My interests have a very local component. The cheekbone that passes just near my shoulder, the heel clicking by my ankle, the thin wrist cradling the cellular conversation i overhear on the elevator. All of this occurs in proximity to my personal space. The transaction of these geometries excite and stimulate me. Since college, i've been fascinated with spatial relationships that exist between objects, people, cultures, and have thus evaluated every connection i make in my daily life via the rubric of how close it is to me and how much space it occupies. When i feel a sense of alienation, that somehow my energy and body do not fit in the geography it occupies, i can sometimes feel lost. Which makes the recent discovery i unearthed in my site statistics all the more unsettling.
I have it set so that i'm able to chart how many visits i get by not only the continent, nor just the country, but by the city. Without any bashfulness, i must declare that i receive stop-overs from one burg by more than 2-to-1 over any other city. The perverted metropolis in question?
I am not by any means insulted by this overwhelming plurality of Londoners crawling the caverns of my cacophony, but the sheer imbalance over any other municipality strikes me as odd mostly because i myself am not from that fair, grey (or is it 'gray'?) city. I have never even visited it. Yet, somehow the material i post here at TransformHer tickles the cockles of my cockneyed brethren. Those of you who do call this blessed plot, this earth, "home", i'd value some theories as to why you and yours have chosen to click into my literary realm. Perhaps it's perfectly obvious, or perhaps you see my pro-Britannia nuance in amongst my regular kinky blather, and thus feel compelled to purchase a few moments of screen adoration via a visit.
For whatever reason that draws those oh so cultured urbanites, being an amateur detective myself (less Sherlock Holmes and more Philip Marlowe), i, of course, took it upon myself to float my own deductions regarding this quandary. The only thing that i could dig up was an early lesson (albeit culturally short-sighted, and ethically just short) i learned when i was trying to educate myself on the larger world of SM and fetishes. It turns out that my proclivities for localness do not reside solely with me. To bastardize a quote by Tip O'Neill, "All kink is local."
As i consumed the various kinky outputs from the then nascent Information Superhighway, perhaps because my mind is attuned to the layout of maps, i noticed very quickly that certain fetishes had their core followers in different regions and countries. From what i can tell, my very unscholarly evaluation assigned the following nation-states with the various fetishes as such:
Germany/Austria/Eastern Europe - heavy rubber/latex, military uniforms, medical
United Kingdom/Australia - latex outfits, crossdressing/maids, diapers/mackintoshes, schoolgirl, spanking
France - corsets, heels/ballet boots, dungeon, whipping
United States - steel bondage, mechanical contraptions, rope (Western/Cowboy influenced)
Japan - rope (Shibari), dollification, extreme feminization/body modification, Daddy/little girl
Of course, this is a generalization, and of course there are fans of latex in Japan just as there are practitioners of Shibari in Germany, but i think the dissemination of the kinks is relatively accurate.
(What is glaringly obvious about this list is the dominance of industrialized "Western" democracies, and few representations from the Second and Third world nations. Does this make the argument that those with disposable incomes and time develop kinky sexualities? Certainly such an argument can be made when someone notes the average cost of a custom-made latex catsuit, not to mention the ability to take photos of it, upload those photos to a website via a connection to the internet, and...wait, you probably have no interest in my sociological polemic. I don't blame you.)
What does all of this mean? Well, in a nutshell (yes, i will provide you voracious readers with a 'point') i should probably pack up these digs and ship me, the girl and the Castle of Deity over to London. Clearly, my public awaits me there.