Abstract
Drawing on feminist and queer epistemologies, this article is concerned with the post-feminist media’s construction of girls’ sexual subjecthood. Broadly defined as a biopolitical ideal, post-feminism is here related to a set of principles of the neoliberal art of government. It will be argued that these principles ethically sustain the exponential mainstreaming of a post-feminist hermeneutics of adolescence and its programme of governmentality. The article also links post-feminism to a particular methodology of subjectification, ultimately locating its hermeneutics of adolescence within the pornographic and pharmacological imperatives of contemporary capitalism. On the empirical level, the analysis explores how techno-scientific discourses and bodily figurations (namely brains and hormones) enter the discursive apparatus of a Portuguese girls’ magazine, giving ideological ground to a distinctive production of adolescent body-subjects. Post-feminist media markets are finally discussed as a significant segment of the capitalist industrialisation of sexual difference that frames the general problematic of this study.
Towards the post-feminist hermeneutics of adolescence
Over the last three decades, although feminist theory and critical psychology have consistently discussed the social construction of ‘girls’ and ‘adolescence’ (e.g. Gonick, 2003; Jackson and Cram, 2003; Lees, 1993; Lesko, 1996; Moore and Rosenthal, 1983; Pipher, 1994; Tolman, 2002; Walkerdine, 1990), the textual media’s scripting of young women’s sexualities has been given relatively sparse attention. Nevertheless, several feminist authors have addressed girls’ magazines’ advice pages as privileged sites of knowledge-power operations where the heteronormative regulation of subjectivities is paramount (e.g. Currie, 2001; Jackson, 2005a, 2005b; Kehily, 1999; McRobbie, 1991). Groundbreaking analyses have stressed the reflexive character of a confessional textuality based on the question-and-answer format (Currie, 2001), ultimately showing its singular ability for doing-undoing desire (Jackson, 2005a) and constructing sexual problems (Jackson, 2005b). Their poststructuralist approach escapes the anxieties concerning ‘media effects’ through which teenage media culture has been traditionally regarded in social psychological studies (see Mastronardi, 2003). More particularly, their framework complicates the ongoing debate on the ‘sexualization of girls’ and the ‘dangers’ of their ‘exposure’ to sexual imageries, as recently re-launched by the American Psychological Association (see APA, 2010). On the other hand, in acknowledging changing modes of youthful femininity within magazine discourses (McRobbie, 1994), feminist scholarship has attested ‘the constructedness and mutability of what are assumed to be natural and naturally occurring teenagers’ (Lesko, 1996: 141). Moreover, by figuring the exponential mainstreaming of a rather knowing and desiring female subjectivity, this scholarship has produced evidence of what Rosalind Gill (2003) would describe as a representational move from sexual objectification to sexual subjectification of women in contemporary media. The recognition of this phenomenology does not imply the negation of mainstream media’s objectifying strategies towards female consumers. On the contrary, it suggests their complexification through a disciplinary upgrading, in which the question of the object (the coercive commodification of selves) is overcome by ‘the question of the subject (the question of knowledge of the subject, the subject’s knowledge of himself [/herself])’ (Foucault, [2001] 2005: 3). This shift is particularly rendered intelligible within the expansive reach of a post-feminist discursive regime that promises women’s empowerment through a consumerist bodily care and a policing sexual knowing of oneself (Attwood, 2005; Gill, 2007, 2008). The epistemological implication of this perspective is of twofold significance here. On the one hand, it challenges a critique of sexualisation reduced to the problematic of girls’ (and women’s) constitution as submissive and powerless sexual objects. On the other hand, it sustains renewed criticality on a production of girlhood that, as Angela McRobbie has recently put, ‘now comprises a constant stream of incitements and enticements to engage in a range of specified practices which are understood to be both progressive but also consummately and reassuringly feminine’ (2009: 57).
As will be argued here, such production of girlhood is best understood within the spectrum of a neoliberal governmental reason and its post-feminist repackaging in contemporary capitalism. A small number of analysts working on post-feminist media culture have already used a similar framework to approach women’s magazines (e.g. Gill, 2009; Pinto, 2009), erotica literary fiction (e.g. Sonnet, 1999), film and television entertainment (e.g. Lotz, 2001; Moseley and Read, 2002), ‘make-over’ reality shows (e.g. Banet-Weiser and Portwood-Stacer, 2006; Hollows, 2003; McRobbie, 2009: 124–149), advertising (e.g. Gill, 2008; Lazar, 2009) and distributors of sexual paraphernalia ‘for women’ (e.g. Attwood, 2005). However, post-feminism has seldom been debated in critical analyses of girls’ magazines, and its internal double dialogue with neoliberalism and capitalism requires further study, particularly in that specific media context. Such a project certainly requires continued attention in feminist theory, not only because these magazines are industrial producers and reproducers of a post-feminist ‘global girl’ (McRobbie, 2009), but also – if not mostly – because they voice the shifting interpretational limits of what is socially constructed and dominantly accepted as female adolescence. In other words, by offering young women sexual guidance and access to the truth about their pleasurable and desiring selves, this unique media genre becomes a privileged regulatory arena where ‘the hermeneutics of the subject’ (Foucault, [2001] 2005) called ‘adolescent girl’ is permanently updated. Furthermore, taking into account ‘their considerable use as a resource in the construction of sexual identities’ (Jackson, 2005b: 296), girls’ magazines are a significant segment of the capitalist industrialisation of sexual difference that frames the general problematic of my study (see Pinto, 2009). More specifically, following Michel Foucault’s theorisations of the material-discursive constitution of subjectivity, I consider these magazines sexual ‘technologies of the self’ (Foucault, 1988). As much as pornography, they are here regarded as pleasure-producing devices drawing on consumers’ ‘will to knowledge’ (Foucault, [1976] 1998) – the pleasure of having the truth of sex revealed – through which the fixing of sexual identities, practices and desire is reasserted. In choosing a focus on knowledge–pleasure dynamics to approach these media sexual technologies, my perspective ultimately intends to situate them within today’s compulsory regime of heterosexual instruction. Adolescence, as argued by Christine Griffin, ‘is one of the key moments at which heterosexuality can be lodged in place, and young women (and men) can be “won” for patriarchal heterosexuality’ (2000: 234, emphasis in the original). It seems to me crucial to keep this standpoint in mind whenever figuring the global democratisation of girls’ sexuality, especially because, as McRobbie posits, the ‘abandonment of critique of patriarchy is a requirement of the new sexual contract, the terms of which are established in key institutional sites dedicated to the production of the category of young women’ (2009: 57).
