Thoughts from a Cumberbitch
Below is the meta piece I wrote for Episode 8 of threepatch. I've copied it here in full below and for those who are on Tumblr, here's the original post.
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This is the last of three essays on the Cumberbitch Question featured in Episode 8 (What’s it Like in your Funny Little Brains?) of the Three Patch Podcast. In this response to Drinkingocoa’s essay, Shannon explains why she finds the term Cumberbitch empowering and is troubled by attempts to erase this fan identity.
(Warning for mention of child sexual abuse)
My name is Shannon. I appreciate the different fan identities in the Sherlock fandom and the reasons why many other fans do not identify as Cumberbitches. At the same time I worry that statements from Benedict and from other fans are making it too easy to condemn this fan term without understanding that some of us are using it as a sign of humor, celebration and even empowerment. ‘Bitch' is a word that has been used to demean and silence women, but it is also a rally cry reclaimed by some against sexist assumptions. To only recognize the negative connotations of bitch grants too much power to those who wish to use it to silence and mock women while erasing the very painful and joyous experiences of other fans who have reclaimed it.
I am an enthusiastically unapologetic Cumberbitch and this is why.
One weekend in June, when I was 11 years old, my father followed me into the bathroom and sexually molested me. This was the first of what became progressively more physical encounters he perpetrated against me over the next year and a half. Yet the greatest trauma I must deal with as a result of this sexual abuse does not stem from the physical violation. It stems from the utter violation of my autonomy and the resulting constant fear that at some point in my life, someone else will again impose their will upon me and remove my choice, my agency so completely. It keeps me on guard and is why I push back against attempts to disempower me and others, whether these attempts are well-intended or not, whether they take the form of government legislation, peer pressure, or the use of propriety to shame and silence. Sometimes my pushing back takes the form of logical debate and angry words. But other times, especially in fandom, my pushing back takes the form of cheeky humor and unrestrained celebration.
Growing up in the southern United States, I encountered many terms used to control and silence women and girls: babe, whore, bitch, slut, girl, lesbian, lady, miss, missy, woman. Some were dangerously successful because they were the least taboo and could be said in any context and appear to be meant kindly: Remember girls, always act like a lady because a lady who respects herself will be respected by men. The tenets of rape culture appeared proper and harder to argue against when wrapped up in respectful language. How nicely said. How effectively controlling. How insidious. At the same time, other words were reserved for moments of maximum damage and debasement. “Shut up bitch!”, "Stupid bitch!”, "Don’t be such a bitch!” were overt attempts to disempower and cause offense through the use of taboo language. But words are not inherently good or bad; they derive their power from context and use. As an applied linguist, I see this often in my own research on the teaching and learning of English. And as a high school girl growing up in the Deep South, I encountered the fluidity of language in sports, an area that challenged gender expectations.
‘Bitch' was the favored insult directed towards me and my fellow teammates on the high school girls soccer team by members of the boys team who used it to maintain their sense of superiority over us during and after practice. We were transgressing on their turf, after all. 'Bitch' was a word of warning uttered by my teammates' parents who wanted to remind us not to let our physical aggressiveness on the field transfer off the field when dating or interacting with boys and parents and teachers. But my own experience at the hand of my father had shown me that being proper and good didn’t guarantee respect. ‘Bitch' was the word of condemnation uttered by our coach toward the more experienced and strategy-minded girls on the team who questioned his play-making. Hearing 'bitch' used in these contexts made me feel small and fearful and self-doubting. It triggered a feeling of powerlessness and hopelessness in me because it signaled that my attempts to maintain control over my body and to assert my agency and preferences were offensive, dangerous, or wrong.
But gradually, among my fellow teammates, ‘bitch’ became the word we used with playfulness and camaraderie and support when we chose to fight against attempts to control and belittle us. We ripped the teeth out of it and made it our own. Instead of conveying insult and contempt, ‘You bitch’ showed admiration and respect for someone who was capable and clever and assertive. It conveyed support for someone willing to take a risk. It was a rejection of sexism masquerading as propriety. It was how we laughed at others who thought using this word to ridicule our physicality, our assertiveness and our enthusiasm for unladylike behavior was an effective way to control us. To hear ‘bitch' used this way filled me with a sense of possibility and pleasure in my own potential strength and sexuality and autonomy. It became a word that made me aware of my strength and which I drew upon in the face of those who tried to deride or disempower me.
When I became a fan of Benedict Cumberbatch and encountered the term Cumberbitch, I laughed at the play on his name and recognized the same reappropriation at work. I felt that same growling sense of pleasure. Here were fans like me declaring their enthusiasm for a clever logophile like Benedict as well as a playful defiance toward those who mock us and are discomfited by the geeky ardor and sexual fervor of fans and fangirls in particular. Here was a space for me to continue the work of overcoming the lingering effects of sexual abuse by embracing my own desires and will alongside other fans who were not afraid to express their desires and sexual agency publicly. Cumberbitch encapsulates my joy and one of my reasons for being a fan - to push back through celebration and creativity against those who wish to control me. I call myself a Cumberbitch knowingly and with humor because I have made bitch my own. To shut down or deride the use of Cumberbitch as a fandom identity because it contains a taboo word is to erase the experiences and mark of empowerment for fans like me.
