SLUT (slŭt) noun.

by Abiola Abrams

Definition: The origin of the word slut does not stem from a sixth grade bathroom stall encounter between Gina Holder and Jaqui Saunders’ boyfriend Jake as originally suspected.  The word slut was derived from the Middle English word slutte for a slovenly woman and has come to mean a woman having multiple concurrent sexual relationships.  This may be an insult/ pejorative or a compliment depending on intention and current company.

Politically Correct Synonyms: horizontally challenged, non virginal, footloose, lover of people, pussy power advocate, indiscriminant, giving humanitarian, woman with the morals of a man. 

Politically Incorrect Synonyms: skank, tramp, slag, sausage wallet, ho, hoochie, wench, trick, hussy, chickenhead, harlot, jezebel, tart, slore, whore, courtesan, jump off, sidechick, floozy. strumpet. 

Related terms for Non-monogamous women: mistress, prostitute, nymphomaniac, polyamorous, sex-positive, fellacious, virtueless, loose, easy, promiscuous, lusty, dirty, low. 

Suggested Textable Backronym: She Loves U too?!

Picture this:  Mrs. Wallace, a well-meaning friend of my ‘rents, approaches the twelve year old me at a backyard barbeque.  Noting my skidded out knees and roller skates she kills my Kool-Aid buzz by asking, “So Abiola, what do you want to be when you grow up.” 

“A slut,” I reply.

“Oh?”  Mrs. Wallace’s fuzzy eyebrows careen into each other.  “Why do you say that?”

“Sluts are the most popular, the most pretty and have the most fun,” I reply.

“I see.” Lady Wallace backs away from me and makes a beeline for my mother.

Alas, this conversation never happened, but it would have if I was the bold, brazen, outspoken, courageous sort.

When you’re in your pre-teen years, it seems like all adults ever want to know is what you want to be when you grow up.  My stock answer was a psychiatrist, since being a writer or performer did not yet seem probable.  I lied the way children do, to get parental types off of their backs.  If I was being truthful I might have answered, “A slut.” 

I was always jealous of the girls we called sluts.  We were the finger wagging, moral policing, high roaders and former Girls Scouts that sat in the front row of every class and raised our hands practically before the questions were asked. These so-called sluts seemed so much freer than the rest of us, flipping off society with their don’t give a damn attitudes. They seemed happy, like by sleeping around --or appearing to-- they were living slightly above the law.  When I grew up in the late eighties, slut was probably the worst thing a woman could be called.  Nancy Reagan had taught us to just say no to all kinds of things and AIDS seemed like it might be lurking behind every toilet seat. Then there was also the most real standard bugaboo that threatened to ruin us, teen pregnancy. It seemed as though our entire lives as teen girls revolved around either trying to be or not to be considered a slut. 

I was the polar opposite of a slut, your classic repressed good girl.  I am sure that the popular kids considered me an incredible bore.  My passion was non-slutty: The Ethnic Awareness Coalition, my school’s multicultural club. We sponsored political talks, gave presentations for Black History Month and Martin Luther King Day and presented hip hop dances in the Commons Room.  I was one of a handful of kids of color at Brearley, an elite New York City all-girls prep school that went from kindergarten to twelfth grade.  I was reminded often by my parents and my peers that in addition to regular teen aged concerns, I also bore the burden of representation. 

“You are not only representing yourself at Brearley.  You are representing every African American young woman in America,” Mrs. Johnson, one of the two black teachers in the school told me when I racked up too many tardies.  

Jeez Louise.  So if Abiola met a boy at Le Panto’s, our after school watering hole, and made out with him as Lizzie Paddock seemed to do on a daily basis, not only was Abiola a probable slut, but I was marking every young lady of African descent that might grace the halls of Brearley, Spence, Chapin, and Nightingale-Bamford (our neighboring all girls schools) as sluts too.  My social life could single handedly dismantle civil rights and set black people back forty years. 

