Dommes, Daddies and Dungeons: Does Kink Belong At Pride?

The scene is tense. A man, grey, exhausted, suited, seated. His son, similarly hued and leathered stands offensive, accompanied by his red-haired, sex-worker boyfriend. Misreading the scene and the crowning announcement, his father’s eyes come alight. The father reveals his collar; he is a submissive kinkster and mistakes his son as a fellow member of the community. His body becomes flaccid with horror when his son’s intimation is a “coming out” of a different kind, that his son does not like to be bound and beaten by women, but men — if at all.

Similar to this uncomfortable scene from the Netflix original Bonding, Kink's presence at Pride celebrations has — since the digital age and integration of Pride into mainstream culture — been a subject of continuing controversy. Initial research for this article led me directly to the masses of complaints, objections and general disdain. It can be unclear whether this chafing bundling of cultural and trauma reflexes continues due to misunderstandings, Nelsonianisms or the incompatibility of a binary-based society with the kink and Queer community’s nuanced — yet undeniably intertwined — histories. Literally taken, kink is “a sharp twist or curve in something that is otherwise straight.” This definition, when examined, finds itself — unintentionally — cuffed to the definition of Queerness as something strange or odd, something existing beyond a norm. In terms of human sexuality, the definitions remain bound with the term “Queer” denoting sexual and gender identities which are neither heterosexual nor cisgender and “kinkiness” alluding to: the use of non-conventional sexual practices, concepts or fantasies; something which may be heterosexual but, depending on your perspective, may not quite seem so “straight.” The expressions’ primary difference, in terms of language, being that one (kink) is primarily viewed as a temporary act, the other (Queerness) as an identity.

Writer, mother and committed kinkster Brianna (@baeleche) argues that much of the conflict surrounding kink comes down to context. For her, kinkiness is an embracing of non-traditional preferences, it is an “inviting [of] more playfulness and fun into our intimate spaces.” What we consider kinky depends not only on cultural contexts but also, our personal histories. What is kinky for a person raised in a conservative Christian household may differ greatly from what is kinky for the child of an artist, a sex worker, an activist or merely, a child who early on discovered the alleyways of the internet and cable TV.

Baeleche’s message, that embracing our left of centre cravings in terms of our sexuality affects our attitude and actions in wider life, is of a similar essence to Audre Lorde’s vouching for the erotic. In her seminal essay “Uses of the Erotic: The Erotic as Power” (1978), Lorde asserts that the erotic, the sensual, the truly, gloriously intimate is “… a measure between the beginnings of our sense of self and the chaos of our strongest feelings … [and] having experienced the fullness of this depth of feeling and recognising its power, in honour and self respect we can require no less of ourselves.”

Kink, not unlike the erotic, exists beyond the patriarchal binary of male domination and female submission. Anyone can be in control and anyone can submit. Speaking to a friend of mine on her experience with BDSM, she stated that she knew a lot of “fake doms.” These were individuals who prioritised their pleasure over that of their submissive, who didn't listen, who were merely appropriating the ritual-like practices of the kink community for the purposes of cheap thrills and ejaculation. These individuals, perhaps, are who comes to mind when Queer folks oppose the visible and undeniably potent presence of the kink community at Pride. Excluding well-intentioned kinksters from Pride, however, reeks of gatekeeping, of everything the Queer community claims it is battling against. It is not unreasonable for the Queer community to be critical concerning who we do and do not allow into our spaces. Those in our compass must acknowledge that Pride is not a spectacle, that it is all celebration, a memorial and a continuing, colourful war. Yet, falling into the cracks over whether or not a Twink can wear a jockstrap and indulge in hanky code seems a distractor from these truths.

We are not obliged to blindly grant attention to whatever the media — that itself can seem to fetishise Queer pain — chooses to magnify. We may, as Susan Sontag desired, rediscover our senses and decide, for ourselves, what is more important and whether or not excluding a supportive community from Pride, a community whose history is positively intertwined with ours, is what’s best for coming generations. In any heteronormative society, there is still a clear norm and there are very clear ways to digress from it. The spirit of Pride embodies this digression. We are striving against the dynamics of a society that prioritises whiteness, straightnesses, cisgendered-ness — we recognise the dynamics of power, the mechanisms of surveillance and with loaded rage, we shake our heads, we refuse submission.

In a world without guaranteed aftercare, the appeal of creating a microcosmic, sensual space — in which our troubles are figged and busted — for me, needs little justification. In a kink scene, the dynamics of power and oppression — which find themselves the protagonists of any introductory level philosophy, social justice, politics or feminism course — are queened by the participants. The individual kinksters themselves decide, whether they wish to submit, dominate or switch. It is a space in which these dynamics — be they the dollification of women or the social subjugation of Trans and Genderqueer folx — unhinged in our realities, become safe and sane, become consensual. We top from the bottom and make our limits heard.

Pride is for the Queer community, but Queerness is an ever changing, personally and culturally subjective identity marker. At Pride — like a BDSM club, like a D/s relationship — we get to choose, who we want to be and what future we wish to create with the kindness, or lack thereof, we demonstrate today.

Illustrations by Carolina Diaz