On Sunday, AKA the lord's day, Seattle Seahawks quarterback Russell Wilson sat down for a one-on-one interview
with Pastor Miles McPherson at San Diego's Rock Church. Wilson, who has
been linked to pop star Ciara for months, finally went public with the
relationship. He went on to shock the church with the most painful-sounding
and nonsensical announcement this side of the foreskin covenant:
Russell Wilson and Ciara were doing it “Jesus' way” In other words, not doing it.
The
early aughts pop star behind “Goodies” is an unlikely abstinence
champion (victim?). But Ciara's celibacy brings us back to an era when
the hottest celebrities were all zipping up their artfully-faded
Abercrombie low-rise jeans for Jesus. In the late ‘90s, Britney Spears
made a career off of her bubblegum vocals and much-lauded virginity.
Much like her predecessor, the Virgin Mary, Spears' hymen made
headlines. In the iconic Rolling Stone
cover “Virgin Britney with Old-Timey Phone,” Spears appeared in her
panties, clutching a Teletubby and sporting a facial expression that
made you want to cover that Teletubby’s plastic, lid-less eyes. The
accompanying headline read, “Inside the heart, mind, & bedroom of a
teen dream.”
Britney's decision “to wait until I know I'm with the right person and I'm married” is in no way at odds with Rolling Stone's
implicit promise to get its readers in her pants (or at least between
her silky, hot-pink sheets). In fact, the two opposing images, one of a
good Christian girl, one of a sultry pop vixen, combined to create one
endlessly alluring, ultimately untenable ‘90s starlet. Remember that the
‘90s were a complicated time to be a teen. The liberal debauchery of
Bill Clinton and his naughty cigar set had given way to a conservative,
religious political backlash. Bush's America emphasized a return to
wholesome family values, while the Internet in all its anonymous glory
was busy pioneering new ways to be bad. The AIDS epidemic inextricably
linked sex with death in the minds of millions of Americans. Sex was
everywhere, and denial was constant. Virginity was a safe and
comfortable alternative, and virginity pledges and promise rings flooded
the teen market alongside chokers and Ring Pops.
Stars like
Britney Spears made money by embodying a neo-conservative, Southern
Belle ideal. Befitting the hypocrisy of the time, virginity became a new
way of selling sex. The girl who wouldn't give it up became an object
of intense fetishization and fascination. Boys and girls (not to mention
men and women) across America wanted what they couldn't have, and
Britney Spears and Jessica Simpson wanted to give it to them. And by
“it” we mean coy answers, teasing bedroom photo shoots, and role model
advice for America's abstinent daughters.
Unlike Cosby Sweaters (and, eventually, Cosby), creepy abstinence
fetishization refused to stay in the ‘90s where it belongs. Instead, the
2000s brought a brand new crop of sexy virgins, with an added dose of
infantilization and the faintest hint of exploitation. We speak, of
course, of Walt Disney's early aughts army. Miley Cyrus, Selena Gomez,
Demi Lovato, and the Jonas Brothers all shared a moment of sex-less
glory after their Disney Channel vehicles skyrocketed them to celebrity
status. Like a group of toddlers on leashes, these tween and teen stars
were tightly shackled to their parent company's puritanical notions.
While traveling (and dating) in a pack, these junior Jesus enthusiasts
somehow managed to retain their public images as virginal, religious
sons and daughters—which was crucial to promoting Disney fare as
family-friendly.
Of course, much like Britney and Jessica before them, these Disney
creations had to somehow uphold the values they were selling, while
simultaneously selling the sex they swore they weren't having. The Jonas
Brothers, for example, were sex symbols. Their albums sold to millions
of horny fans—girls and boys who would sweat, shake, and faint if one of
the Jo Bro's purity rings merely glinted past them in a crowd. A legion
of tweens were driven to what Victorian doctors would have diagnosed as
female hysteria; and yet, paradoxically, discussions of sex and
sexuality were pushed to the side in favor of abstinence-heavy rhetoric.
The nation's top producers of pre-teen sexual fantasies were publicly
declared virgins; sex was bad, but it also sold billions of records and
quietly subsidized four seasons of Wizards of Waverly Place.
Of
course, nothing in the entertainment industry is ever quite as pure as
it seems. Abstinence may have been a profitable marketing strategy for a
handful of stars, but it came at a high cost for young women—and for
the celebrities themselves. At the end of the day, the sexy virgin plays
on old-school tropes, and emphasizes an anachronistic set of beliefs
and priorities. In the late ‘90s, Britney Spears was the good girl and
Christina Aguilera was the fallen angel. You don't need a Smith College
degree to recognize a Madonna/whore binary when you see one. While
Xtina's bad girl makeover brought us “dirrty,” it also made us feel a
little dirty for creating a celebrity market where young women had to
choose between presenting as a virgin or a slut. Christina was able to
monetize her position as the anti-Britney: a sexy star you could
actually have sex with. But by maintaining her virgin status, Britney
wasn't rising above these sexual politics—she was also playing to a male
fantasy, just one that required slightly less eyeliner.
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