On the conceptual level, the crossing of Griffin’s and McRobbie’s arguments with Foucauldian ‘hermeneutics’ (Foucault, [1984] 1990, [2001] 2005) and biopolitical theory (Foucault, [2004] 2010) leads me to theorise a post-feminist hermeneutics of adolescence. On the empirical level, my gaze will attend to an absent feature in feminist critique: the biological construction (or rather explanation) of young women’s sexual bodies and desiring selves by the mainstream media. In particular, the analysis will explore how brain and hormonal science enter the discursive apparatus of a Portuguese girls’ magazine, giving ideological ground to a distinctive production of adolescent body-subjects. In the next section I develop the conceptual repertoire for my main theoretical task here: the characterisation of the dominant programme of governmentality in which girls’ sexual subjecthood is today inscribed.
Post-feminism, girlhood, and the liberal art of government
Post-feminism is presented in this article as a construct of paramount usefulness to biopolitical theory, not only for putting in evidence a recently arisen ‘art of government’ (Foucault, [2004] 2010) primarily designed for the female subject, but mostly because of its instrumental significance in the contemporary industrialisation of sexual (and racial) difference. The theoretical debate on post-feminism, which has been especially developed within feminist media theory, has enabled understanding of the intersection of feminist and anti-feminist discourses currently found in mainstream models of women’s subjectification. In particular, recent scholarship stresses the neoliberal recycling of ‘second-wave’ feminist discourses on women’s agency and emancipation (mostly echoing from liberal feminism) into a narcissistic methodology of sexualisation and bodily consumption (see Gill and Scharff, 2011). Post-feminism thus suggests a phenomenology that transcends the theoretical outline of a ‘backlash’ against the feminist movement (Genz, 2006; Gill, 2007). To be sure, it stands on what may be better framed as a socio-political ‘double entanglement’ (McRobbie, 2009): a contradictory process of sexual democratisation that depends on the pervasiveness of heteronormative, self-policing mechanisms; a heavily mediated incitement to women’s empowerment that perniciously reifies feminist critique as needless commonsense in today’s democratic world. The intricate and paradoxical convergence of these conflicting elements, as well as the plurality of meanings it puts to work, leaves little chance for prompt and fixed definitions of post-feminism. Nevertheless, whilst reflecting on the difficulties of a definitive approach, a few feminist authors have invested in important synthesising attempts. For example, Michelle Lazar (2009), following Yvonne Tasker and Diane Negra (2007), sees post-feminism as a dominant discursive system that entails a consumerist ‘culture of post-critique’. For Gill (2007, 2009), on the other hand, post-feminism is best understood as a distinctive ‘sensibility’ closely linked to the neoliberalisation of personhood and social relations. In similarly figurative vein, McRobbie (2009) revisits the (Foucauldian-)Deleuzian notion of ‘luminosity’ to speak of a shimmering way-out for young women’s visibility, conveyed in seductive loci of individualist attention and self-transformation, across which the socio-political implications of feminism and anti-racism are simultaneously ‘undone’. While acknowledging that this ‘luminosity’ – as much as the titillation of a new ‘sensibility’ – ‘softens, dramatizes and disguises the regulative dynamics’ (McRobbie, 2009: 54), I also consider that both notions risk losing their focus on governmentality. More precisely, in trying to capture post-feminist micro-powers from the angle of what I would call their ‘psychological’ effectiveness, these terms are ultimately re-inscribed with the very performative mechanics they want to denounce. On the other hand, it seems to me insufficient to say that post-feminism is a system of uncritical (or post-critical) discourses. Consequently, while building on the above approaches, I offer a more descriptive and comprehensive definition, which may at the same time function as a reminder that this construct is first and foremost about power and discipline.
Post-feminism is here defined as a biopolitical ideal (Pinto, 2009). More precisely, it is presented as a model of governmental rationality ideally projected on to the whole life-spectrum of the female subject. Drawing on Foucault’s ([2004] 2010) analyses of liberalism and neoliberalism, this article links the post-feminist moral rationality, and the post-feminist hermeneutics of adolescence in particular, to a fundamental set of principles of the ‘liberal art of government’: panopticism, the compulsory production-consumption of freedom, the maximisation of danger, and the market as nature (or site of production of governmental truth).
