Bluestocking Oxford

By Ouissal Moumou

Imagine you were entirely freed from the constraints of societal norms, moral imperatives, and cultural expectations. Would  your desires remain the same, or would  they be transformed? It is necessary  to ask these questions after reading Amia Srinivasan’s The Right to Sex, published in 2021, where the dynamics of freedom, power, and desire are critically examined. Amia Srinivasan, a philosopher and political theorist at the University of Oxford, is among the most compelling voices in contemporary feminist thought. As the Chichele Professor of Social and Political Theory at All Souls, her work spans a wide range of topics, from epistemology to ethics, with a particular emphasis on feminist theory and its intersections with broader social and political structures. Her debut book, The Right to Sex is a collection of essays that scrutinize the entanglements of desire, power, and justice. These essays, intellectually rigorous yet accessible, delve into the pressing moral and political questions surrounding sex in the modern age, from pornography to consent, and from intersectionality to the marketization of sexual relationships.

The titular essay, “The Right to Sex,” is arguably the most provocative and controversial piece in the collection. Here, Srinivasan examines the complex and fraught terrain of sexual desire, interrogating the notion of whether there is or could be a “right” to sex. Central to her argument is the claim that sexual desire is not immune to the distortions of systemic oppression—including racism, sexism, ableism, and fatphobia—but is instead deeply shaped by them. The essay explores the social and political dimensions of desire, challenging the liberal idea that our preferences are entirely personal and beyond critique. 

Srinivasan’s argument garnered widespread attention and sparked debates across feminist, philosophical, and public spheres, with critics questioning whether her analysis undermines the autonomy of individual desire or risks prescribing normative frameworks for attraction. Srinivasan’s essay captures ideas that, while often implicitly recognized, are seldom articulated with the same level of clarity and insight. One of its key strengths lies in its accessibility, as it balances intellectual sophistication with an approachable style. By avoiding dense academic jargon, Srinivasan makes her arguments available to both general readers and scholarly audiences, ensuring her work is both meaningful and widely engaging.

Central to Amia’s argument is the concept of “fuckability,” which she defines as the social status conferred upon individuals through whom they have sex with. This is not to be confused with the “rapability” term introduced by Catharine MacKinnon. One must clarify that Amia, in her responses to critics, clarifies that “fuckability” is not an inherent value attributed to certain bodies but rather a construct shaped by political and social forces. This concept underscores how sexual value is unevenly distributed across different bodies, with some gaining prestige through their desirability, while others are marginalized within the “sexual marketplace.” The hierarchies that govern this marketplace mirror broader societal inequalities, leaving certain groups excluded due to their position within systems of oppression.

This observation raises a profound question: is desire truly personal, or is it inherently political? In other words, are our sexual preferences shaped by individual autonomy, or do they reflect the structures of power and hierarchy that organize society? For instance, would women engage in sexual relationships with men to the same extent if we lived in a world free of patriarchal norms? Or would their desires—and their refusals—take on entirely different forms? These questions resonate with Srinivasan’s broader inquiry into whether desire, untethered from societal expectations and cultural imperatives, would remain constant or undergo transformation.The interrogation of desire, as proposed by Srinivasan, has sparked significant criticism, particularly from those who argue that such analysis undermines individual autonomy. Critics worry that this perspective implies a “right to sex” or advocates for the democratization of sexual access. The most charged critique equates this line of thinking with a rapist’s logic—a claim rooted in the fear that it could justify sexual violence by framing sex as an entitlement rather than a consensual act. However, critics here seem to miss the point of Srinivasan’s argument. Her claim is not that there is a right to sex or that consent is unimportant, but rather that we should look beyond consent to interrogate where desire comes from and how it is shaped. Srinivasan maintains the importance of consent while challenging us to think critically about the social forces that shape our desires.

