Commercialised and commodified sexual identities

Sex is now far more visible in Western culture, especially in the context of the internet and the easier access to pornography (Attwood, 2009). Porn stars are accorded celebrity status, and porn has infiltrated everyday media such as music videos, advertisements, film, and TV. As Attwood argues, sex has gone from the ‘sleazy backstreets’ (2009, p. xiv) to the main high street. Women have been reconstructed as consumers of sex, emphasised through the popularity of sex toys such as the Rampant Rabbit, the increased numbers of lingerie shops, pole dancing classes, and burlesque nights. This marketisation of sex has an impact on identity-formation. Following Giddens, Attwood frames this as utilising sex for the purposes of fulfilment; sex becomes for pleasure and fun rather than reproduction.

The sociology of religion has assessed the commodification of religious forms, and how spiritualities are marketised (particularly in corporate contexts) so that they can be bought and sold (Carrette and King, 2005). These marketisation techniques are seen as damaging due to the way they are co-opted into neoliberal regimes, disabling religions from taking up a critical role of the current economic system and the inequalities generated. Others have focused on the ways religions market themselves as a product, through, for example, advertising. Heelas and Woodhead (2005) have examined the increased popularity of spiritual wellbeing and mind-body-spirit endeavours, such as yoga and aromatherapy. In a context of religious institutional decline, individuals experiment with new forms of religiosity that take individualised and subjectivised forms. Sociological questions have arisen regarding to what extent this type of engagement is a form of consumer practice, as religious or spiritual practices are chosen in a “pic-n-mix” fashion.

There are far fewer studies which link these spheres together and which analyse sexuality and religion from the perspective of commercialisation, commodification, or marketisation. For those that do address this in some way (though not all actually frame their findings in terms of commodification and commercialisation), there can be ascertained at least three approaches. Firstly, there are those more conservative forms of marketisation that explicitly endorse traditional religious messages about sex, but use new commodified forms to make these traditional messages more appealing and “on trend”. Moultrie’s (2017) work on the Black ministries that are marketed to Black single women in the US is an example where it is clear that a product is being created and cultivated, and sold en masse, and is dependent on a carefully crafted stage management of the stars at the heart of these popular ministries. Merchandise such as DVDs, books, and bracelets become marketable commodities to this particular demographic, enabled through social media platforms, conferences, and live events. And it is incredibly profitable. Meanwhile, White (2012) has emphasised the ways in which purity culture is marketised to young people; virginity is popularised by the selling of slogan t-shirts and jewellery. Similarly, in the ADPS project, Lowe and Page (forthcoming) have detected the ways in which anti-abortion contingents in the UK capitalise on youthful commodifications in an attempt to present a more palatable and “youthful” message. This is exemplified at the March for Life event, which takes place annually. A professional stage is created, featuring live music, where the lyrics of popular songs are altered to feature an anti-abortion message. This is accompanied by stands selling merchandise with anti-abortion messages. A festival-like atmosphere is attempted, where entrants to the event are given blue festival-style wrist-bands with the message, “Life at Conception; No Exception”.

Secondly, there are forms of commodification that embrace certain sexualised formations. In these examples, religious cultures (including conservative ones) embrace commodified forms of sexuality such as sex toys and sex manuals, but typically reaffirm traditional notions of sexuality, in that the commodified practices are legitimated within heterosexual marriage only. In this sense, mar-ketised forms of sexuality that initially seem deviant actually uphold long-standing sexual norms. Burke’s (2016) study is an excellent example of this, where Christians participate in an online community where sex is discussed in frank and detailed terms. This is not just about confessing their sexual experiences, desires, and problems in a Foucauldian sense, but co-constructs their religious identity. Some of the sexual practices that her married heterosexual participants engage with - such as cross-dressing or female masturbation - would be negatively perceived within the broader contours of conservative Evangelicalism, yet through online mechanisms, her participants situate their practices as godly and sacredly endorsed. This is enabled through the debating mechanisms the online spaces allow, which makes the individual responsible for their own sexual ethic. At the same time, all practices are understood in a broader conservative normative where strict gender codes are adhered to, and where sexual activity is restricted to those in heterosexual marriages. In this way, participants understand their sexual engagement in godly terms, and as fulfilling God’s intentions for them, and therefore within a Christian framework, but these decisions about permissible and impermissible acts are individually negotiated within marriage itself. Burke also highlights the role played by online sellers of sexual products to religious individuals, such as sex toys, and whether religious consumers are willing to pay the marked-up price for a product that has been carefully screened and selected for that audience. In a similar vein, DeKogatis (2015) has highlighted the booming sales of Evangelical sex manuals, where careful marketing decisions are made regarding what diagrams, if any, are depicted, and how graphic the images utilised should be. Again, the selling of sex manuals to a Christian audience is not deemed deviant, so long as the “sex-within-heterosexual-marriage” normative is maintained.

More work is needed to theoretically situate such examples within the context of marketisation more generally. Given that religious communities have often protested the use of sexuality as a means to sell products, what are the ramifications when religious identities are entwined with marketised forms of sexuality? In the case of White’s (2012) and Lowe and Page’s (forthcoming) research, a particular view on sexuality is being promoted through commodified means, which correspond with youthful interests to make them more popular, so it is not about using sex to sell a product, but using products to sell a certain idea about sexuality. Meanwhile, in Burke’s example, the sellers are trying to promote a product that does not become associated with the trappings of “worldly” sexuality, but presents sex toys as part of a wholesome and godly heterosexual marriage. Products are carefully selected for the website so that this ideal is adhered to. But what about examples where it is some form of sexuality itself that is being commodified? We now turn to our third example of sexual-religious commodification.

Wilson (2017) examines how the Buddhist concept of mindfulness has been commodified for various audiences. Although mindfulness has been constructed as a therapeutic practice in health and wellbeing terms per se, Wilson specifically focuses on the promotion of “mindful sex”, in various guises. He identifies three terrains where mindful sex is conveyed to non-Buddhist audiences: the medical terrain, where mindful sex is deemed a means of overcoming sexual problems, particularly gynaecological ones; the self-help and therapy culture which addresses more populist audiences to promote better sex, again often with a particular focus on women; and spiritually engaged practices oriented around Buddhist ideas, which aim to enhance one’s sex life, such as Orgasmic Meditation (see also Pilcher, forthcoming). This is where practitioners stroke each other intimately, promoting sexual satisfaction. This sits uneasily with traditional Buddhist interpretations of mindfulness and sex, especially given that mindfulness in Buddhist monastic traditions was utilised as a means of dampening sexual desires, rather than heightening them. Wilson argues that the appropriation of Buddhist concepts in secular therapeutic culture demonstrates the fluidity between the secular and religious, the scientific and spiritual, especially given that this-worldly forms of Buddhism - effecting change in one’s immediate life - have always existed. Wilson’s analysis also highlights the reproduction of gendered stereotypes and assumptions, given that women are often the focus of mindful sex - while men’s sexual problems are constructed as being solved through Viagra pills with a very material focus, women’s sexual problems are instead understood in terms of mental constraint, even in contexts involving major surgery such as a hysterectomy. Women in particular are therefore understood as being able to particularly benefit from mindful sex. This points to the complex interweaving of spiritual and secular narratives in re-emphasising traditional gendered understandings of sexuality.

Within these three approaches, the kind of commodification in relation to religion and sexuality varies. But what ties together these three formulations is the typical promotion of heterosexual and gendered forms of sexuality.