In the first place, one must consider the entangled meanings of freedom in a liberal (and neoliberal) programme of governmentality. As Foucault has defined it, this governmental practice in the process of establishing itself is not satisfied with respecting this or that freedom, with guaranteeing this or that freedom. More profoundly, it is a consumer of freedom .… It consumes freedom, which means that it must produce it. It must produce it, it must organize it. (Foucault, [2004] 2010: 63)
This is to say that the question of freedom in all forms of liberalism is not simply about the contradictory imperative ‘be free’; it mainly concerns ‘the management and organization of the conditions in which one can be free’ (Foucault, [2004] 2010: 63–64). Post-feminist media markets such as women’s and girls’ magazines are noticeably implicated in the management of a perpetual production-consumption of individual freedom: whilst telling the female subject ‘be free’ (‘be emancipated’, ‘be powerful’, ‘be actively knowing’, ‘be desiring and desired’, and so on), they do not just give the coordinates for girls and women to constantly pursue that ideal; they make freedom available in commodifiable forms ready to be consumed. The instructive character of mainstream media ‘for women’ rests upon an implicit contract in which female subjects are ‘free’ to dedicate the full extension of their existence to a gendered and prosthetic regime of bodily self-surveillance (Pinto, 2009). What post-feminist media markets promise to female subjects is in fact a direct reproduction of a simple liberal formulation: ‘I am going to produce what you need to be free. I am going to see to it that you are free to be free’ (Foucault, [2004] 2010: 63). In other words, subjects’ freedom is itself consumed – and therefore in need of being endlessly re-produced – throughout the post-feminist process of individual updating. This enterprising production-consumption of freedom appears then based on a constant ‘care of oneself’ (Foucault, [1984] 1990, [2001] 2005) – the panoply of practices of personal investment through which female subjects become sexually knowing. Thus, the precept ‘be free’ first of all demands an imperative ‘know yourself’ (Foucault, [2001] 2005), as post-feminist media clearly illustrates. That is also to say that the post-feminist key for knowing the bodily self consists of policing self-awareness, which corresponds to the same regulatory technicalities addressed in Foucault’s ([1975] 1995) analyses of the modern panopticon (the model of prison designed by Jeremy Bentham in 1785). As Foucault later clarified, Bentham proposed the panopticon as being ‘the very formula of liberal government. What basically must a government do? It must give way to everything due to natural mechanisms in both behavior and production’ (Foucault, [2004] 2010: 67). This warm kind of vigilance – no longer produced through the external apparatus of sovereign powers but from within the subject’s own drives, from within the subject’s natural mechanisms – seems to me the actual methodology of post-feminist management of freedom. In other words, I argue that post-feminist micro-powers (or procedures of governmentality) shape female subjects’ experience of freedom according to a panopticist formula of control.
Insofar as contemporary girlhood is a perpetual consumer of freedom, it also entails another precept closely linked to surveillance: that ‘individuals are constantly exposed to danger, or rather, they are conditioned to experience their situation, their life, their present, and their future as containing danger’ (Foucault, [2004] 2010: 66). In particular, the liberalisation of girls’ desire – more than that of any other biopolitical subject – tends to be approached through reference to ubiquitous danger. In mainstream discourses, young women’s knowing of their bodies and sexualities is dominantly incited through fear – fear of exclusion, of not finding a matching partner, of not being desired, of bad reputation, of not being sufficiently feminine, of being too sexual, of not knowing enough, and of all constraints from having to cope with the (hetero)sexual double standard (Jackson and Cram, 2003; Lees, 1993; Orenstein, 1994; Tolman, 2002). To a great extent, post-feminism requires the female subject to fear in order to nourish its own liberal engine, ‘continually having to arbitrate between the freedom and security of individuals by reference to this notion of danger’ (Foucault, [2004] 2010: 66). This argument is particularly helpful to approach the contradictory display of sexual advice found in girls’ magazines, in which positive discourses of sex (as pleasurable and healthy) compete with recurrent constructions of sex as dangerous, painful, and risky (Jackson, 2005b). The post-feminist hermeneutics of adolescence is therefore fed by the ‘stimulation of the fear of danger which is, as it were, the condition, the internal psychological and cultural correlative of liberalism. There is no liberalism without a culture of danger’ (Foucault, [2004] 2010: 66–67). Likewise, there is no post-feminist media culture, nor its programme of education for danger, without the reassertion of fear. In short, the post-feminist ‘be free’ is not so much saying ‘be careful’, even less a repressive ‘be afraid’, as it is reproducing the liberal motto ‘“live dangerously”’ (Foucault, [2004] 2010: 66). Keeping in mind the neoliberal ‘generalization of the “enterprise” form … [as] a model of social relations and of existence itself’ (Foucault, [2004] 2010: 242), I would rather speak today of an inciting promotion of female sexuality in which (hetero)sex is celebrated as a ‘risky enterprise’ (Jackson, 2005b: 300).
