What's In a Name?
Allow me to re-introduce myself. My name is Lola Jean.
Sometimes, my name is Goddess.
Sometimes, it is kitten.
Goddess is my honorific. Meaning: a title or word implying or expressing high status, politeness, or respect often used in the BDSM community. An honorific is an excellent signifier for the constraints of a scene or act of domination. For those who don't have the time or patience for 24/7 Domming, it acts as a clear beginning and end to the power exchange.
Ma’am, Princess or Queen don’t do it for me. Mistress only tickles my fancy when it’s attached to a French accent. As in “Oui Mistress.” Madame has a certain je ne sais quoi —in the proper, English sort of way—or word association with a manager of Mistresses. Either works.
I wasn’t the first to call myself Goddess and I certainly won’t be the last. The name was bestowed on me by two separate, unrelated individuals before I made it my own. At a time where self confidence wavered, ‘Goddess’ had a particular ring to it. It hummed in my ears and radiated through my body, spreading warmth from my toes to my fingertips. I was worthy of worship. I was sought after; special, even. As I dabbled deeper into FemDom, my self worth and confidence soared.
I am aware of the power I can harness as much as the negative energy I can deflect. Self confidence is an intimidating feature in a woman. Does it scare you that I don’t need you for approval? Does it make you nervous that I can ask for what I want and refute what I don’t?
There are the eye rolls when I give my website address. It’s as if the only positions of power deemed suitable for women are matriarchal. Ma’am. Madame. Mommy.
“Goddess? Jesus Christ. As long as I, too, can say my body was forged by the Gods themselves.”
Is it more attractive when I seek validation from you instead of supplying it myself? If you can’t gift me with praise how will you win me over? With kindness? With respect?
I should learn to take a compliment, you tell me. What are the weight of those words without meaning behind it.
You ask me for nudes and I decline. I haven’t met you, yet.
I direct you to my Instagram, but it is not what you seek.
You want something made especially for you. A custom creation for your eyes to devour. You want to take a piece of me I’m not yet ready to give.
You reject me for being “too self absorbed.”
They tell me I need to love myself if I want someone to love me.
Indeed, I do love myself. So much so, that I don’t need others validation to fulfill my self worth. Did I do it correctly? When is it too much? We always worry we are too much.
No one told me how lonely loving only yourself can be. No one warns of the downsides to self confidence. The alienation. In a society where we constantly seek to better ourselves, is it so wrong to crave companionship? I want another’s love to match my own.
Yet, how they can match my own if I’m too much? Is there a ratio to follow? A meter to measure?
“My wife isn’t comfortable going to your class because you call yourself Goddess.”
Given the unrealistic standards and societal pressures woman face, the reaction is curious. Too cocky and they’ll be quick to keep you down. Self deprecation is the drug of choice for many women. A culture of “I’m sorry.” Be the first to insult yourself before anyone else gets the chance. Careful not to think too highly of yourself. Leave that to the men.
If I call myself Daddy, would there be as much issue than if I call myself Queen?
As a human who teaches other humans about my area(s) of expertise, there’s a level of egoism naturally involved. Not a Kanye level. I’m grounded. There’s no denying my unabashed love of power and ego-tripping. So, I suppose, there’s that. The confidence—borderline cockiness—balances out the self loathing and keeps me level.
So, why the pushback to outward expression of self-love? By all means, if someone wishes to purchase LolaJean.com, please do. It wasn’t available and I keep branding consistent. Thus, Goddess becomes more synonymous with my name.
If I’m in a BDSM setting or teaching a class: that’s Goddess to you. If I’m on the street, at an event, or unless otherwise specified: I'm simply, Lola Jean. In other words, unless I tell you specifically to call me Goddess, the choice is yours. It’s a sign of respect in the BDSM world. You address me by this name to denote my status above yours.
In FemDom 101, I teach my students the honorific is their first rule, their first tool of ownership.
“From this point forward you are to address me as Goddess, is that understood?”
I instruct them to think of a name that resonates. A mixture of who they are and who they want to be. A name that makes them feel powerful and beautiful. Princess. Master. Her Majesty. A title they still must earn.
I’ve used Goddess for over two years now. After a while, it starts to lose that special spark. No longer does the unique collection of consonants and vowels tickle my ears that same way. It is a moniker. Another name, with which to address me.
Goddess—yes, but I'm still human. An incredible human—yes, but still human. Even with a title such as Pro Domme, Sex Educator, Sexpert etc… I experience human emotions as any other pedestrian.
I too, feel rejection.
I too, feel longing.
I too, feel loneliness.
I require opportunities—fleeting moments, even—to feel vulnerable, sad, or scared. Take me off your pedestal and allow me these rights. Allow me to be mortal and, in exchange, you may walk amongst the Gods.
I am not here to perform for you. I am not your puppet. I am not moldable for your entertainment. I’m here to perform for me—and you’re lucky enough to be along for the ride.