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When I worked as a dominatrix, clients were only memorable for any of three possible reasons: particularly specific or unusual fetishes (i.e., the guy who insisted I wear a back-button blouse and gave me scripts to read about "red sunsets and red asses"); the financially and socially troublesome (i.e., men who tried to bargain for more time or less expense and/or were rude to me to achieve it); and people I genuinely liked.
While the other stories are, inevitably, a lot more amusing, today I want to talk about the people I liked, because when you're friendly and cordial and even social with someone who pays you a great deal of money for a service, that is an interesting thing, isn't it? It's certainly a tricky thing.
Relationships of this ilk used to be quite common and their frequency of existence well-acknowledged. And, while today they don't particularly pervade our world any less, we're so much more hesitant to call them as they are and so largely ill-informed about how to navigate them deftly.
Interactions of this nature litter my life in various ways. My former profession quite aside, it's worth noting that I also live on the other side of the equation. I spend a great deal of money with my tailor and, as you know from the photos, when she's about in town, we're also social. Is that socializing and fondness genuine? Of course. But is it also somewhat dictated by the mutual benefits of mutual enthusiasm because of the financial transaction that is central between us? Oh yes.
These transactional friendships and acquaintanceships exist in other parts of my life as well: the chocolate store owner who gives Patty and I free chocolates because she talks with him about the chocolate shop she worked at and I about my childhood in New York. He enjoys us and our love of what he does. He also enjoys our money, and we, the free samples.
Relationships of this type exist in all of our lives to varying degrees, and in the modern world where we know so little of patronage we often mistake them, to problematic end, for interactions without boundaries or for moments wherein we are the exception some sort of rule.
One of the places where I see it the most keenly -- and with the most personal discomfort -- is, of course, fandom. For those of you who don't necessarily play in the sandboxes in which I play, I will note that there was a con in the Torchwood fandom this past weekend that was a for-profit meet-the-celebrities con, which, for the purposes of this discussion, is something I need to make a point of differentiating from fan-run cons, that, in addition to celebrity guests, also have fan and/or academic programming.
Cons of the ilk that took place this weekend often cost a good deal of money to attend (usually much moreso than fan-run cons) and have levels of membership (uncommon at fan-run cons), wherein the more you pay, the more access you get to the celebrities in question.
I do not, for the record, find this gauche (which is what I think some people think I think). But I do find it personally something I can't quite bring myself to engage in (however occasionally tempting) because of where I exist on the fan-pro continuum and the degree to which I'm a little too hyper-aware of the politics of these things, but that is no one's problem or concern but my own.
I do, however, find myself in a frequent state of surprise over how much people just don't get things about the transactional friendships and acquaintances they have with the celebrity guests at these types of events.
Historically, patronage of the arts was used (and as we'll see, continues to be used) to convey and experience many things, which you can break down, more or less, into the three P's: pleasure, prestige and piety. And whether we're talking about Renaissance religious art or going to a media con like Torchwood, the three P's are consistent.
Pleasure speaks for itself simply ("it is fun to be here") and also not so simply ("I am enjoying participating in this fantasy").
Prestige works on a few levels ("I can afford to go to this event," "I can afford this status at this event," "This guest told me xyz," "That guest and I had drinks," "So-and-so complimented my dress").
Piety, of course, becomes about being a true believer ("I'm a real fan," "I go to everything so-and-so appears at," "I always defend this guest's actions").
Yet, even as historical patronage is enacted in these situations, the modern world is not equipped to acknowledge it for what it is, which is a transactional relationship. When you pay for that ticket to that event with the smart party with the celebrity guests or what have you, you are not paying for that celebrity to be your friend or to give you special access -- whether to themselves, their private sphere, or information about their work.
But you are, most certainly, paying for their company, their cordiality in a certain setting. And as happy as you are to experience this, that you will gladly fork over your money for their time (and their time is worth money, as much as the status, piety and pleasure you consciously or subconsciously are buying via participation is worth the fee you choose to pay), they are happy that you want to. It validates their art; it helps pay their bills; it elevates their own status. It is a symbiotic transactional relationship, that is not in any way based on lies, unless we start telling ourselves them.
Now, sometimes real and genuine friendships do come out of these transactional social moments: just as my tailor and I have drinks, just as an old client and I called to check in on each other after 9/11, just as the man who owns the chocolate store likes to discuss walnut buttercreams with Patty.
But my point in this isn't that the interactions of patronage can become "real," like some eventual Pinocchio of affection. Rather, my point is that they are real and sincere and pleasant and a perfectly reasonable investment for many people for a variety of different reasons.
But in lacking a good word for them in the modern world, we must not, I feel, use other words for them in intentionally misleading ways (as I feel many in fandom, and other situations in which these types of relationships exist, do), because it diminishes the loveliness of the tradition the patrons (and in the point of this post, fans) are paying into, as surely as it diminishes the high-wire art of the access and -- dare I say it (with a wink and a nod considering my own former profession) -- services, the creator provides.
Because people are social animals, it is in our nature to enact social ritual, and ritual, in particular, is a high-value thing. In transactional friendships and acquaintances the ritual is central, and to ignore it in favor of a story of organic interaction, not only gives lie to the nature of an event still personal for all its financial component, but also makes the very things paid for and so gently delivered -- pleasure, piety and position -- less intricate, less lovely, and less valuable for our insistence on turning our heads away from this ever so peculiar balancing act of mutual benefit and symbiotic need.