Also, since post-feminism engages the female subject in actively knowing the truth about her desiring self, we cannot say that female consumers are figured in this biopolitical ideal as passive recipients. Besides, as Foucault argues following Gary Becker (1976), ‘we should think of consumption as an enterprise activity by which the individual … will produce something that will be his [/her] own satisfaction’ (Foucault, [2004] 2010: 226). Furthermore, as much as any other practices of care of oneself, consumption is marked in post-feminism as an individualist act of choice irreducibly concerned with the subject’s own freedom. ‘This principle of an irreducible, non-transferable, atomistic individual choice which is unconditionally referred to the subject himself [/herself] is what is called interest’ (Foucault, [2004] 2010: 272). When considering a genealogy of post-feminism that suggests its revising of liberal feminist discourses of ‘choice’, one should acknowledge that these discourses are in fact intrinsically related to the neoliberal ‘subject of interest’ (Foucault, [2004] 2010: 273) – the subject as the reason and the source of an interest. By producing their own satisfaction, their pleasure in knowing, in having access to truth, post-feminist subjects become the actual manufacturers of their own governmentality. Their body, all their ‘natural mechanisms’, all their psychosomatic resources are mobilised by the post-feminist marketplace for the enterprising construction of sexual identity, for the endless reassurance of their sexual nature. Born in the liberal art of government, this biopolitical ideal reassures the market that it is a site of truth in its own right. More than any state institution or particular system of knowledge, it is now the market that instructs the specific governmental nature of female subjects, at the same time defining the threshold – and reassuring the naturalness – of the governmental practice itself. Rooted in the same foundational ethics of neoliberal thought, post-feminism hence meets the very principle of all political economy: nature is not an original and reserved region on which the exercise of power should not impinge, on pain of being illegitimate. Nature is something that runs under, through, and in the exercise of governmentality. It is if you like its indispensable hypodermis. (Foucault, [2004] 2010: 15–16)
Drawing on Foucault’s metaphor, this article argues that girls’ ‘pubescent’ and ‘post-pubescent’ bodies constitute the indispensable hypodermis of the post-feminist hermeneutics of adolescence. Keeping in mind that post-feminism ‘can only make sense under the capitalist project of bodily sexualisation’ (Pinto, 2009: 8), I offer a deeper excavation of post-feminist tectonics (Curt, 1994), ultimately figuring this model of moral rationality, first and foremost, as bodily. Informed by a genealogical understanding of its emergence within the Portuguese process of democratisation, my perspective also suggests that post-feminism, while dependent on the embrace of neoliberal freedoms, has only been possible under the contemporary regime of capitalist semiotics and prosthetics (Pinto, 2009). In arguing that neoliberal and capitalist agendas are both implicated in this phenomenology as conditions of possibility, this article proposes that post-feminism must not be merely perceived and analysed in the abstract form of ideology, but rather as materially linked to the emergence and democratisation of new methodologies of production – the industrialised production of female bodily selves. After all, not only has the body become the central fabric of the global biopolitical apparatus, the resexualisation of women’s bodies (Gill, 2003) has also been key in post-feminist governmentality. This article’s empirical task is to explore how that resexualisation is translated by the mainstream media into the biology of young women’s bodies, into their chemistries and physiologies. And, ultimately, how post-feminism makes a difference.
Materials, method and approach
This article is the result of a study of the sexological contents of Ragazza – a best-selling Spanish-based girls’ magazine also published in Portuguese. Set within a poststructuralist discursive framework, the research covers three years of monthly editions (from January 2006 to January 2009) and focuses on all textual technologies where girls’ sexual bodies and desire are addressed. A corpus with over 150 ‘expert’ and advice features was gathered and methodologically explored by means of Foucauldian discourse analysis (Arribas-Ayllon and Walkerdine, 2008; Parker, 2002). All the translated discursive objects presented here maintain as much as possible the literal phrasing of the original text. Particular attention was given to the construction of subjects in the texts and to the arrays of positioning made available to them. Simultaneously, the analytical process led me to identify a network of prevailing discourses on dominant ‘sexual organs’ and bodily figurations – operating in texts as technologies of power/truth – through which girls’ sexual subjecthood is produced and problematised.
On a larger scale of analysis, my aim is twofold. On the one hand, I intend to reflect on how post-feminist media voices the contemporary scientia sexualis thus producing a specific hermeneutics of girls’ sexual bodies and desire. Insofar as it is argued that the truth of sex is what any sexual market aims to industrialise, the article interrogates the knowledge through which the body is constituted as matter of that truth by Ragazza. Yet, the analysis furthered here is not invested in testing the techno-scientific validity of what this magazine sells as biological truths. Rather, it proposes a genealogical reading of their conditions of possibility, which will be supported by critical scholarship focused on the history of biomedical sciences. On the other hand, I locate the post-feminist hermeneutics of adolescence in terms of the capitalist biopolitical agenda, in which femininity and masculinity have become best-selling products of the most profitable regime of truth of our time: sexual difference. My approach is extensively informed by Beatriz Preciado’s (2008) theory of pharmaco-pornographic capitalism and its imperious regulation of the sexual multitude. As Preciado argues, the production of sexual and gendered subjectivities appears absolutely dependent on a permanent dialogue between the hegemonic lexicons of pornography and the pharmacological management of bodies and selves. Accordingly, the gigantic industrial axis formed by pornographic and pharmaceutical corporations is today the chief informant of all mainstream politics of sexual subjecthood – as the state of the art of post-feminist media vigorously attests (see Pinto, 2009). Therefore, in theorising the post-feminist hermeneutics of adolescence, this article takes into account what Preciado calls the capitalist ‘sexpolitics’ (sexopolítica): the dominant action of contemporary capitalism, through which sexual subjects become pharmaco-pornographically normalised.
