Hit Me Baby - Sexing Up Domestic Violence

Famed photographer Steven Klein's series Domestic Bliss features high-profile celebrity couple Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie in a violent and aggressive love affair

Marquis de Sade declared that “sex without pain is like food without taste,” and if we’re restricting such philosophies solely to matters of the flesh, then all that can be said for this is to each his own. Pain in love is also a concept that seems generally acceptable; love is often devastating, disappointing, confusing and terrifying. But what can be said for the concept of violence in love? The new music video featuring pop music giants Rihanna and Eminem alongside gorgeous Hollywood actors Megan Fox and Dominic Monaghan has come under fire recently, accused of glamorising domestic abuse and giving it a somewhat sexy, romantic edge:



The intense, passionate and dysfunctional relationship portrayed by two stunningly gorgeous actors expresses a quiet though very present beauty in a mutually abusive love affair, and with a pop star who’d recently made headlines sporting a bruised eye and swollen lip from her former ‘intense and passionate’ lover singing the words “I like the way it hurts,” the storm of criticism is unsurprising. But rather than accusing attention-hungry celebrities of endorsing violence and domestic abuse, it might also be worth considering the possibility of young artists offering a brutally honest picture of an often multi-faceted situation.

How to sell a suit, according to Duncan Quinn

The idea of ‘loving hard’ isn’t new or as scarce as we’d like to believe, despite countless campaigns condemning violence against women or the public scrutiny of ‘wife-beating’ public figures like Chris Brown and Mel Gibson. Our media seems to condemn violence as much as it seeks to glorify it, with filmmakers and photographers exploring the more seductive side of intense, dysfunctional relationships, and high fashion advertisements weaving erotic and romantic undertones into the display of physical abuse and violence. I remember a conversation I had with a girl who was experiencing difficulties coping with her boyfriend’s infidelity, and when I suggested that she'd confront him, she smiled faintly and said that he would hit her if she did. That wild delusion in her eyes mirrors a bizarre belief that passion and intense love is demonstrated by furious battles and the infliction of physical abuse by a loved one. Violence in love is arousing and unpredictable, and seems to be acknowledged by many as evidence of real, unrestrained love: our love is grander and more than most. We just love harder. The idea is not unlike the myth of the ‘tortured artist’, something with more romanticised fantasy than actual truth. Rather than the notion of art imitating the tragedy of life and love, is it more likely that instead it is breeding a monster?

Why we hate sluts (but also want to be one)

What sensible person of moral righteousness could deny the countless events of havoc and misfortune caused by the slut? The Egyptian Queen Cleopatra employed an irresistible charm to worm her way into the hearts of great men and subsequently, to dynastic rule. Throughout history, mankind (no, literally man-kind) has crumbled miserably at the feet of ruthless and manipulative vixens, causing entire empires to fall with the defiant sway of the hips. Recently also, the Iranian cleric Hojatoleslam Kazem Sedighi, attributed the tragic occurrences of natural disasters to the baneful temptresses of contemporary fashion, reasoning that “many women who do not dress modestly lead young men astray and spread adultery in society which increases earthquakes.”

It seems that from the dawn of time (when Eve plucked that apple and doomed us all), women have been regarded as the perpetrators of much of the world’s problems. But let’s forget the men for a moment. Women love to hate other women. The catty obsession with naming Angelina Jolie as a ‘whore’ and ‘home wrecker’ demonstrates the social phenomenon of slut-shaming – the cheap and easy way for women to feel powerful. Tanenbaum (2000) explains, “if you feel threatened by the sexuality of a female rival, or even insecure or ashamed about your own sexual desires, all you have to do is call a girl a ‘slut’ and suddenly you’re the one who is ‘good’ and on top of the social pecking order.” The countless fan pages dedicated to promiscuous women on social networking site Facebook, displays this bizarre behaviour, with hundreds of thousands of women publicly subscribing to pages labelled, “I hate sluts,” “Relationships = a guy, a girl, and one slut that gets in the way,” and “You are a slut, get hit by a car.” Ironically, while many women consider sexual promiscuity to betray feminist values, the occupation of attacking one another within an oppressed group is a necessary component in keeping these groups oppressed. Women are encouraged, through internalised sexism, to distrust each other and fight for male approval. In this patriarchal society that defines a woman’s worth by her physical attractiveness and sexual availability, the ability for a woman to distinguish herself by other means is consequently thwarted. We learn from a young age that we must dedicate ourselves to the pursuit of “male approval,” which we feel translates into a form of power.

What, then, explains the popularity of crotchless underwear, hyper sexualised media and casual sex among women today? Although this phenomenon directly conflicts with slut-shaming, the motives appear to be the same: garnering male approval. With a culture that simultaneously glorifies both modesty and promiscuity, it’s no wonder that women begin to struggle with the internalisation of two opposing ideals. Perhaps this explains the popularity of one of my favourite Facebook fan pages, boasting over 790 000 supporters: “When sluts hate other sluts for being sluts.”