Other meta in this series:
* * *
This is the last of three essays on the Cumberbitch Question featured in Episode 8 (What’s it Like in your Funny Little Brains?) of the Three Patch Podcast. In this response to Drinkingocoa’s essay, Shannon explains why she finds the term Cumberbitch empowering and is troubled by attempts to erase this fan identity.
(Warning for mention of child sexual abuse)
My name is Shannon. I appreciate the different fan identities in the Sherlock fandom and the reasons why many other fans do not identify as Cumberbitches. At the same time I worry that statements from Benedict and from other fans are making it too easy to condemn this fan term without understanding that some of us are using it as a sign of humor, celebration and even empowerment. ‘Bitch' is a word that has been used to demean and silence women, but it is also a rally cry reclaimed by some against sexist assumptions. To only recognize the negative connotations of bitch grants too much power to those who wish to use it to silence and mock women while erasing the very painful and joyous experiences of other fans who have reclaimed it.
I am an enthusiastically unapologetic Cumberbitch and this is why.
One weekend in June, when I was 11 years old, my father followed me into the bathroom and sexually molested me. This was the first of what became progressively more physical encounters he perpetrated against me over the next year and a half. Yet the greatest trauma I must deal with as a result of this sexual abuse does not stem from the physical violation. It stems from the utter violation of my autonomy and the resulting constant fear that at some point in my life, someone else will again impose their will upon me and remove my choice, my agency so completely. It keeps me on guard and is why I push back against attempts to disempower me and others, whether these attempts are well-intended or not, whether they take the form of government legislation, peer pressure, or the use of propriety to shame and silence. Sometimes my pushing back takes the form of logical debate and angry words. But other times, especially in fandom, my pushing back takes the form of cheeky humor and unrestrained celebration.
Growing up in the southern United States, I encountered many terms used to control and silence women and girls: babe, whore, bitch, slut, girl, lesbian, lady, miss, missy, woman. Some were dangerously successful because they were the least taboo and could be said in any context and appear to be meant kindly: Remember girls, always act like a lady because a lady who respects herself will be respected by men. The tenets of rape culture appeared proper and harder to argue against when wrapped up in respectful language. How nicely said. How effectively controlling. How insidious. At the same time, other words were reserved for moments of maximum damage and debasement. “Shut up bitch!”, "Stupid bitch!”, "Don’t be such a bitch!” were overt attempts to disempower and cause offense through the use of taboo language. But words are not inherently good or bad; they derive their power from context and use. As an applied linguist, I see this often in my own research on the teaching and learning of English. And as a high school girl growing up in the Deep South, I encountered the fluidity of language in sports, an area that challenged gender expectations.
‘Bitch' was the favored insult directed towards me and my fellow teammates on the high school girls soccer team by members of the boys team who used it to maintain their sense of superiority over us during and after practice. We were transgressing on their turf, after all. 'Bitch' was a word of warning uttered by my teammates' parents who wanted to remind us not to let our physical aggressiveness on the field transfer off the field when dating or interacting with boys and parents and teachers. But my own experience at the hand of my father had shown me that being proper and good didn’t guarantee respect. ‘Bitch' was the word of condemnation uttered by our coach toward the more experienced and strategy-minded girls on the team who questioned his play-making. Hearing 'bitch' used in these contexts made me feel small and fearful and self-doubting. It triggered a feeling of powerlessness and hopelessness in me because it signaled that my attempts to maintain control over my body and to assert my agency and preferences were offensive, dangerous, or wrong.
But gradually, among my fellow teammates, ‘bitch’ became the word we used with playfulness and camaraderie and support when we chose to fight against attempts to control and belittle us. We ripped the teeth out of it and made it our own. Instead of conveying insult and contempt, ‘You bitch’ showed admiration and respect for someone who was capable and clever and assertive. It conveyed support for someone willing to take a risk. It was a rejection of sexism masquerading as propriety. It was how we laughed at others who thought using this word to ridicule our physicality, our assertiveness and our enthusiasm for unladylike behavior was an effective way to control us. To hear ‘bitch' used this way filled me with a sense of possibility and pleasure in my own potential strength and sexuality and autonomy. It became a word that made me aware of my strength and which I drew upon in the face of those who tried to deride or disempower me.
When I became a fan of Benedict Cumberbatch and encountered the term Cumberbitch, I laughed at the play on his name and recognized the same reappropriation at work. I felt that same growling sense of pleasure. Here were fans like me declaring their enthusiasm for a clever logophile like Benedict as well as a playful defiance toward those who mock us and are discomfited by the geeky ardor and sexual fervor of fans and fangirls in particular. Here was a space for me to continue the work of overcoming the lingering effects of sexual abuse by embracing my own desires and will alongside other fans who were not afraid to express their desires and sexual agency publicly. Cumberbitch encapsulates my joy and one of my reasons for being a fan - to push back through celebration and creativity against those who wish to control me. I call myself a Cumberbitch knowingly and with humor because I have made bitch my own. To shut down or deride the use of Cumberbitch as a fandom identity because it contains a taboo word is to erase the experiences and mark of empowerment for fans like me.
Other meta in this series:
- The Cumberbitch Question - Meta by Drinkingcocoa
- Methleigh’s Response
- Katie’s Response