While the capitalist management of girls’ bodies constitutes the biopolitical core of this article’s debate, I aim to stress its normalisation in the neoliberal form of enterprise, through which the knowing of the bodily self becomes the central reason for personal investment. This approach to sexual learning as bodily entrepreneurship dialogues with another Foucauldian-based perspective developed around the idea of ‘body projects’ (e.g. Bordo, 1993; Brumberg, 1998; Gill et al., 2005). Set within the problematic of governmentality, both address issues related to power and bodily self-surveillance. On the whole, these two viewpoints share a similar preoccupation with the embodiment of sexual difference and gender aesthetics, understood not only as a cultural imperative, but also as a compelling investment. However, they look at this question from different Foucauldian angles, according to distinct levels of concern. The ‘project’, I would argue, while drawing on the prosthetics of bodily regulation, points to the subject’s merging with a disciplinary machinery in which the body – a ‘docile body’ – is turned into an object of vigilant correction by the subject herself/himself (Foucault, [1975] 1995). My use of ‘enterprise’, on the other hand, while addressing the construction of sexual identities as an endless process of self-reassurance, mostly figures the body as a subject in constant need of being revealed to selves, of being exposed through a permanent investment in knowing the truth about the desiring self (Foucault, [1984] 1990, [1976] 1998). In short, this article’s analysis is less interested in teenage media’s scripting of ‘body projects’ (of prosthetic forms of investment) than in the discursive assertion of young women as body-subjects – subjects who are first and foremost entitled to re-produce (and consume) their bodily truth. Accordingly, I reflect on the post-feminist assumption of the ‘girl’ as a subject supposed to know the truth about her desiring self, who at the same time is a subject supposed to believe in the naturalness of sexual difference.
Analysis: How post-feminism makes a difference
‘You think, therefore you desire’: Straight minds and sexual brains
We are not saying anything new if we tell you that the main sexual organ is the brain (Ragazza, October 2008: 82)
Whether through small text boxes, feature articles, advice columns, or ‘psycho-sex’ dossiers, every month Ragazza instructs young women about their sexual bodies and desiring selves. Repeatedly presented as ‘the main sexual organ’, the brain is a prominent element in this magazine’s production of sexual subjecthood. Ragazza’s ‘brain’ operates as a discursive entanglement of the Cartesian body–mind dualism, which remains architectural for post-feminist modes of subjectification. As a powerful gender signifier, this ‘brain’ mostly gives rise to problematisations of girls’ sexual awareness and bodily mindfulness. More precisely, it becomes the circuitry of a thoughtful and knowledgeable feminine mind, eventually capable of taking control over the urges of the bodily self. On the other hand, prompted as the biological core of the sexual body, as its hardware, it ideologically sustains the contention that girls’ minds – the female mind – are inevitably desiring. Such a paradigmatic post-feminist imperative is clearly asserted in the article ‘YOU THINK, THEREFORE YOU DESIRE: Find out why the brain is the major sexual organ’ (March 2006: 68–70). While reworking a well-known Cartesian formulation (I think, therefore I am), the title suggests what can be considered the post-feminist synthesis of existence: to be is to desire. In this construction of the desiring self, girls’ minds become the true centre of pleasure production, courtesy of a ‘brain’ that is claimed to be the ‘sexual organ’: Neither the clitoris nor the G spot. Your sexual organ par excellence is … your brain! And if you don’t believe it, that’s why we are here .… Stay calm; you are in the presence of the marvellous power of the mind … that of producing pleasure only with thought. (February 2008: 76–77)
Ragazza’s ‘brain’ provides young women with a network of troubled subject positions. Unlike the ‘clitoris’, it cannot be touched or even seen by the subject herself. It cannot be searched for, as otherwise suggested by the magazine regarding the ‘G spot’. Yet, girls must ‘believe’ in the pleasurable capacity of their ‘brain’, as much as in the sexual character of their ‘mind’. Its ‘power’ is reassured in advance through the text’s construction of an excited youthful subjectivity that is expected to anticipate the thrills of sexual knowledge (‘stay calm’). Ragazza’s ‘brain’ turns into a technology of ‘pleasure’, if for no other reason than because it is given as a pleasurable matter. Such expectation is summed up in the article’s main image, a picture of an X-rayed skull, accompanied by a curious wordplay: ‘Pleasure in knowing it’. In fact, this rather Foucauldian subtitle is also the literal translation of the Portuguese idiomatic expression for ‘pleased to meet you’. Thus, the brain is actually introduced as a normative sexual subject in its own right, as the article further suggests: IT HAS MALE AND FEMALE SEX (‘Did you ever ask yourself why boys and girls excel in different areas?’); THE G SPOT … BELONGS TO IT! (‘Such a long time looking for this spot, and now it’s been found in your head!’); IT HAS ITS OWN ORGASM (which ‘in girls’ is related to ‘an area of the brain that releases dopamine – the substance of pleasure’).
