#9: summer in the sex-positive forest
the alternate universe of "Sex Education"
I have fallen into a bit of an unfortunate pattern where, anywhere from 9 months (example: Future Nostalgia) to two years after something enters the zeitgeist, I finally pick up on it and decide that yes, now, nine-months-to-two-years-later is the time when The People need to hear my take on the thing. I am sorry. But in some ways, isn’t a hot take on a cold commodity better than another hot take that no one cares about on the thing we’ll all stop talking about in a few weeks? Say yes.
This time, that thing is Netflix’s two-season (season 3 coming!) series Sex Education, which I’d heard about floating through the cultural ether for a few years, but never had much of a mind to check out, for reasons that now seem inexplicable but were probably tied to the general choice anxiety that the bevy of streaming services fill us indecisive, anxious people with. But last week/weekend I tore through all sixteen episodes, completely sucker-punched by the combination of 80s aesthetics, high school drama, and sex-positive plotlines—all filmed in the Wye Valley and Forest of Dean in Wales, with British accents. If you have not watched/ are not familiar, the basic premise is this: Otis is an awkward 16 year old whose mother (Gillian Anderson, supremely hot) is a sex therapist. The other kids at school are having lots of questions and concerns about sex but don’t really have anyone to answer those questions for them, and so through an accident, really, Otis teams up with the resident cool, angry outcast, Maeve, to start a sort of sex therapy clinic at the school, for money. The show’s portrayal of teens and their sex lives is diverse, sex-positive, kind: a character chooses to get an abortion and after it happens it is no longer a plotline because it is decidedly not haunting her, queer characters abound and openly discuss (and show!) queer sex, there is an asexual storyline, characters find empowerment in learning how to masturbate, etc., etc. The students are mean to each other sometimes, but there is a lot of community and kindness there, still. They form unusual friendships, they help each other out. It’s gracious, kind, funny— the kind of environment that I think so many of us wish we had grown up in when it came to questions of sex and relationships: open, loving, etc. It’s a fantasy world, though, and the show seems to know that.
Sex Education is set, intentionally, in some sort of hybrid fantasy land/ alternate universe that exists neither in time nor actually in a real place. In the first 20 minutes of the pilot, I thought it took place in the 80s, but then a character pulled out a cellphone. I consider myself pretty adept at identifying British landscapes after watching so much British TV, but I couldn’t place the bucolic forests and grand valleys I was seeing in the first episode anywhere in England, though the characters all had specifically English (i.e., not Scottish, Welsh, or Northern Irish) accents. A quick google told me that the show is filmed in Wales, and yet it is not actually set there, because none of the characters have Welsh accents (things I notice!). It takes place in “Moordale,” a sort of rural fantasy community where none of these teenagers have cars, where they instead walk and bike along dirt country roads and yet are able to get to each other’s houses quickly? The geography of the “town” makes no sense, and it’s not supposed to, I think.
It’s also set, ostensibly, in the school year, and yet they film in the summer, and so it’s warm and sunny and hot with long, languid days in a way Britain wouldn’t be during school term. Characters show up at others’ homes at 8 PM and it’s still bright out; they leave at 3 AM and the sun is already coming up.
It’s the sort of place where a sex therapist lives in this house with this view and Gillian Anderson has a leisurely breakfast on this porch:
Then there’s the bit the show is really known for: that it feels so…..American? If you weren’t familiar with British schooling (wow, loser), you might not think anything of the lockers in the hallways, the non-uniforms, the mascot and sports teams, the letterman jackets of Sex Education, but if you are vaguely familiar with the British schooling system you will recognize immediately that other than its being called “Secondary” instead of “High School” and having a “headmaster,” and a “head boy,” there is nothing remotely British about this school. These are British characters in an American high school, but also it’s in Wales, but also none of them are Welsh, but also it’s summer, but also they can walk everywhere even though it’s remote and spread out with lots of scenic bridges.