Even if desire is not entirely one’s own and is shaped by external forces—societal norms, power dynamics, or cultural conditioning—this does not justify the existence of any inherent “right to sex.” The external shaping of desire does not provide grounds for claiming a right to access another’s body. The argument that unfulfilled desire creates a moral entitlement to sex, in this sense, seems flawed, as it conflates the influence of external forces on desire with a justification for violating individual autonomy and consent. The example of Elliot Rodger makes this clear: in 2014, Rodger killed six people and injured fourteen others after expressing rage over his perceived entitlement to women’s sexual and romantic attention. His manifesto, which was emailed to acquaintances, family members and therapists at the time of his attack, revealed a belief that society owed him access to women’s bodies, shaped by norms equating male worth with sexual success. This tragic case demonstrates how harmful social constructs around desire can become violently manifest when interpreted as moral entitlements.

As a response, Srinivasan clarifies that her aim is not to dictate whom one should desire but to invite a collective reflection on how societal structures influence our desires. She resists reductive interpretations that pit individual autonomy against social critique, emphasizing instead the co-constitutive relationship between personal preferences and broader social forces. Srinivasan further highlights imagination as a liberating space where sexual desires and expectations can be explored beyond the constraints of existing social structures.

Moreover, some feminists have long sought to separate sex from politics, framing it as a purely personal matter. Revisiting the political dimensions of sex may now seem passé or overly simplistic to some, but dismissing the topic for its perceived banality is hardly a compelling argument. In fact, such reluctance overlooks an essential truth: systemic oppressions, far from being confined to public life, permeate even the most private spheres, including the bedroom. To ignore this reality is to disregard the profound ways in which societal hierarchies shape our most intimate experiences. Amia Srinivasan argues that the feminist goal was never to isolate sex from politics by dividing it into two distinct categories: the problematic, non-consensual sex and the unproblematic, consensual sex. Rather, feminism sought to liberate sex from the constraints of power and oppression, recognizing that even consensual sex can be deeply entangled with political and social hierarchies. This liberation requires acknowledging that consent alone does not insulate sex from the broader systems of inequality that shape desire, agency, and power dynamics.

But why should we care about desire being political as opposed to primordial? Amia Srinivasan argues that ignoring the political dimensions of desire risks perpetuating systemic oppressions. For instance, accepting discriminatory preferences as “natural” can reinforce structural hierarchies, such as the devaluation of certain bodies based on race, age, or ability. Acknowledging desire’s political nature allows us to question these hierarchies and reimagine desire in ways that are emancipatory and equitable. 

Importantly, if desire is political, it means it can change—and this opens up possibilities for collective transformation. Social movements have historically reshaped societal norms around sexuality and attraction, from challenging homophobia to dismantling taboos around interracial relationships. Understanding desire as politically contingent underscores the role of activism and cultural change in creating more inclusive and ethical forms of intimacy.

How can we critique the politics of sex, Srinivasan asks, without falling into the traps of misogynistic entitlement or moral authoritarianism that restrict rather than liberate? Her book challenges us to confront uncomfortable questions about how desire is shaped by social forces without losing sight of the fundamental importance of consent. Srinivasan argues that there is no simple way to theorize this—no abstract framework that can neatly address the complexities of desire and power. Instead, it requires critically engaging with lived experiences and questioning the social conditions that shape our wants and choices. Real understanding, The Right to Sex reminds us, is not found in theory but in the lived experience of engaging with these challenges.

References

Butler, Judith. Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. New York: Routledge, 1990.

“California Killings: UK-Born Elliot Rodger Blamed for Deaths.” The Guardian, 25 May 2014. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/may/25/elliot-rodger-suspect-california-mass-murder-shooting-stabbing

MacKinnon, Catharine. ‘Feminism, Marxism, Method, and the State: Toward Feminist Jurisprudence’ in Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society (1983), 8:4, pp. 635-658.

Srinivasan, Amia. The Right to Sex: Feminism in the Twenty-First Century. London: Bloomsbury Publishing, 2021.