Anastasiia Fedorova’s debut book, Second Skin, is a romantic ode to a subculture that
radically uplifted her life.
Source: Dazeddigital.com (English)
USA – For writer and curator Anastasiia Fedorova, the sweat-soaked world of kink and fetish is a romantic one. Her debut book, Second Skin , with its peach-and-leather accents on the cover, is tantalizing and inviting, promising to tantalize the reader in more ways than one. But anyone who picks up the book and reads it on TfL will discover a tender, romantic ode to a subculture that has radically elevated the author’s life. The term “love letter” is overused, but it absolutely applies here.
Fedorova is a candid, meticulous guide through a range of kinks and fetishes, stopping at communities that get their kicks from—deep breath—leather, latex, feet, medical gloves, cars, pup play, dominatrixes, and crippled women. She lays bare her personal experiences in the world of kink and fetish and the discoveries she’s made. Second Skin isn’t about baseless provocation or simple look-and-see action; it’s about lifting the hood and revealing the relationships and care that shape these communities. It’s a tricky needle to thread and far from the easiest sell in the world, but Fedorova makes it look effortless, creating a memoir-cum-cultural history that feels refreshingly intimate.
A few weeks before Granta publishes Second Skin , Fedorova is eager for the book to land in the hands of the people it tells the story of. “There are a lot of interviews in the book, which connected me to the community, but writing it is such a lonely process, it was quite lonely,” she says over Zoom. “It’s a paradox because the subject matter is about human connection and doing things together.”
Below, Fedorova discusses the writing process of Second Skin , what happens when kinky and fetishistic stories go mainstream, and her transition to writing fiction.
You lived in this world for a few years while writing Second Skin . Can you tell me what that was like?
Anastasiia Fedorova: I think writing something long-lived is a transformative experience for any writer. Because it’s my first book, I felt like it literally changed my body in some way. I’m interested in writing about embodied experiences, so one of the things I tried to do with this book was to distance myself from the visual stereotypes that are usually written about kinky and fetish. I wanted to focus on my experiences and write from my own perspective. I wanted to think less about how things look and more about how they feel.
I’ve long tried to put things on paper that are ultimately very difficult to describe. Every sexual experience inherently resists language. Writing the book made me think about the power of words and texts, and where they fall short and words are not enough. It was an interesting combination as I did a lot of archival research and visited libraries.
In the final chapter, you discuss the writing and research process for the book: “I grew up among friends who share a similar sexual culture, and [experiences with kinky and fetishistic topics] seem completely mundane, even tame, but when I’m asked about my book at work, they become strange, marginal, and shocking again.” It’s a strange position to be in, writing about something so personal and real to you, yet illicit for others. How did you handle that?
Anastasiia Fedorova: I think it’s an interesting paradox. When you have a community, there are people inside and outside of that community. I feel like as our society and the way we talk about things become more and more militantly conservative—like with gender and sexuality—a lot of people in the queer community have the experience of living in two worlds at once. Sexuality is interesting because there’s this tension between being genuine and authentic and simultaneously oversharing—you wonder, “Do people need to know this about me?” But also, if [kink and fetish] are the most authentic and joyful part of themselves and the source of so many meaningful experiences that shape them, then it hurts a lot to be rejected for that.
It was important to me to write a book that shows that these topics don’t always have to remain siloed, separate from other aspects of our lives. Because it’s so intertwined with consumer culture and pop culture, and there are cultural contributions from, for example, the leather community and the sex worker community, which filter through and become part of mainstream culture and are celebrated as part of mainstream aesthetics. I wanted to connect this with the inner truth and emotional truth of [kink and fetish], and include the voices of people within the community. I’m very curious to see how this book is received by people from these communities and also by those who are even remotely interested.
One of the biggest examples of kink and fetishism intersecting with mainstream culture is fashion, and your background as a writer is partly in fashion. Do you see it as a safe and acceptable way for people to appreciate fetishes?
Anastasiia Fedorova: Mainstreaming an aesthetic is a complex issue. Ultimately, I think it’s a good thing if it “normalizes” and removes some of the stigma. My only issue is that many fetish and kink brands, which are typically small businesses committed to the community and understand why these things are made, do a better job than most fashion brands, which borrow the aesthetic but not the expertise. Some brands pay specialized designers to work for them, which is a great way to do it because it allows you to enrich the existing craftsmanship.
I feel like it’s a double-edged sword for any subculture: part of it has to remain almost underground and outside the mainstream to remain authentic. What happens when a subculture becomes too mainstream?
Anastasiia Fedorova: I feel like some aspects of kinks and fetishes ultimately won’t be for everyone, because they’re niche preferences and interests that aren’t marketable. I didn’t cover everything in the book; I chose things that are more visible and relatively acceptable. There are kinks and fetishes that are still very taboo and not mainstream, although we’ve seen things like watersports become memes lately; I feel like people talk about peeing a lot more on TikTok than they used to.
But in these communities, there’s a culture of mutual care because this is where they belong. As fetish and kink become increasingly mainstream, it’s important to be aware of this and understand how so much institutional stigma and oppression against these people still exists. We need to be aware that these are communities that have always consisted of these people, and that they are welcome here. We need to ensure this doesn’t change, and that we don’t just take the most appealing parts and forget the rest, which often happens when something becomes mainstream.
Have you ever had the desire to explore fetish subcultures that, as you say, are not visible and palatable?
Anastasiia Fedorova: I’d love to write about it, but that would be a different kind of project, probably a smaller, more personal book. I’m not interested in these things for shock value, because everyone’s idea of what’s acceptable and unacceptable is different. I was more interested in how fetishes and kinky things are already integrated into culture, and to make people question what and how they fetishize, even if they’re not part of the community—whether it’s their car, a particular brand, or a person. I wanted to connect with people and introduce them to something rather than delving into more complex [kinky things and fetishes]. I’m definitely interested in darker things, but maybe I’ll save that for fiction.
Are you planning to start writing fiction anytime soon?
Anastasiia Fedorova: I’m working on a fiction book, which is very different. It’s about sexuality in a contemporary, futuristic capitalist landscape. It stays true to the idea of embodied experience and writing about it, and how we deal with sex in a very sterilized world. Like how there’s a Pret on every corner in London now, and the world feels increasingly impersonal and sterile. What happens to our bodies then?
