Minneapolis has been a highly politicized place recently, and it’s been a while since I’ve written for this column. Not gonna lie, it’s been difficult to get excited about sextra-curricular activities during the height of the recent federal occupation (and even more difficult to write about them).
But something interesting occurred to me in recent months after reading vital resistance updates on the kinky social media site FetLife.com: Kink is political. I remember seeing one FetLife post that read “an autonomous zone has spawned at Portland and E 34th.” At that moment, there was nowhere else on the internet where that information could be found. I knew there was something incredible happening in kinky communities.
There’s an ongoing debate within those communities about kink. Is it inherently political, or is it simply politicized by the culture around it? The distinction is useful, at least at first. To describe something as political suggests that it is fundamentally about power, systems, and social structures. To call it politicized implies that those meanings have been imposed from the outside.
Kink exists in the tension between the two.
At its core, kink is deeply personal. It emerges from desire, embodiment, imagination, and negotiated relationships. On its own, it is not necessarily about policy or public life. But it does not exist in a vacuum. The moment a society labels certain desires as deviant, immoral, or unacceptable, kink becomes entangled with systems of regulation, stigma, and control. In that sense, even if kink is not inherently political in origin, it becomes political in context.
While browsing dating apps (for science purposes), I’ve noticed an uptick in not only profiles being “out” as kinky, but also expressly political. Even the straight dudes with profile pictures holding fish have headlines such as, “MAGA can fuck off,” and other telling descriptons. Many people are no longer interested in the apolitical positioning that traditional rules around dating impose (no politics or religion on the first date) and actually need to read potential dates’ leanings before they even send a message, lest you be ghosted.
“The gas masks I bought recently for non-kinky reasons have suddenly become sexually interesting to me…”
FetLife user during ICE occupation
This dynamic is not new. Kink has long been intertwined with queer history and resistance. Leather communities, for example, were not only spaces of sexual expression but also sites of belonging and mutual recognition in a culture that pushed both queerness and non-normative desire to the margins. These communities were part of the broader ecosystem of LGBTQ+ life that resisted criminalization and social erasure—resistance that came to a head in moments like the Stonewall riots. The struggle for the right to exist openly as queer has always overlapped with the struggle to exist openly as “deviant” in other ways, including kink.
Part of what links these histories is the role of subversion. Kink challenges dominant assumptions about what bodies should do, how relationships should function, and where power is allowed to reside. It disrupts the idea that intimacy must follow a single, socially approved script. In doing so, it exposes how constructed, and how enforced, those norms really are.
And that’s usually where the tension kicks in.
As an example, if you, reasonable reader, were to pass by my girlfriend on the street, you may see that she has bruising around her neck, thighs, and back. She may also be led by a collar by myself or another masc-presenting person. Your gut reaction be immediately be that she is being battered. You might be right—but not for the reason you think. See, some people really really like to be beaten in specific ways in a contained scenario, which we broadly refer to as BDSM (Bondage & Discipline, Domination/Submission, Sado Masochism).
My girlfriend, god bless her, loves to not only get her ass beat, but she also enjoys giving over control to certain others (me) in order to get out of her own head. It’s a catharsis and a way to shut off her hyperactive anxiety brain. By beating her in a contained, safe manner, and consensually controlling her movement, I am doing a service to her. That lil freak loves it! But it may make any given person who sees this dynamic very uncomfortable.
When you strip it down, a lot of the discomfort people have with kink isn’t really about the specific practices. It’s about what those practices represent: a willingness to step outside the lines. To not just quietly be different, but to actively explore that difference. And when you take a really in depth look at these communities, you find more people looking out for each other than any given person would ever expect.
We see this show up with the recent arming efforts lead by local sex workers and mutual aid efforts by The Smitten Kitten (who, I know, we write about ad nauseum, but come ON, they’re so fucking good!). Would we expect politicians to come to the rescue for adult pleasure products stores, or a group of strippers? Unlikely, methinks, partially because of stigma, but partially because of the perceived criminality or amorality of the adult industry; yet sex workers and adult industry folks continue to show up for people with vital resources and cash assistance when our government refuses to issue eviction moratoriums and fail to restore wholeness to families affected by ICE.
You can hear that same discomfort playing out on a national scale, too. A lot of the recent anti-gay and anti-trans backlash feels rooted in something deeper: an uneasiness with people who don’t fit neatly into boxes, who push back on what we’re “supposed” to be when it comes to identity, bodies, and relationships. It’s not just about what people are doing; it’s that they’re doing it outside the lines of what’s been labeled acceptable.
And kink doesn’t really try to smooth that over… it kind of does the opposite. It lives right in that tension, even leans into it. It doesn’t try to make otherness more palatable; it lets it be seen.
To me, not every act of kink is a political statement. Most of the time, people are just trying to connect, to feel something, to play, to trust. But when those desires are stigmatized, regulated, or pushed into secrecy, even existing openly starts to carry weight.
And that’s where the synthesis lands for me. Kink may not begin as political, but it becomes difficult to separate it from politics in a world that reacts so strongly to difference, to deviance.
At a certain point, just saying “this is part of me, and I’m not going to hide it” is enough to brush up against power, not because you necessarily set out to challenge anything, but because in a culture invested in defining “normal,” choosing not to conform is always going to mean something.
Land o’ Lusts is a love letter to the bohemian underbelly of the Twin Cities. In each installment, writer Melodie KG—a Minneapolis-based consultant, nonprofit leader, and adult industry professional—seeks to dispel myths, uphold truths, and inspire conversations that reduce stigma for local sex workers, erotic professionals, risqué artists, and other deviants.
Have an idea for a story or profile? Interested in being interviewed? Have a (hopefully not literally) burning sex question? Reach out to me at contact@melodie-kg.com.