Madonna’s Sex book, daring music videos and cutting edge lyrics made all of us girls at Brearley want to be exactly like her when we grew up.  When our imitations of her wild style of dressing – cut off shirts, rolled up skirts and public bra straps -- compromised the integrity of our dull navy uniforms, our headmistress added a new rule to the manuals on proper apparel: No underwear is to be worn as outerwear.  After all, we were not only representing ourselves, but also The Brearley School and its mission of providing an academically rigorous liberal arts education to girls, by truth and toil.  Our playground motto was Other girls marry doctors, Brearley girls become doctors.  Evidently, our Madonna wannabe wardrobes threatened to dismantle women’s rights and set back the hundred and ten year old history of Brearley.  My behavior as a young woman could again degrade my tribe.  The manual didn’t say anything about us having to fend off sexual innuendos due to the fact that our school’s team mascot was, with no sense of irony, the beaver.  Go Beavers Go! Now, ten plus years later all trendy outerwear at some time or another was underwear—baby tee shirts, tank tops, slip dresses, shorts.  

As a young woman, my mother taught me how not to be a considered a slut: keep your knees together and skirts down; stay away from the fast girls; be inside by curfew; join the girl scouts, and most importantly, don’t get knocked up.  The best known of the young women we called sluts in high school were Dana, who was caught having sex in closet, Ariel, who claimed to have contracted a case of crabs by trying on jeans in the Gap, and Elle, who became a teen mother at sixteen.  They are now respectively a real estate developer, investment baker and day care matron, so I guess that they were no worse for the wear.

In college at Sarah Lawrence, although still a part of the good girl clique, I befriended the sluts, hoping that their confidence and mystery would rub off; without me having to take on any of their randy behaviors.  I was surprised to learn that they were as insecure as anyone. They secretly shared the same concerns as my good girl friends— Am I too fat?  Does he like me?  Does she like me?  Do they like me?   One summer, I applied for a job as a phone ho, also known as a phone sex worker or virtual slut.  It seemed as though it would be a fun and easy way to make money.  A couple of hours into the gig unfortunately, I felt dirty and not empowered as I thought I would.  Sluttiness it seemed was not all it was cracked up to be.

I have still only had sexual relations with a handful of men.  This is mostly the result of being in one monogamous relationship from college until recently. At the same time, my work as an indie film artist and writer under the banner The Goddess Factory often features sexual content with the objective of empowering women politically, emotionally and of course, sexually.  Based on the comments of quite a few people, it is assumed that a woman with these objectives will be undoubtedly promiscuous, a slut.  More than one man has been disappointed to learn otherwise.  Don’t get me wrong, some of my best friends are sluts.  I am all in favor of adult women having safe sex with multiple partners with abandon.  This is just not my choice, and that’s what women’s sexual empowerment is about.  Choice.

Women’s sexual pleasure is dangerous and frightens people.  Sluts are brazen outlaws.   Recently, the word slut, like “bitch,” has come to be disarmed and bandied around by frenemies as a sort of joke. As a feminist woman, I am aware of the sexist implications of the slur and all of the reasons why it shouldn’t be used.  I agree with Maya Angelou that words have physical weight and actually vibrate. However I am a believer in reclaiming and evolving language and as a writer I don’t believe in banning words.  Context is everything.  Just last week I found myself embroiled in a huge misunderstanding with a friend whom I jokingly called a slut.  She was hurt and upset as I explained that I didn’t mean it that way at all.  I called her a slut because she was so obviously far from being a slut, the way that it feels safe to jokingly call beautiful people ugly.

If anything, the only thing a slut is guilty of, in my humble opinion, is excess.  Balance is the key principal to a happy life. Everything in moderation.  For this reason, I am proud to say that I consider myself the daughter of Madonna and Oprah, Cosmo and Ms.  That’s why I count among my feminist role models  both playwright activist Eve Ensler and erotica producer Candida Royalle.

It annoys me that male counterparts to sluts are called playboys, philanderers, players, ladies' men, man-whores, lady killers, cads, womanizers, and rakes – all glamorous compared to the derogatory word slut. On the other hand, as a friend of mine says, A hoe is a garden tool, necessary for irrigation. The crops die without it.