Abstract
Catherine Hakim’s previous work is familiar to readers of Work, Employment and Society: she is one of the most cited authors in the journal. After the pre-publication hype and backlash comes new her book – and it’s topical. There has been a raft of studies about soft skills in recent years, much of which has featured in this journal. Although the nomenclature varies, there are currently two principal camps: that circled around the skills needed to manage feelings (emotional labour) and that circled around the skills of corporeal management (aesthetic labour). The two are not wholly distinct and attempts have been made to enjoin them, notably Alan Bryman’s Disneyization. Hakim’s erotic capital is essentially Disneyization with an added dollop of sex. However, the book is not just about work: erotic capital is said to be exercised and exercisable throughout all spheres of life.
The first part of the book outlines the concept of and background to erotic capital. Previously overlooked (or suppressed by radical feminists, p. 3) erotic capital comprises six, maybe seven, elements: beauty, sexual attractiveness, social skills, liveliness, physical presentation, sexuality and possibly fertility. It is, Hakim claims, the fourth personal asset along with economic, human and social capitals. The second part of the book illustrates how erotic capital infuses everyday life from childhood to adulthood, from school to workplace and even the dinner parties we attend.
Hakim has collated a huge range of literature on sexuality in everyday life, including working life. There are over 120 pages of notes, appendices and references, comprising a third of the book. There are nice précises of human, cultural and social capital (Chapter 1). There are also useful summaries of existing research on the beauty premia and penalties experienced by more and less attractive workers (Chapter 7).
The thesis is simple: men want sex more than women. As a consequence there is a male sexual deficit which women don’t but should exploit: ‘He’s just gotta have it, so make him pay for it’ is the message; or, as Hakim states towards the end of the book, no money, no honey. It’s a simple story of supply and demand – ‘sexonomics’ (p. 5) – with women currently being denied the right to exercise and therefore benefit from their erotic capital. Hakim blames feminists for this situation. Indeed, much of the book is an attack on feminists: for peddling the myth of equality in sexuality (p. 43) or for their ‘unholy alliance’ (p. 230) with Anglo-Saxon puritans (p. 68), patriarchs (p. 96) and all men (p. 72), all of which works to deliberately suppress women’s sexuality. Feminist attempts to deny this sexuality are misplaced, she argues. Whilst women should be valued for their brains and their beauty (p. 87), Hakim wants them to emphasize their erotic capital more. Reclaiming and affirming their erotic capital would empower women, she believes. Older women could have younger male partners and all women could improve their economic circumstances, as Demi Moore and Katie Price/Jordan illustrate respectively, she says. ‘Why’, she asks, ‘does no one encourage women to exploit men whenever they can?’ (p. 3). Sex should be the ultimate weapon in the battle of the sexes, or at least women’s ‘trump card’ (p. 242). Hakim encourages women lacking human or economic capital to trade up, mobilizing their erotic capital to marry men with money – it’s a ‘rational strategy’ (p. 88).
Whilst Hakim is right that some middle-class feminists have in the past too readily ignored young working-class women’s overt sexuality, there is no mention in the book of the damage caused by the sexualization of social relations, for example the eating disorders and identity crises affecting young girls or the sexual harassment experienced by women in the workplace. Other authors such as Natasha Walter have argued that we live in worryingly hyper-sexualized times. But then Walter would: she’s a middle-class feminist.
At times it is not clear if the book wants to make a serious scientific point or be a hectoring self-help guide: ‘If you’re not beautiful or handsome, then get a good body, or learn to dance, or develop social skills’ (p. 109). Elsewhere she states that fat people have no excuse, they just need to do a brisk walk every day to lose a dress size.
Like fat, the contents of the book wobble. The book is replete with repetition, extraneous material and contradiction. The first two weaknesses could have been treated with a good editorial trim. The last is more serious as it reveals conceptual muddle. If the central thesis is right, we could expect to be living in a ‘beautocracy’ (my term) with the best-looking people directing the economy and society. And yet, despite Hakim’s claims about the power of erotic capital, there are obviously other factors that influence social and economic position. Moreover, she can’t decide if erotic capital exists for both women and men. It can’t for the latter, she reflects, if fertility is included in the definition – and yet the beauty premium in the labour market is strongest for men, as she notes. Hakim also states that women have less and diminishing interest in sex, and yet she advocates they invest in it despite this disinterest. As for men, if they are suffering a sexual deficit it is not clear why they would want to suppress women’s sexuality. Instead, it would make sense for men to encourage female promiscuity and boost the accessibility of sex in the marriage and labour markets. Whilst claiming that feminists hate female sexuality, she admits that some feminists want to decriminalize and normalize female paid sexuality. At this point she then aligns with these feminists, wanting the ‘complete decriminalization’ (p. 98) of the sex industry and for it to flourish to end the male sex deficit – but doing so would presumably eradicate women’s potential source of power.
In terms of the workplace, in order to differentiate erotic capital from simply being ‘emotional labour + aesthetic labour + sexuality’, Hakim quickly dismisses Hochschild’s work and that of the ‘Glasgow School of Hotel Management’. Instead, very briefly and midway through the book, she announces her intellectual influence to be Norbert Elias (p. 123) and his analysis of civilization and good manners. With others’ work quickly dismissed and sometimes presented with factual inaccuracies, the book, with its lengthy bibliography, starts to feel like a weak student essay: the required references are all there but it’s not clear that they’ve been read and understood. More importantly, we learn little that is new about work – attitude and appearance are important, can be developed and deployed, and doing so can bring personal material benefit and, if done in particular ways, can lead to flirtatious workplace behaviour.
As such, an opportunity has been missed. With increased human capital there is a serious debate to be had about whether other forms of ‘capital’ now lever greater returns on investment to workers. We also need a debate on whether workplace sexuality can be legitimately prescribed by employers or should be proscribed by the state.
Indicatively, many if not most of Hakim’s existing citations in Work, Employment and Society involve criticisms of her work. If it is picked up, there is good chance that this book will be no different.