Screencap from the official music video for the song “Ankles,” by Lucy Dacus
“Pull me by the ankles to the edge of the bed,” Lucy Dacus sings in her new song, “Ankles.” This line, as well as the rest of the song, is at the crux between safety and danger — both within kink and post-Trump queer politics.
Dacus is a singer-songwriter who wrote three acclaimed studio albums before joining the queer indie-rock supergroup boygenius. Dacus’ fourth studio album, “Forever is a Feeling,” comes out on March 28. She is scheduled to play at The Chicago Theater on May 1 and 2. The tickets for her first Chicago concert sold out in approximately 20 minutes, which led her team to announce a second date a few hours later.
“Ankles” plays with the perceived pain of kink’s pleasure by juxtapositioning erotic lyrics with soft melodious music. The second verse is led by a series of bell chimes that punctuate the bubbly and gently-sung lyric, “So bite me on the shoulder / pull my hair.” These bells are a subversion of the stereotype that kink is ghastly. This is the first time these bells are heard in the song, and their utility is in calling attention to the pain of being bitten and pulled. Rather than catastrophizing this pain, the bell’s pleasant noise is meant to communicate the pleasure that this type of stimulus can bring to some people.
Simultaneously, the first two verses are sung to the backdrop of consistent short notes played on a violin. The bells then introduce a slow set of drums that, together with a rhythmic violin and a sparse guitar, build into an explosive and robust chorus. This section evokes the experience of an orgasm — including an emotional escalation and an increased heart rate in those musical palpitations. Another way to see this section is as a metaphor for kink, as a power dynamic of restraint, build-up, and release.
A relationship that centers bondage, discipline, dominance, submission and sadomasochism, or BDSM, usually involves a power exchange between a dominant person leading a sexual encounter and a submissive counterpart who consensually agrees to physical or sexual domination. A healthy relationship between a submissive person and dominant person (or a Sub-Dom relationship) is built on previously-communicated boundaries and defined limits of consent; a Sub’s safe-word should make their Dom a ragdoll (the use of a safe-word immediately ends the scene, period). In a curious way, the Sub holds power by being the one that chooses to sustain the illusion that they have given away power.
Although there is no way to be completely safe while engaging in kink, there are activities that are safer than others, and there are practices a person can implement to be as safe as possible. This is why kink can imitate danger or allow a person to orbit danger in a controlled environment. This is why kink blurs the line between safety and danger.
Queer culture is defined by the danger of being criminalized or persecuted. Even in the safetest of societies and environments, queerness is still a target for hatred — physical, verbal, or cultural. There is no way to be completely safe as a queer person. In the same way, queer culture is defined by desire that can not be fulfilled easily — a desire for impermissible sexual and romantic relationships, and a desire for a normative social acceptance of queerness. Within that abstraction exists the concept of fantasy.
“Ankles” works on two superimposed levels. The song communicates a longing for forbidden sex — which could represent both queerness and kink — but also, a desire for safety.
The second Trump administration is a menace to the Queer community. Trump issued the “Defending Women From Gender Ideology Extremism and Restoring Biological Truth to the Federal Government” executive order that “attempts to end legal recognition of transgender and nonbinary people under federal law and greenlight discrimination against the full LGBTAQ+ community.” (Brandon Wolf) Trump’s intent is to escalate the removal of anti-discrimination policies, prohibiting gender-affirming medical care, and reversing the legality of same-sex marriage.
In a world where politics is so dangerous, there is a desire and hope for safety, acceptance, and comfort. “Ankles” is as much about kinky sex and intimacy, as well as true connection. The chorus sings, “I want you to show me what you mean / then help me with the crossword in the morning / you are going to make me tea / gonna ask me how did I sleep.” The speaker longs for a domestic life full of peaceful, slow mornings, and items of comfort. This is a lifestyle that is not universally accessible to queer people.
Same-sex marriage is illegal in over 64 countries, and in the 38 countries where same-sex marriage is legal, not all social circles are enthusiastic about same-sex partnerships. There are places where marriage could be judicially legal, and yet, socially frowned upon — thus barring an individual from a queer domestic life in a more covert way. This does not take into account that queer people are statistically more likely to live in poverty than their straight and cisgender counterparts. Poverty is thus a barrier for people to acquire, replicate, and consume the fantasy and image of a domestic life.
In the song, there is no canonical evidence that the romance between the speaker and their lover is public. The speaker says they “want” their lover to help them with the crossword in the morning and then make tea, but there is no in-scene evidence that this ever occurs. There is no proof that they spend the night together — and if they do spend the night, there is no proof they are living together. The fantasy of a safe domesticity pervades.
There is an emphasis on withholding in “Ankles.” The lyrics “I’m not going to stop you this time” (with a tonal emphasis on “this time” via the absence of melodic repetition) implies there were other moments the lovers had to withhold from each other. If the lovers are queer, then this line could mean that the lovers had to show restraint from each other due to homophobia — either because they could not be public with their love, or because a form of internalized homophobia kept the speaker from partaking in their queer attraction.
