The dictionary definition of consent is that it is ‘agreement to do something’ or ‘permission for something to happen’.  But entitlement culture provides a context in which we make assumptions, and don’t always seek that permission or agreement.

“Scuse me love, I’ve got a quick question.”  It’s really hard to say ‘No’ to that.  It’s difficult to reject someone who might need help, or empathy.  It’s uncomfortable, putting your own needs first, running for the train and ignoring the human being travelling beside you, reaching out for a little connection.  We should be able to ask and respond with kindness to that stranger reaching out.  But our belief that men are predators and women are prey means that most women would already be on their guard, poised to expect the predatory line that follows.  I’ve lost count of the number of men who’ve pointed out how difficult it is for them to make the first move and repeatedly be knocked back, or accused of harrassment and abuse, when their intention was just to reach out and connect.  So entitlement culture leads to isolation, loneliness, and frustration.

It also leads to unhappy relationships, beyond that initial point of connection, as partners, long or short term, will start to make assumptions about each other’s wants and needs, not asking, not agreeing, not choosing.  Polyamory has made me more aware of those choices and negotiations – navigating multiple connections requires a lot of communication and negotiation around people’s boundaries, wants and needs, not least their agreement to be non-monogamous, to let go of that sense of ownership, possessiveness or belonging that comes with traditions around monogamy.  Of course it is possible to be polyamorous and maintain structures and beliefs that infer possessiveness/belonging – just as it is to be monogamous without inferring any entitlement or limit on your partner’s autonomy – but ethical non-monogamy requires consent and so at least it raises the issue.

Of course, the context we’re most likely to be thinking about consent is sex.  If we fully reject entitlement culture’s message that men are predators and women are prey, then the everything we think about sexual consent starts to look different.  Imagine a world where people of any gender are able to talk about the kind of sex they want, without anyone assuming that means they want to have it with them, now.  Imagine if we could talk over coffee with friends or colleagues about how hot the sex we had last night was, without it seeming lascivious, boastful or shameful.

Imagine if we could invite someone to have sex, just like we can now invite someone to have dinner together.  Just like that, in fact.

We’d ask if they had any favourite foods, likes, dislikes, allergies, religious or ethical restrictions… and at that point we might find that, in fact, we have no tastes in common at all and having a meal together is a really bad idea… or we might find common ground or compromise… we might ask ask the host if we could bring some wine or pudding… we’d agree a time and a place and make that comfortable for each other… we’d talk and check in and ask each other if we were enjoying it… we’d say if we thought it was delicious… we might try something new… we might enjoy a classic favourite dish… nobody will get so drunk they can’t enjoy it, or pass out mid meal and can’t remember it (though if someone does, you would stop eating and make sure they’re safe)… we are both free to cancel or leave at any point, even if it feels a bit awkward leaving after the starters when someone has prepared a 7-course banquet… there is no expectation that we will have dinner together again and again (although we might – that’s up for discussion)… and NOBODY will be force fed.

And deciding when and how to ask someone for dinner isn’t straightforward, but you certainly don’t go up to a stranger on the street and say “Scuse me love, you got a permanent arrangement to eat dinner with one person every day for the rest of your life?”  That would just be weird.

Context matters. Of course if nobody ever asks anyone if they’d like to have dinner with them, then people would only be eating alone.  So it’s worth asking – but it’s best to ask people you have established a rapport with, and who you know are interested in food.  If you’re in a restaurant, it might not be that odd to ask another person if you can join them, or if they’d like to join you.  But most of the time, you wouldn’t ask a stranger to go for a meal with you.  Perhaps if you’d been chatting in a bar you might ask if they’d like to go on for dinner.  Or you might start a conversation about the weather, or a common interest – and pay attention to whether they seemed to want to carry on talking or not, and whether they enjoy your company. If you agree to exchange numbers, you wouldn’t randomly text them a picture of your lunchbox – you’d be having a conversation about food and you’d ask if they’d like to see it.  Whatever the context, though, nobody is ever entitled to have dinner with anyone else.  When the context is appropriate, ask, but be willing and able to hear ‘no’.  Rejection takes practice.

When sex is on the menu, we’re in the restaurant of assumptions – people get stuck with the same old recipes, or eat in awkward silence, or taste something they dislike but say nothing out of politeness, or get scared to ask if they can try something because they might seem strange for liking that, or get full up but finish the plate because it would seem rude not to (or worse, they’re afraid that the other person might be aggressive about it).  And because some of us are expected to want to eat an all day buffet, and some of us are expected to resist these tasty treats, we make it more difficult for any of us to eat what we want or to share a meal together.

It’s comparatively easy to navigate consent when it comes to sharing a meal.  But when it comes to sex, it’s not that easy – the weight of cultural expectations about what (and when, and how much and with who) we are supposed to want, enjoy, like and dislike limits our ability to explore our sexualities and express our desires to each other.

Asking for consent – directly and indirectly, checking in, not assuming, being able to say and hear and respond to ‘no’, verbally, non-verbally – finding ways to explore and express desires, wants, needs, hopes, likes, dislikes, being able to say and hear and respond to ‘yes’ – asking for all of that would challenge the cultural paradigm fundamentally.

When you’re looking for love, or sex, or romance, or connection, you’re looking for consent.

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