Data, Not Context
We like numbers. It’s one of our universal tools we created to offer clarity. Just how tall, just how much, just how big, just how many? Numbers tell us how far away we are from birth, how much money we have, how many partners we’ve had. We use them to appraise.
Whether it’s with a lover, life-partner, group of friends or an acquaintance, disclosing that body count number is intimate information that can be received a few different ways. A high-five, a drop of the jaw, no reaction, or somewhere in between those three. Some can count how many on their hands, some keep a Little Grey Book, some lost count a while ago and guesstimate. Yet, it remains neutral. The number just gives us information, it doesn’t give us context.
What does your body count look like in different hands?
When it’s in our own hands, often, we are our own worst critic. Our uninvited guest shame may return, an internal slut or prude shaming from a character that doesn’t realize it’s also part of what it’s mocking. There could be pride in the number, a high-five to yourself or a sense of fulfillment that you experienced opportunities, and stayed curious about people and sex. Maybe, you’re indifferent, and it’s just the data, and it says nothing about the whole you.
The way you think about it can depend on who is asking about it, especially a romantic partner. That conversation varies depending on the relationship style. A monogamous partner’s appraisal of your number could spark envy over how different your number is from their own, and vice versa. The ethically non-monogamous couple may respond differently: seeing a larger number as someone who is versatile in taste, or a smaller number as room for opportunity.
Culture takes the number as a breeding ground for evaluation and status. The double standard is strongest here, where one individual is congratulated on their conquests, and the other is shamed. They both could have the same body count and experience different treatment. Differences in values and morals can come alive just among friends, comparing their body count and internally drafting a narrative from the data about each other.
The number never asked for any of this; it was simply the messenger of information. The number doesn’t provide context for a life lived, making it all relative to the user. The individual who has only been in monogamous relationships, counting their partners on one hand, is now entering an open relationship. The individual who has fun taking someone new home every night, until they finally found “the one”. Whatever the number is, we all arrived there differently.
The number itself is not good or bad. In our nature, we have a tendency to need an immediate explanation of how that number came to be. Whether it’s your inner-monologue, a partner, a friend or a stranger, the number remains neutral. Even so, there is always a critic to impose context.