Oh, poor, sweet, misbegotten vanilla! What have the language-manglers done to you now? In bygone days, you were one of the planet’s most prized spices, a delicacy to all—and now, look at you—you went and got yourself punk’d, pithed, and put out. How did vanilla become synonymous with boring? Where did the juicy become jejune?
Well, the milquetoast mafia might be comfortable with it, but they can kiss our vanilla beans. It’s time to reclaim vanilla. And not just for pound cake.
From Ohms to OMGs to Omaha
Vanilla sex is a term used offhandedly, if not altogether disparagingly, to describe sex that some see as conventional, uninspired, or sophistic. If you believe half of what you hear, see, or read, then you’re probably thinking that all of, say, Manhattan engages in BDSM with transgendered people in giant chicken costumes whilst swimming in a six-foot deep vat of Bush’s baked beans. All in perfect Caligulesque syncopation to “The Ride of the Valkyries”—or something suitably Wagnerian.
Granted, there are probably some people doing that. And they’re probably of the opinion that most people in, say, Omaha like their sex after 10 p.m., in the dark, windows shuttered, and only in the missionary position, with no talking, no eye contact, ending in a male-only climax.
And yes, there are probably a handful of people in Omaha doing just that. But exactly who is to say what conventional sex is? If you’re a stat-head, you can invariably arm yourself with a thousand pie charts and VORP formulas explaining that indeed, the sexual lives of most people would be considered vanilla. Furthermore, you might be able to extrapolate that those enjoying the decidedly non-vanilla sex (note that it is never called Butterscotch Sex—why is that?) consist predominantly of:
- Senators
- Porn Stars
- Assorted Freaky-Deakies
- Randy-Pan Sex-Bloggers
Let’s start with vanilla in its purest form. You know, the spice. Vanilla comes from a certain genus of orchids found primarily in Mexico and Madagascar, and requires a staggering about of labor to bring it to its full flavor potency. As such, vanilla is one of the world’s most sought-after and expensive spices, placing just after saffron. It has gained purchase in baking, savory dishes, aromatherapy, and perfume. And any fussypants foodie out there can tell you that there are few spices more respected in the epicurean sense than vanilla.
Now, does the above sound like something that’s analogous to tedium and monotony? I didn’t think so, either. What it comes down to is a battle of perspective. My vanilla might be your kink; your kink might be someone else’s vanilla.
À la Mode
But that still doesn’t answer the lingering question: what is vanilla sex? Is it the hi-diddly-no-dildo-ho-domain of Ned Flanders? Somehow, I doubt it. The point here is to not let anyone define yourself sexually or your sex life for you. That’s for you to define.
Vanilla is a flavor, a scent—an essence. You can’t bottle that up and call it sex; however, you just might call it …intimacy. Because if there’s one vanilla trait we all (or most of us, anyway) share/yearn for, it’s intimacy. You don’t need a basement dungeon full of fucking machines to get that. Not even all the sex toys in the world (as lovely as they are) will bring you that kind of closeness.
So maybe you are vanilla. Or, more appropriately, a big scoop of vanilla ice cream on top of a nice slice of pound cake.
Which I suppose makes most of us à la mode. And that’s okay—that’s just standard operating procedure, whether it’s apple pie, pound cake, or even a serving of humble pie.
Because some things just don’t go out of fashion.
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