This ‘brain’ is a reinvented technology of power, ultimately naturalising proverbial sexist discriminations and socio-professional gender inequalities. As such, it is a loose ventriloquist of brain organisation theory (see Jordan-Young, 2010), which became a dominant scientific tale of contemporary sexual difference. According to this theory, all gender asymmetries (and sexuality) eventually come down to sex differences in the brain primarily caused by ‘male’ or ‘female’ hormones, as strongly suggested by the psychiatrist Simon Baron-Cohen (e.g. 2003) and his obsession with the organisational effects of foetal testosterone exposure (see Roberts, 2007). On the other hand, this ‘brain’ is also constructed as an imperatively orgasmic subject, whose pleasurable body is micro-codified by the mainstream pornographic imageries and triggered by pharmaceutical substances. In other words, such a hypersexual brain is here given as the mould of a pharmaco-pornographic subjectivity. Also, while celebrating the post-feminist preoccupation with orgasms and an orgasmic ethics of existence (Pinto, 2009), this figuration recalls the genitals’ centrality in the territorialisation of the pleasure-producing body – which is today chiefly reinforced by the biopolitical action of pharmaco-pornographic capitalism (Preciado, 2008). After all, Ragazza is as concerned with ‘the G spot, on the anterior part of the vagina’, as it is with ‘the U spot, below the clitoris’, ‘the A spot, on the frontal wall of the vagina’, ‘the K spot, on the final zone of the vagina’, as well as the best positions to stimulate them through coital penetration (August 2007: 81) and ‘THE RIGHT MEASURES… of an erected penis’ (November 2007: 84).
Produced and re-produced in a techno-scientific discursive environment where all truths of sexual difference are measurable or quantifiable, Ragazza’s ‘brain’ does not escape the rather pornographic discourse commonly found in this magazine’s constructions of sexual bodies: ‘size matters!’ Or as asserted in one article (February 2008: 77), [girls’ and boys’ brains] have different sizes. Thus, the left hemisphere – the one that controls emotions and language – is bigger in the female brain than in boys’. That is why we are more romantic and we can argue and cry at the same time. On the other hand, the male brain is dominated by the hypothalamus, which explains why boys secrete a larger amount of testosterone, the hormone of desire. Is it clear?
The binary archetype of this construction is quite striking: an uncomplicatedly desiring subjectivity owing to a ‘male brain’ that is ‘dominated’ by its own biochemistry; a ‘more romantic’ and sentimentally charged subjectivity owing to a ‘female brain’ that is controlled by ‘emotions and language’. In the magazine’s formulation, the brain becomes the black box of the sexual double standard, as well as the regulator of its most irreducible, molecular truth: ‘testosterone, the hormone of desire’. Again, this is the brain of sexual difference, a sexual brain that causes a gendered mind – the ‘straight mind’, as Monique Wittig (1980) would put it. And it reminds us that, ‘despite the many recent insights of brain research, this organ remains a vast unknown, a perfect medium on which to project, even unwittingly, assumptions about gender’ (Fausto-Sterling, 2000: 118).
As much as the brain organisation hypothesis, Ragazza insistently links ‘a larger amount of testosterone’ to a male desiring body and to masculinity itself. Such a prevailing construction (and theory) descends from the history of hormones and their sexualisation, through which the ‘maleness’ and the ‘femaleness’ of certain bodily produced steroids (such as testosterone and oestrogens, respectively) came to be scientific fact (see Oudshoorn, 1994). As Anne Fausto-Sterling argues, over [the 20th] century, scientists have integrated the signs of gender – from genitalia, to the anatomy of gonads and brains, then to our very body chemistry – more thoroughly than ever into our bodies. In the case of the body’s chemistry, researchers accomplished this feat by defining as sex hormones what are, in effect, multi-site chemical growth regulators, thus rendering their far-reaching, nonsexual roles in both male and female development nearly invisible. (Fausto-Sterling, 2000: 147)
The standardisation and measurement of sex hormones by the pharmaceutical industry and biomedical sciences has been crucial to the contemporary reassertion of biological difference (Roberts, 2002), as well as to the capitalist production of pharmaco-pornographic subjectivities (Preciado, 2008). Experimental research on bodily produced substances has been engaged with heteronormativity, usually designed to validate their sex-specific and reproductive character – as the techno-scientific construction of human pheromones illustrates (see Sieben, 2011). While gender has become chemical (Fausto-Sterling, 2000: 170–194), body chemistry has infused mainstream discourses of sexual difference, according to which ‘our imaginary timeless “little men” and “little women” are encased in testosterone and estrogen’ (Jordan-Young, 2010: 270).
‘Hormones are to blame’: Hormonal fictions and the evolutionist tale
A QUESTION OF SEX
As boys have evolved less on a biological level, they remain more faithful to their instinct. Therefore, a boy can have sexual relations without creating an affective bond with his partner. On the other hand, we do exactly the opposite. We cannot avoid getting emotionally involved and, of course, we always suffer the consequences. Hormones are to blame: after sex we release oxytocin, the hormone related to tenderness – hence the need we feel of having an extra dose of affection. In the meantime our boyfriend is under the effect of testosterone, the hormone of desire. How about that? (October 2007: 76)
This excerpt displays the intersection of two dominant discursive tropes found in Ragazza’s sexological pages, which the analysis addresses as the evolutionist complex and the hormonal complex. They are frequently summoned to assert the biological truth of sexual subjecthood, at the same time suggesting the post-feminist updating of evolutionary thinking: girls are more ‘evolved’, biochemically more sophisticated and therefore more complicated than boys. Such distinctive post-feminist discourse ideologically serves a panopticist regime of self-attention and permanent problematisation of the desiring self. Despite its gloss of empowerment, it also tends to normalise gender constraints and asymmetric expectations whenever relationships are concerned in texts. Accordingly, two ‘opposite’ sexual subjects are constructed throughout the extract, whose relational subject positions are helplessly fixed from the outset: an instinctive ‘boy’ who is affectively uncompromising (or potentially unfaithful) to his ‘partner’; a female ‘we’, assumed as heterosexual ‘by default’ (‘our boyfriend’), who ‘cannot avoid getting emotionally involved’. Although the article encourages young women to ‘enjoy sex without having to go through the suffering that normally comes from a steady love relationship’, girls seem doomed in any case to fear ‘the consequences’ of their own biological complexity. In this particular example, both hormonal and evolutionist complexes come together to produce what we could call a steroid synthesis of the sexual double standard, ultimately given as the very hermeneutics of the whole (hetero)sexual experience: ‘hormones are to blame’.
