When I first went full-time in 2013, I wanted a name distinct from the one I’d used on Fetlife since 2007, when My participation in the scene was primarily lurk- and lifestyle-oriented (and only occasionally professional).
I thought “Princess Marx” would be a good conversation starter, particularly given that My purpose in practicing FemDom was political. It seemed that combining such a capitalist, imperialist concept as “Princess” with the word “Marx” would at least get people thinking.
To date, only ONE. SINGLE. SUB. has ever remarked on the dichotomy. He is now My primary submissive.
To begin, I never identified with the word “Mistress.” I didn’t grow up in a primary English-speaking environment, so the only association I had with the word “Mistress” was that of the unethical paramour of a cheater. I contemplated terms like “Goddess” or “Queen,” and although I’ve always romanticized the Divine Feminine and fantasized about being an Amazon Warrior Queen, what I really wanted to do was use My youth and good looks to undermine and subvert men, and by extension, the patriarchy. I was far more interested in acting like an entitled brat, than a matronly, intimidating practitioner of BDSM. I was intimidating enough in My personal life. I wanted to give Myself permission to act spoiled and bratty – something an intelligent girl of good upbringing was *not* supposed to do in real life. Naturally, “Princess” made sense.
The utility of this title is questionable many years later, but it’s part of My brand now, so it’ll stay. Besides, it hasn’t stopped Me from insisting I be addressed in a myriad ways when I’ve felt like it, including “Domina,” inspired by the short-lived, but nonetheless impressive, HBO series “Rome.” Each one of these titles is imbued with meanings contradictory to My views on class, but creating hierarchy is inextricable from FemDom – a system that, by definition, puts one group of people above another.
One of the things that first appealed to Me about Professional Domination was the potential to take money and power away from the rich, and redistribute to the poor. I fantasized about rich, white lawyers on their hands and knees, scrubbing my floors, *paying* for the privilege, while the brown maids of the world kicked back and sipped cocktails.
The reality, it turns out, is very different. Many of My clients aren’t “rich,” and they are more than occasionally people of color. What’s more, while sexwork can be very empowering, sexworkers remain on the fringes of society, are often underpaid (and often straight up UNpaid for their emotional labor), or downright poor. I’m not sure it’s the most efficient model for redistributing wealth to the unempowered.
Regardless of My Robin Hood dreams, I’ve never labeled Myself a Marxist for a number of reasons. For one, there are multiple theoretical frameworks that, in sum and combination, begin to approximate My views, but no one framework feels singularly satisfying. (This makes total sense for someone who’s a natural nitpicker and a compulsive critic.) For example, Marxists tend to focus their analyses on capital, but feminist Marxists tend to focus their analyses on power as more significant than even capital. Both resonate, but not at each other’s exclusion.
Further, the radical black lesbian separatist approach not only corresponds to the lesbian separatist fantasies of My childhood, but also suggests a model for living that feels safest, most radical, and potentially most effective at creating the kind of change I’d like to see. Pieces of Chomsky’s anarcho-libertarian socialism appeal to Me, and queer and critical race theories make sense to Me from both lived experience and hope for the world.
In short, reality is more complex than any label.