Like any internet-savvy male, I’ve seen a lot of porn. Tons of it. All those fake tans, fake eyelashes, fake breasts and fake moans have caused me to value—no, worship—authenticity.
syntheticpubes, on The Porn Myth. I don’t know, I’ve gotten paid to “be fake” in porn, and that’s all it was — theatre. If anything, it showed me how much the aesthetics of sex are up to us, not anybody else. (And this is just a personal thing, but why do hip-hugging cotton panties, leg warmers, filmy bras, and perfectly tousled bedhead connote “authentic” now? I mean, I see the girls at American Apparel trying their damnedest to be “natural.” It’s weird. And only makes me more certain that, in bed, whether it’s black push-up lace or tiny boy briefs, it’s all drag.)