Not only is testosterone to a great extent presented in Ragazza as a ‘male’ property, but it is exclusively called ‘the hormone of desire’. The intertwining of these two discourses voices a dominant game of truth in which girls’ bodies, given as light producers of desire, seem naturally dislodged from a straightforward sexually charged subjectivity. The suggestion that the female body is somehow lacking desire is also ideologically convenient for the compulsory medicalisation of women’s sexuality, as well as for the pervasive ‘pinking’ of Viagra culture by the pharmaceutical industry (see Hartley, 2006). Not surprisingly, testosterone rarely participates in this magazine’s constructions of female body-subjects, even when the hormonal functioning of girls’ sexual bodies is more extensively addressed. Moreover, while boys appear solely ‘dominated’ by that hormone, girls’ hormonal truth is not so simply configured, as suggested in the following quiz (December 2006: 82–83): What makes you act one way or another? Scientists have no doubts: hormones govern our personality. Find out which of them dominates you! Breathe deeply, concentrate and … be sincere! … Are you ready? The time has come to know the whole truth …
The key to accessing the ‘truth’ is given in the form of moral compounds of subjectivity: ‘Dopamine, the hormone of independence’; ‘Serotonin, the hormone of good causes’; ‘Noradrenalin, the hormone of good vibes’; ‘Oxytocin, the hormone of balance’. Respectively, four personalities are then presented, each of them being governed by its own ‘weaknesses’, ‘strengths’, and ‘sexual motto’. As seen in this quiz, Ragazza’s hormonal complex offers a pharmacological hermeneutics of female adolescence in which bodily selves become minded according to their own chemical reason. Eventually, the hormonal self comes to be the very key to an empowered ethical existence, given as the matrix of a personhood’s values and moral orientation (‘independence’, ‘good causes’, ‘good vibes’, ‘balance’). In the colourful multi-steroid environment where Ragazza’s ‘girls’ are produced, each hormone is assigned not only to an apparatus of subjectivities required by femininity, but also to the temporalities of what the magazine monthly envisions as girls’ major preoccupations: coupling and the management of heterosexual relationships. More precisely, figured as ‘a well-organised army that parades through your body every month’, hormones – particularly oestrogen and progesterone – turn out to be the time-code of all female sexual subjecthood: ‘Find out everything about them and you will know when you should not have an argument or when it is time for you to seduce’ (January 2006: 66–67). In this hermeneutics of the subject, hormones are not only elevated into natural agents of girls’ governmentality; they come to constitute its indispensable hypodermis. Knowing one’s hormonal truth becomes an imperative care in the art of self-government, through which the ‘natural’ costs of femininity may be minimised. In short, the enterprising management of girls’ sexual nature is ultimately enhanced by such seemingly empowering knowledge. In this sense, hormones become the imaginary matter with which a certain freedom may be endlessly re-produced (and therefore consumed) by the subject herself: to be released from the uncertainties of a feminine desiring self and the burdens of relationships. Of course, in Ragazza’s own steroid post-feminist world, the techno-scientific market – the foremost manufacturer of sexual truth – always gives girls a little help: Anti-Arguments Spray Arguments with your boyfriend may have their days numbered. A group of German scientists discovered a new substance in the ‘hormone of love’ – oxytocin – and with it they created a nasal spray to alleviate the stress that leads to arguments and to reduce bad humour. We could say: ‘Do not let go of the spray, ok?’ (Ragazza, August 2006: 22)
As much as all biological difference, Ragazza’s ‘love’ comes to be very much chemical, as this rather pharmaceutical formulation suggests. Mostly reintroduced by the magazine as a matter of (heterosexual) ‘instinct’ and brain chemistry, love is somewhat dismissed as a discursive technology of the romantic self to become the ‘substance’ of an intoxicated, hormonally driven subjectivity. This is ‘revealed’ by ‘the new scientific keys of love’ (February 2008), ‘IT IS ADDICTIVE’ since ‘when you get used to this happiness a kind of addiction is generated’. Furthermore, the magazine maintains that ‘being left by someone may produce sensations that are very close to the impulses related with madness, or even with drug addiction itself … It is really true!’ (April 2006: 85). Ragazza’s narcotic discourse of love offers girls the possibility of a techno-love, eventually re-producible in steroid syntheses and consumable as a ‘spray’. This is not to argue that young women are frantically incited by this magazine to consume pharmaceutical drugs such as best-selling regulators of serotonin (also called by the magazine ‘the hormone of happiness’ and ‘the hormone of pleasure and humour’), but rather to suggest that Ragazza’s hormonal imageries voice the imperatives of the capitalist conjuncture in which they take place. They are bound to a distinctive production of subjectivity where women’s self-esteem appears determined by higher levels of serotonin in the brain and sold in bottles of Prozac, Zoloft, or Paxil (Fukuyama, 2002), whilst at the same time the pathologisation of female desire is systematically reinvented by pharmaceutical corporations (Hartley, 2006). On the other hand, an overall reading of this magazine’s sexological features suggests that contemporary girlhood, while virtually lacking the ‘naturally’ desiring testosterone-subjects, is inhabited by dopamine-subjects, serotonin-subjects, oestrogen-subjects, noradrenalin-subjects, oxytocin-subjects, progesterone-subjects, adrenaline-subjects, and so on. All these interact within the same adolescent body-subject, the pharmaco-girl, whose materiality and agency are first and foremost framed by a biotechnological regime where oestrogen and progesterone