The show creators have said that this is all, of course, intentional—that they were inspired by 80s John Hughes films and wanted to give tribute to them in their style and aesthetic, that they intentionally wanted to to make Moordale a sort of “everywhere and nowhere,” etc. But to me, the crux of the show is, as I said earlier, the incredibly accepting and diverse ways in which it portrays and talks about sex, and that is, of course, so wildly different from the experience I would think most young people grow up with—where there is so much shame, misinformation, awkwardness around it all—that this show has to take place in a sort of alternate universe, or the whole thing would have felt completely absurd. In Moordale, church is a place where a gay character finds fairly uncomplicated joy and community, not shame or ostracization. One character’s interest in….pornograhic space romance, shall we call it? is treated with gentle humor yet also taken seriously, not lambasted. Consent is always emphasized and non-negotiable (except in one notable “hmmm” instance, but I won’t spoil). Characters’ desires are never marked as weird or abnormal. Again, there’s that asexual plotline. Characters realize their queerness without too much fear. All the while, the sun shines through the long days of the high British summer. And of course, a community like this is a sort of utopia, is an alternate universe, right? And so it only ever could have taken place in one, I think.
I took a class on sex education (the concept, not the show) in grad school, and because it was through the Women & Gender Studies department at the College (i.e., it was all W&GS undergrad majors and then….me), I was immediately the slightly-side-eyed “religion girl.” There was an assumption by the other students—rightfully, understandably—that any sort of incorporation of “morals” or “values” language in sex education was an inherent bad, because normally when we think of those things associated with sex ed, we think abhorrent, toxic, destructive abstinence-only “sex ed” (aka, what I received at my Catholic school). But as I researched some more progressive, comprehensive, inclusive, sex ed curricula rooted in religious traditions (mostly talking about the wonderful Our Whole Lives which the UUs and the UCC jointly put out), I noticed that when done “right” (a complex word, I know), sex education (or, even better, as a sort of supplement to the more standard curriculum stuff) rooted in some sort of religious or other tradition can provide something that a more strictly science-based approach can’t—a deep sense of relationship when it comes to sexual encounter. Because we are people who exist in complex webs of society, so too do our practices, mindsets, and methods around sex—when there is another person (or persons) involved, a focus on the individual and not the relationship (even if it is temporary!) there can actually be harmful, can sort of get in the way of things like consent, respect, mutual decision-making, vulnerability, etc. Even comprehensive sex education can strip it down to science and remove some of that context building and *~*feelings stuff~*~ that is—or, I argue, should be—so vital in sex education. And watching…Sex Education, I noticed that this sort of bubble utopia that exists nowhere allowed the sense of relationship and community to really foster for all these characters, placing them in complex webs of person and feeling as they navigate and make these decisions. The Sex Education fantasy land is precisely what allows such a sex-positive, progressive community to exist, and, vitally—to be shown to us on screen, perhaps as what might be.
Anyway, I had the itch to get that thought down as I was watching, and now I’ve gotten it down. If you’re like me and always late and haven’t, watch Sex Education!
Left in Cart: FOLKS, this budget thing is really working, I am ashamed to admit. I am….excited (??) to get to the end of the month and see how much I’ve saved so I can put those savings into another budget category? Help? However, things do continue to pop up that I eye or envy or think about buying, and they continue to be weird and nonsensical. Right now, I really want a pack of white Nike crew socks?? I’m thinking about upgrading to clip-in pedals and shoes for my bike??? Nonsensical. However, my favorite candle company sent an email saying that are releasing a Cedar & Sagebrush scent this week, and because those are my two favorite smells of all time wrapped up in one candle, I actually have the release of said candle as a reminder in my phone (??) and will be buying that, hands down. Cedar! And sagebrush! To the question “What does it smell like?” they answer: “Miles of ancient stone and minerals, moments of calm on a windswept ridge, deep inhales overlooking arid wildland. Aromatic, dry, and woody, with earthy notes of granite, dry sage, and Sierra juniper.” I don’t even know that “wildland” is actually a word, but take it! Take my money!
Listening: We’re now a household that sometimes plays classical music throughout the house on the weekends as we do our reading and our cooking and shit. It’s lovely; truly my whole life trajectory has been pointing here. Because I know nothing that is not a Spotify playlist, I tend to cycle through a bunch of extremely similar playlists with names like “Gentle Classical,” “Calm Classical,” “Morning Classical,” etc, you get the picture. Someone curate my music for me, I’m bored!
On the other end of the musical spectrum, I have, through some workout classes, been reminded of my love for the pure pop glory that is Little Mix. “Salute” (my personal fave), “Hair,” “Shoutout To My Ex,” “Black Magic”—all certified bangers. Recommend listening alone in the car for maximum shouting along.
