, the erotic, and the social organization of sexuality as marginal or, worse, irrelevant to their own research or to sociology. Danielle Lindemann, in Dominatrix, successfully demonstrates that sexuality research has much to say to all sociologists. This book covers a lot of empirical and theoretical ground, all of which will be of interest to those who study gender, sexuality, and/or erotic labor, but also to those who assume the study of the sexuality is unimportant to their work. Lindemann relies on mostly interview data to analyze professional dominitrices’ (or, pro-dommes) narratives of their work. Her stated goal is to present the experiences of pro-dommes as a distilled version of social dynamics that operate in the “real world,” thereby further elucidating those dynamics.
In the Introduction, Lindemann describes the purpose and goals of the research, methods, and the overall organization of the book. Lindemann closes the introduction with a description of what pro-dommes are “really” like to dispel pejorative assumptions readers might have and to set up the first chapter in which she outlines in great detail the work lives of pro-dommes. Chapter One provides an interesting and detailed account of the work pro-dommes do, including training, acquiring clients, setting up a “scene” with a client, and the power dynamics between pro-domme and client. Although Lindemann criticizes sexuality research that sensationalizes non-normative sexual practices, the excerpts from interviews she chose were on the extreme side of BDSM and might be shocking to an uninitiated reader. Getting the initial shock out of the way opens space for Lindemann to present her sociological analysis and make her theoretical arguments, both of which she does with clarity and rigor.
In the following chapters, Lindemann presents the narratives told by pro-dommes to, in her words, “defog” (p. 4) our understanding of “real life” social processes including power dynamics between workers and customers in service industries, definitions of art and authenticity, the role of play in adult lives, the reliance on narratives of therapeutic benefits to legitimate marginalized practices, and gender power negotiations and hierarchies. Researchers who do not study sexuality per se, but study employment, Meadian perspectives on play, therapeutic discourse, or art and authenticity will find specific chapters, if not the entire monograph interesting and relevant. Gender scholars who do not study sexuality will also be very interested in this book. Though Lindemann devotes only one chapter to gender power dynamics, she weaves a gender analysis throughout the entire book. In that chapter, I found her discussion of the power reversal very interesting, compelling, and an important contribution.
I do, however, have two critiques of this chapter. The first is that it is almost entirely dependent on interview rather than ethnographic data. Lindemann does not observe the dynamics between client and pro-domme. Previous research suggests that erotic laborers talk about their work with outsiders in ways to manage stigma and refute claims that they are “victims” of the sex industry. It is entirely possible, if not likely, that the pro-dommes’ accounts of power between them and their clients included stigma management and therefore overstate the gender power reversal. Though Lindemann identifies the strategies clients deploy to put gender power dynamics back in order, I would have liked more nuance in dealing with the interview data as stigma management rather than a reflection of actual power dynamics in the play space or dungeon. The other critique I have is that Lindemann conflates women with femininity and men with masculinity. For instance, she talks about the power and control women wield in the dungeon as doing femininity in ways that challenge hegemonic gender expectations rather than women embodying a form of masculinity. Lindemann convincingly argues that the dungeon is an extremely interesting “play” space when it comes to gender. However, by oversimplifying masculinity and femininity and their relationship to each other, she missed an opportunity to “defog” important gender dynamics.
Despite these critiques, Dominatrix is an interesting, well-written, and important study on, not just pro-dommes and their clients, but also gender, power, work, art, and play. I can see this book on sexuality and gender syllabi, but I would also encourage consideration in courses on employment. It might also work well in a methods class as Lindemann weaves her own experiences as researcher into her analysis and provides an appendix detailing her experiences in more depth. For instance, she discusses the ways in which the pro-dommes would often embody their role as dominatrices when interacting with her, and how she had to deal with the stigmatizing effects of researching marginalized sexual practices. Perhaps Lindemann’s main contribution to sexuality research is defogging the marginalization of sexuality research and building a theoretical, empirical, and methodological bridge between the study of marginalized sexualities and mainstream sociology.