Once it was the magnificent Greek art to give prominence to the male body and sex galore. Gallant gods and warriors with a pair of Jason Statham inflated shoulders, Dan Carter washboard abs, monstrous Crimson Chin pecs, Kick Buttowski toned b-side and itsy-bitsy bulge- like Ken Carson more than the awaited genital profusion of Nacho Vidal-. Rude shock! They cling onto each other in highly erotic fights, skin to skin choreographies where the beholder senses the sexual innuendo more than the brawl. Since then, decency blindfolded any trace of body-and-bulge in the Western history, anything a man carried underneath a pair of seemly trousers and well-starched shirts was non-existent. It was the charade of puritanism. Andy Warhol’s Blow Job, Lovelace’s offsite clitoris, the suburban boy Robert Mapplethorpe’s cocks and flowers and the Internet gave a boost to sex-depicting images- more or less explicit- to become mainstream and somewhat-normative.
Sex drifts from politics to Roman Catholic Church, from Hollywood to fashion, from our garçonnière straight on-line. The intern giving head to the US President, priests and bum boys banging under the moonlight in Villa Borghese, celebs and avocational porn performers showing off hanky-panky – we all know Pamela’s sucking skill, how Rick Salomon did feel that ‘night in Paris’- Hilton- and how good Colin Farrell is at using his joystick- are not just affairs with a raunchy background not worth mentioning, they are media phenomena, social and cultural as well, since sex has been shaping nearly every aspect of our everyday life.
With the ascension of the social media, the private- more than ever- is given to the public, seduction becomes compulsive, we’re not just peepers, we lust for being looked at. Visual erotica peaks with Instagram and its own ‘logic of desire’, the amateurism culture of users video-sharing on Youporn and people Insta-posting what they’ve got- Kim Kard-ass-hian and her camping table-wide derrière, rapper The Game and his Thor’s hammer-sized wang and other body whoppers shared by all-type of devotees- is prevailing. What people fear with the hypersexualisation of the mass culture, is not some risqué depiction of sexuality per se, but their connotations and a possible out-of-hand identification with the ‘kinky’ visual stimuli we’re exposed to, so their empowerment.
To use- and abuse- of any suggestive power- even the most contentious-, play with double entenders, taboos and sensibilities are not unfamiliar doings of fashion. The circulating bulk of representations within fashion commercials and editorials are moulded by the aesthetic and iconographic codes of pornography and the sleazification of today’s media is favouring the public desensitization to sexually explicit content.
Calvin Klein got us used to ‘fashion s-exercise’ and the arousing fascination of soft-core images with his commercials starring beefcakes, foxes, ’interrupted adolescents’ and kids. Crotch-grabbing Marky Mark, a stunning Carrè Otis mooning the camera, Natalia Vodianova ass-biting Jamie Dornan and other sentimentalisms close to the porn rep are part of Calvin’s go-go game. In a cold society, Mr Klein’s been turning up the erotic heat with his titillating visual material- apart from the epic fail with a-spare-prick-at-a-wedding Justin Bieber as ‘the romantic impotent’ more than a wet dream-inducing dude CK usually drafts into his ‘league of knockouts’.
To deliver alluring-cum-perverse campaigns is Dolce & Gabbana’s forte. They strut their stuff when it comes to contriving intrusive contexts where sexuality- lapsing into its most disturbing execution at various times – often crops up. Homosociality and homoeroticism is a Dolce bent, slut men in a very formal attire, a fetish- there’s some phallus-worship running the corporate, you bet!-. Porn imagery flows into brand identity, the line between allusion and obviousness gets blurred. Dolce & Gabbana have been exerting a great leverage on representing both male and female bodies as ‘politically unmanageable’, pushing the porn culture and the dressed-to-kill generation.
In spite of the advertising watchdog barking at every single just-barely-naughty froth shown on his brand’s campaigns, Tom Ford never flexes his butt- and what a butt!-. We have grown accustomed to his ‘fuck yeah’-style and his personal take on fashion. He has been able to (in)famously turn a precious perfume bottle into a dildo (Tom Ford 2007), two outdoor walkers into live-sex spectators (Tom Ford 2008), a girl’s pubic hair into a gucci-branded hairdo- g-spot made way for the gucci-spot- (Gucci 2003), a car ride into an almost-performed oral (Gucci 1998). Though a lot of his creative efforts have been upsetting a sensitive audience, we’re fully aware Ford will never quieten his genius down to comply with the social frigidity.
Where does fashion stop and pornography start? One doesn’t exclude the other, they actually share an adherence to an impressive visual language and both rely heavily on body consciousness and pleasure. Nicola Formichetti, former head designer of Mugler, did explore the bond between fashion and porn with the SS12 two-edition ‘Brothers of Arcadia’ directed by Branislav Jankic- the uncensored version exclusively on Xtube-. It’s a film starring red-blooded lads and the Lost in Lust transgender singer Nomi Ruiz. The waves crashing on the shore, sensuous bodies floating gently and indiscreet shots set the light vibe of the first minutes before cinematography goes red. Boys kept on leash, allusive bukkake, penetrations and hand-jobs take centre stage.
Visual stimulation is the prologue to the arousal, the sensory massacre a wonted epilogue. No words needed, just keep on watching…