Likewise, linking back to the Sub-Dom dynamic, restraint is a form of power-play where one person withholds sexual gratification from the other. The line could signify the moment the speaker is unable to hold back any longer and has chosen to cave into pleasure. This sentiment is then reiterated with the word “baby” sung in an elongated manner that resembles a moan. The line “I’m not going to stop you this time” pairs with the lyrics “I want you to show me what you mean” in that these snippets of possible dialogue hint at scenes that are absent from the song but open to the audience’s imagination. “I want you to show me what you mean” indicates instances of dirty talk, where the lover had expressed a verbal or written desire to pleasure their partner, and they can now act upon it.
Nevertheless, that line sits in contrast to the verse “What if we don’t touch? / What if we only talk / about what we want / and cannot have?” These lines could, again, suggest a form of power-play where the speaker refrains from touching their partner to build tension and desire, but it could also allude to an inability to talk about queer desire in public. In that case, these lovers can not touch the way they want to, and are relegated to only talking about their desire.
There are 21 states in the United States with laws that restrict schools from discussing “homosexuality” in curricula. Schools are required to notify parents of any LGBT lesson-plans with the choice to opt their children out, or must censor discussions of LGBT information in the classroom completely. Sometimes the ability to talk about queer desire is a privilege.
Queer culture was, historically, codified. The Hanky Code, being called a “friend of Dorothy,” the “gay earring”, and flowers such as the green carnation or violets were all forms of code that queer people used to find each other and signal queer attraction. Coded messages bring on a simultaneous safety and danger. A secret code can protect an individual from being understood by those who do not know the code, but it can also out them and incriminate them to those who are searching for the code for sinister purposes.
In the song, the line “Playing with your scissors again” could refer to scissoring, a sexual position where two women rub their genitals together to receive pleasure without penetration or oral stimulation. “Scissoring might just be one of the most mythical sex acts of them all, one that is as iconic as it is controversial,” Adejoke Mason writes. Scissoring as the main form queer women have sex is a myth perpetuated by traditional porn catered to men. Regardless, scissoring is the primary lesbian imagery in the heterosexual collective imagination, which is a form of fantasy. The act of scissoring is to straight people an unfamiliar taboo to which they assign a voyeuristic curiosity, pornographic objectification, and desire.
The line could also be interpreted as a code for lesbianism under the guise of the Greek Fates metaphor. In Greek mythology, Atropos was the Fate who cut the string of life with a pair of scissors. This allusion to the Greek pantheon stands in contrast with the line “Angel of Death” — a Judeo-Christian messenger of God that brings death. Some sects of many different religions do not welcome queer people into their belief system and practice. The mention of the Angel of Death can reference mixed feelings about being queer and religious, or the position a queer person can have within a religious community. The Angel of Death can also be a metaphor for the lover. To come out as queer in a religious community can mean becoming ostracized from friends and family. Therefore, publicly loving the lover could be a form of social death for the speaker. The lover then becomes the Angel of Death: an angelic figure of benevolence and sacred love that imparts death, just as Atropos cut the string of fate when playing with scissors.
The interplay of verses and lines in “Ankles” is unique. The dialogue is not attributed to either character. Both the lover or the original speaker (assumed to be the voice of Dacus herself) could have said any of the song’s lyrics, and who says what can reimagine the sub-dom relationship of these characters and morph the message of the song. For example, if the lyrics “Now don’t move / When I tell you what to do” are credited to the original speaker, then that would align them with the dom role, but if the lyrics are credited to the lover, then that would make the original speaker a Sub. If the original speaker is a Sub then that line, once again, guides the song back into the discussion of safety and danger within kink and politics.
“Now don’t move / When I tell you what to do,” refers to how a dom could control a situation through physical restraint and “commanding” (dictating instructions). If the original speaker is a Sub receiving this guidance, then they probably feel pleasure and a certain respite from the loss of control. Submission is a break from having to make decisions and the stressors of having control. It is a form of vulnerability and profound intimacy. This submission is also, in the world of dangerous politics, a moment where the speaker does not have to worry about fighting to regain control from a position of powerlessness, or their civic responsibilities, or keeping a façade of fearlessness. Submission is a moment of falling into the care of another.
The lines “Let me touch you where I want to / There, there, there, there, there” are about desire and the fulfillment of fantasy. Obviously, it’s sexy that the speaker wants to touch their partner… but the repetition of the word “there” alludes to a deeper intimacy. The speaker appreciates all these different body parts of their lover and the lover is seen as a holistic person, not just the utility of the genitals to extract sexual gratification. The lyrics hint at a sexual relationship between the lovers that is erotic and sensual (and by extension, loving), rather than for the intent of short-term gratification.
Why “Ankles”? A woman showing her ankles in the Victorian Era was considered immodest. This reference to an older time is made clear in Dacus’ music video for the song. Dacus parades around a contemporary city in a regal, mock-tudor-style red dress—clearly, a figure that does not belong. She is an abnormality in the same vein as queerness and kink. The ankles are a tease. They are a promise there is more to observe — and fantasize about — under the skirt. They hint at how, under the ruffles, there could be an impermissible love.
Or the title “Ankles” to be a reference to foot fetishes! Another sexual fantasy that has been meme-ified as an unacceptable interest. Who knows? You’ll have to ask Lucy herself.