Watching: After rushing through Sex Education, I have been left with that sense of rudderless-ness (?) that comes when you don’t have a show that you’re currently watching. I am generally a better, happier person when I have a) a show and b) a book to look forward to every day. So I am in the dangerous television hinterlands. We did start The Good Lord Bird, in which Ethan Hawke plays an absolutely unhinged John Brown, and of course I always fuck with some irreverent, takes-liberties-with-history historical fiction. For movies: recently watched Spike Lee’s She’s Gotta Have It, Bonnie & Clyde (perfect “Foggy Mountain Breakdown” motif, wow!), and Martin Eden, an Italian adaptation of a Jack London novel that came out last year. The latter was so beautiful: the blues and greens of 1950s Naples with lots of interesting camera work and serene tracking shots. Oh, also! Speaking of 1950s Italy, I finally watched The Talented Mr. Ripley. Jude Law! Wow!
Also, when I was making dinner last night, I was scrolling through Disney+ for something to put on in the background when, like a gentle flicker in my chest rekindling, I remembered how I have long loved the genre that is the History Channel/National Geographic documentary. I watched many hours of these in my youth and can credit most of my knowledge of obscure historical events to watching actors act out historical scenes to a voiceover. I clicked on Expedition Amelia (narrated by Allison Janney!) about the quest of many people (including Bob Ballard, discoverer of Titanic!! If you didn’t have a Titanic micro-phase in your broader childhood “phase” [personality] of being obsessed with massive historical tragedies, truly, who are you??) to find out the truth of what happened to Amelia Earhart when she disappeared on her attempted flight around the world (the official story from the Navy was that she literally dropped out of the sky over the South Pacific when she ran out of gas, but most actual evidence points to a crash landing and a few weeks’ survival on a remote island). Anyway, I clicked thinking “Eh, we’ll see,” and I was ENGROSSED the entire ninety minutes. I’m joking about it, but it was actually a really warm, familiar feeling I hadn’t realized I’d missed—learning way more about something than you had any desire to before you flipped to that channel. Ah, nostalgia!
Reading: I finished Pride & Prejudice and am now tackling the 1000-page tome that is the Sylvia Plath biography, Red Comet. I’m only about 200 pages in, but it’s so far absolutely engrossing, not at all dry (the eternal downfall of biographies!) An upcoming edition of this thing will almost certainly focus on Sylvia and my enduring life-long connection to her, and will include a story about how my public speaking assignment in 11th-grade English class was a performance of “Daddy,” (my tenth grade one? An excerpt from The Bell Jar; my senior year one? An excerpt from Plath’s journals. Were the teachers, like….worried?) in which I remember adopting the slightest mid-century Boston accent (yikes) after listening to Sylvia’s recitation too many times and of which I am very glad there is no recording or trace other than the sear of embarrassment it has left on my soul.
Sidebar, I’m not sure a Twitter thread really counts as reading, but I can’t stop thinking about this brief thread on the bad faith (lol) of the generalized “Religious Left” moniker, and that by bunching Biden’s liberal politics with more radical anti-capitalist liberation theologies, for example, we’re doing the latter a great disservice. It’s true!
Eating: It might seem counterintuitive, to those of us from colder climates where soil crusts over and produces little in the winter, but winter is citrus season! Yes, we are used to having citrus in the grocery store all year round because our national year-round growing cycle, but the fruit is at its best and most abundant in the winter. It’s also when you’ll find varieties that you wouldn’t another other time of year: so instead of just navel oranges, you get blood oranges! And cara cara oranges! And satsumas, for a brief, precious period of time! And ruby red grapefruits! Anyway, I have been devouring citrus, which is always a delightful bit of sunshine in the depths of winter and prevents scurvy, as any good 19th century sailor (me, certainly) would know. Get your hands on some good blood oranges and your day will be lifted, I promise. Other than that, I am leaning into the same stews and chilis, etc. I have all the ingredients for chicken noodle soup, which I’ll make today if I get around to it. Will! Report! Back! I also have been making this gluten free loaf (crusty!!) regularly and eating it in the mornings with lots of butter, salty collards, and my life is infinitely better for it. Also, in the category of “drinking,” it has been lots of chilled red wine, but in this Depression glass goblet-like thing I found at a thrift store in college, which adds a certain ceremony to the whole endeavor.
Until #11,
Anna