have become the most extensively used drugs in medical history (cf. Fausto-Sterling, 2000: 147). And the compulsory embodiment of such steroid subjectivity (see Roberts, 2007) is owed not only to hegemonic institutional gender politics – as in the case of birth control – but to their interlocking with the pressures of the pharmaceutical market and the molecular engineering of self-regulation it puts to work. Not surprisingly, while contraceptive pills assume a major role in today’s pharmacological cosmeticisation of the feminine body, women are strongly advised against the ‘masculinising’ effects resulting from the therapeutic use of testosterone syntheses (Preciado, 2008). In other words, while women are told ‘be free’, ‘be sexually emancipated’ by the techno-scientific market in conjunction with the liberal democratic state, they are simultaneously engaged in an implicit contract in which feminisation and its continuous updating (or consumption) appear as mandatory. In this pharmacological hermeneutics of the female subject, the experience of bodily agency and sexual freedom is from the outset shaped by the micro-fascist operations (Guattari, [1990] 2004) of a larger programme of industrialisation of sexual difference. In this post-feminist hermeneutics, the labour of freedom – the production-consumption of a gendered bodily self – is, after all, the molecular labour of difference.
Conclusion
Whilst rethinking the notion of post-feminism and its governmental ethics, this article explored the contemporary construction of ‘girls’ in a key post-feminist site: mainstream media targeted at young women. Drawing on the convergence between this biopolitical ideal and the neoliberal art of government, the article presented a corpus of governmental principles through which girls’ (and women’s) sexual subjectification is today best understood. The networking of its power dynamics (here left open for further exploration) sustains what this article introduced as the post-feminist hermeneutics of adolescence: the neoliberal translation of ‘teenage’ into a self-enterprising contract in which girls, given as heterosexual ‘by default’, are expected to seek sexual information about their pleasurable and reproducible bodies, thus revealing the regulatory ‘mysteries’ of a mature (hetero)sexual life. As our analysis illustrates, this is the hermeneutics through which Ragazza’s ‘girl’ is reasoned: an inevitably desiring body-subject who is required to fear the negative consequences of her own ‘sexual nature’; who must always reassure her femininity and sexual subjecthood through a panopticist knowing of her bodily self; who is entitled to endlessly re-produce and consume her own sexual freedom. Also, the analysis worked to show how this hermeneutics is heavily informed by the pornographic and pharmacological imperatives of contemporary capitalism. On the one hand, young women are idealised in the magazine within the assumption of an orgasmic bodily truth and the mainstream micro-territorialising of the female pleasure-producing body. On the other hand, their subjectivities are now codified by hormonal fictions – which amount to suggesting the complication of femininity – and ultimately reduced to pharmaceutical constructs and narcotic discourses. The truth of sexual difference becomes irreducibly molecular.
Rather than reflecting on subjects’ possibilities of resistance within post-feminist agendas and when reading particular mainstream texts, this article’s task was to show how bodily subjectivity is constituted in a specific hermeneutics of adolescence, as well as the ways in which girls’ bodies are given as the central reason for selves in a post-feminist media product. Nevertheless, empirical investigation seems to me urgent in order to understand how young women actually consume these particular kinds of texts, how they make use of these media sexual technologies, and how they may negotiate mainstream techno-science and post-feminist translations of agency. While calling attention to the lack of such research in the context of contemporary sexualisation and more particularly of post-feminism, this article aims to underscore the importance of those studies for a more in-depth comprehension of young women’s incorporation of technology and scientific ‘truths’ in today’s capitalist democratic world.
Finally, in introducing girls’ magazines as sexual technologies of the self, the article reflects the relevance of this distinctively post-feminist media form in the prevailing industrialisation of sexual difference. In short, Ragazza ends up being a dramatic example of the way in which, as Leonore Tiefer posits, the message that sex differences ‘are biological’ keeps getting repackaged in whatever biology is popular at the moment – brain anatomy, evolutionary theory, hormones, brain chemistry or gene effects .… Mass media salivate every time a new technology uncovers some measurable physical difference and use each techno-news to trot out familiar generalization, exaggerations, unreplicated findings, selective measurements – the whole 2000 years worth, it sometimes seems. (2004: 437)
While equating girls’ bodily development as the tangible real of sexual subjecthood, post-feminist markets must recreate the meanings of biological difference at all times in order to make it suitable for cultural demand. For post-feminism therefore, nature is not (only) matter of fact; it is matter of production, the limits of which are regulated by the market itself. In this sense, it is not enough for critical theory to question the ethics of the post-feminist interpretation of girlhood; one must also interrogate the moulds of subjectivity it makes available for re-production and their ability to reinvent sexual difference. This is certainly a matter for further investigation.
Footnotes
Acknowledgements
Pedro Pinto wishes to thank Claire House for her great generosity in proofreading and commenting on this article. Also, many thanks to Gil Mendo for his infinite patience and care in systematically revising the translation of the extracts presented in the analysis, and for his ever prompt companionship.
