Communal Living May Make for Sexier Times
LatestCould the aimless, atomized souls living in discrete domiciles in the United States be missing out of really sexy sex by not living more communally? Probably, but at the very least, if you’re living in a “house” that’s separated from your immediate “neighbors” by “windows” and “walls” that simultaneously envelope you in a cocoon of shame for your biological functions and permit neighbors to spy on you to make sure you’re not a deviant, than you’re a prisoner locked in the gaol blissfully civilized Westerners like to call “society.”
In a recent article (which really doesn’t merit all this finger-flexing snark because it’s pretty interesting) in Aeon magazine, Richard J. Williams, a professor of contemporary visual cultures at the University of Edinburgh, suggests that architects (especially Western architects) have been designing domiciles that make sex far more difficult and shameful than it should be. He offers, as an example of such sex-frustrating structures, his first home, located in a “Victorian suburb” called Morningside:
Never threatened by wartime bombs, post-war developers, or the vicissitudes of the housing market, this suburb has a direct line to the ‘Victorian city’ — and its morality. Its moral character is there for anyone to see: in the bay windows watching over every inch of street, the church on every corner, and the sheer solidity of the stone. Morningside is propriety in built form.
The suburb’s respectability was a huge attraction for me at the anxious moment of buying a flat. But after a few years of living there, that same respectability had become a bore. Then it became oppressive. The buildings began to represent a desiccated social life, defined by emotional reserve and obligation. Patrolled by curtain-twitching killjoys, Morningside seemed determined to put a stop to fun of any kind.
Williams goes on to partially absolve the Morningside Panopticon of its Victorian moral policing, saying that this slow drain of constrained suburban living probably had at least a little to do with he and his wife growing up and learning “together that this was simply what adult life was like, a mess of contradictory demands.” Growing up means taking on an oppressive amount of responsibility, selling your vinyls, turning in your collectible action figures, and putting your big box-o-porn in the trash — basically, everything that happens at the end of a Judd Apatow movie. People grow up, develop paunches, have trouble putting their socks on in the morning, and very gradually fall into the habit of not having sex with their partners because, ugh, it’s so much hassle.
Maybe, though, all the this domestic sexlessness isn’t strictly a byproduct of getting older. Maybe the places people live are actively trying to keep them from mingling their genitals. It’s all a scheme to make people more efficient. Think about it in terms of a scuttled Pixar movie concept — our houses are alive, prudish, and totally freaked out by the idea that we would be having sex in them.