While the other stories are, inevitably, a lot more amusing, today I want to talk about the people I liked, because when you're friendly and cordial and even social with someone who pays you a great deal of money for a service, that is an interesting thing, isn't it? It's certainly a tricky thing.
Relationships of this ilk used to be quite common and their frequency of existence well-acknowledged. And, while today they don't particularly pervade our world any less, we're so much more hesitant to call them as they are and so largely ill-informed about how to navigate them deftly.
Interactions of this nature litter my life in various ways. My former profession quite aside, it's worth noting that I also live on the other side of the equation. I spend a great deal of money with my tailor and, as you know from the photos, when she's about in town, we're also social. Is that socializing and fondness genuine? Of course. But is it also somewhat dictated by the mutual benefits of mutual enthusiasm because of the financial transaction that is central between us? Oh yes.
These transactional friendships and acquaintanceships exist in other parts of my life as well: the chocolate store owner who gives Patty and I free chocolates because she talks with him about the chocolate shop she worked at and I about my childhood in New York. He enjoys us and our love of what he does. He also enjoys our money, and we, the free samples.
Relationships of this type exist in all of our lives to varying degrees, and in the modern world where we know so little of patronage we often mistake them, to problematic end, for interactions without boundaries or for moments wherein we are the exception some sort of rule.
One of the places where I see it the most keenly -- and with the most personal discomfort -- is, of course, fandom. For those of you who don't necessarily play in the sandboxes in which I play, I will note that there was a con in the Torchwood fandom this past weekend that was a for-profit meet-the-celebrities con, which, for the purposes of this discussion, is something I need to make a point of differentiating from fan-run cons, that, in addition to celebrity guests, also have fan and/or academic programming.
Cons of the ilk that took place this weekend often cost a good deal of money to attend (usually much moreso than fan-run cons) and have levels of membership (uncommon at fan-run cons), wherein the more you pay, the more access you get to the celebrities in question.
I do not, for the record, find this gauche (which is what I think some people think I think). But I do find it personally something I can't quite bring myself to engage in (however occasionally tempting) because of where I exist on the fan-pro continuum and the degree to which I'm a little too hyper-aware of the politics of these things, but that is no one's problem or concern but my own.
I do, however, find myself in a frequent state of surprise over how much people just don't get things about the transactional friendships and acquaintances they have with the celebrity guests at these types of events.
Historically, patronage of the arts was used (and as we'll see, continues to be used) to convey and experience many things, which you can break down, more or less, into the three P's: pleasure, prestige and piety. And whether we're talking about Renaissance religious art or going to a media con like Torchwood, the three P's are consistent.
Pleasure speaks for itself simply ("it is fun to be here") and also not so simply ("I am enjoying participating in this fantasy").
Prestige works on a few levels ("I can afford to go to this event," "I can afford this status at this event," "This guest told me xyz," "That guest and I had drinks," "So-and-so complimented my dress").
Piety, of course, becomes about being a true believer ("I'm a real fan," "I go to everything so-and-so appears at," "I always defend this guest's actions").
Yet, even as historical patronage is enacted in these situations, the modern world is not equipped to acknowledge it for what it is, which is a transactional relationship. When you pay for that ticket to that event with the smart party with the celebrity guests or what have you, you are not paying for that celebrity to be your friend or to give you special access -- whether to themselves, their private sphere, or information about their work.
But you are, most certainly, paying for their company, their cordiality in a certain setting. And as happy as you are to experience this, that you will gladly fork over your money for their time (and their time is worth money, as much as the status, piety and pleasure you consciously or subconsciously are buying via participation is worth the fee you choose to pay), they are happy that you want to. It validates their art; it helps pay their bills; it elevates their own status. It is a symbiotic transactional relationship, that is not in any way based on lies, unless we start telling ourselves them.
Now, sometimes real and genuine friendships do come out of these transactional social moments: just as my tailor and I have drinks, just as an old client and I called to check in on each other after 9/11, just as the man who owns the chocolate store likes to discuss walnut buttercreams with Patty.
But my point in this isn't that the interactions of patronage can become "real," like some eventual Pinocchio of affection. Rather, my point is that they are real and sincere and pleasant and a perfectly reasonable investment for many people for a variety of different reasons.
But in lacking a good word for them in the modern world, we must not, I feel, use other words for them in intentionally misleading ways (as I feel many in fandom, and other situations in which these types of relationships exist, do), because it diminishes the loveliness of the tradition the patrons (and in the point of this post, fans) are paying into, as surely as it diminishes the high-wire art of the access and -- dare I say it (with a wink and a nod considering my own former profession) -- services, the creator provides.
Because people are social animals, it is in our nature to enact social ritual, and ritual, in particular, is a high-value thing. In transactional friendships and acquaintances the ritual is central, and to ignore it in favor of a story of organic interaction, not only gives lie to the nature of an event still personal for all its financial component, but also makes the very things paid for and so gently delivered -- pleasure, piety and position -- less intricate, less lovely, and less valuable for our insistence on turning our heads away from this ever so peculiar balancing act of mutual benefit and symbiotic need.
