“What is peculiar to modern societies is not that they consigned sex to a shadow existence, but that they dedicated themselves to speaking of it ad infinitum, while exploiting it as the secret.”
One Monday morning, the postman is walking through the neighborhood on his usual route. This postman happens to be Michel Foucault. As he approaches one of the homes he noticed that a bunch of cars were in the driveway. His wonder was cut short by Albert, the homeowner, coming out with a load of empty Champagne and liquor bottles. “Wow Albert, looks like you guys had one wild party last night” Foucault comments. Albert, in obvious pain, with a Gauloises cigarette dangling from his lips replies “Actually the party started on Saturday night. We had about fifteen couples from around the neighborhood over for some weekend fun and it got a bit wild; we all got so drunk around midnight that we started playing: WHO AM I” Foucault thought for a moment and said “How do you play WHO AM I?” Albert flicked his cigarette, took a sip of water and explained: “Well, the guys go in the bedroom and we come out one at a time with a sheet covering us and with only our ‘privates’ showing through a hole in the sheet. Then the guys and girls in the living room try to guess who it is.” Foucault laughed and said, “Damn, I’m sorry I missed that.” In which Albert replied: “Probably a good thing you did, your name came up seven times…”
Foucault laughed, paused for a second, and said “You know what Albert, what is peculiar to modern societies is not that they consigned sex to a shadow existence, but that they dedicated themselves to speaking of it ad infinitum, while exploiting it as the secret.” Albert stood in the morning sun, hungover, staring at Foucault and said: “You know Michel, that’s too deep for me right now, catch you later.”
After that, Foucault went home and wrote another essay on the history of sexuality.