No Logic Or Self-Worth Attached

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The Setup

I made the terrible mistake of Netflixing NO STRINGS ATTACHED (the Natalie Portman/Ashton Kutcher eff buddies movie (wasn’t there another one too?)) the other day, and, in addition to having my soul crushed for two hours, I also got to witness an almost pathological amount of self-degradation, the kind that oftens crops up in real (equally soul crushing) relationships.

What Emma Says

Natalie’s character, Emma (who rooms with a band of three inexplicably wacky surgical interns), keeps randomly running into Ashton’s character, Adam, and decides they should have sex while, for reasons unstated, avoiding any emotional attachment.

Back Up And Tell It Right

I’m not sure what’s weirder: the conceit that you can somehow avoid emotional attachment to other people or the notion that you’d want to. First off, if you’re doing anything regularly with another person, you’re in a relationship, no matter what lie you’re telling yourself. Second, if the goal of your relationship is to not have one, then you’re likely best off alone until you work through your issues. And FYI, Emma, sex isn’t something you can separate from feelings because that connection isn’t under your conscious control; in other words, you’re either having sex with someone and not feeling anything for them or you’re having sex with someone and developing feelings but in either case it’s not something you can decide upfront. Having a predetermined goal of numbing out or repressing your emotions in case they accidentally crop up is not a great way to enter into any kind of connection. Instead, check in with yourself to see if you’re emotionally ready for a relationship, then go connect in whatever form you like and be open to seeing what happens. Because otherwise the primary emotional attachment you’re avoiding is the one with yourself.

Though I’ve got to admit, despite it obviously being for nudity rider reasons, watching someone roll around having sweaty, intense, breathless, unattached sex while ALWAYS wearing either a T-shirt or tank top becomes, after two hours, kind of intriguingly kinky…