In Cheating on the Sisterhood: Infidelity and Feminism, Lauren Rosewarne’s details her own personal struggles as a willing participant in an illicit relationship that resulted in another woman's devastation, as well as her own. It is a political look at the motivations that fuel situations of betrayal and the justifications one provides oneself from the inside.

Written by a feminist academic who had the (dis)pleasure of deliberately

being “the other woman” in an ongoing affair, Cheating on the Sisterhood: Infidelity and Feminism explores Lauren

Rosewarne’s personal struggles as a willing participant in an illicit

relationship that resulted in another woman’s devastation, as well as her own. It

is a political look at the motivations that fuel situations of betrayal and the

justifications one provides oneself from the inside.

Since Rosewarne uses her own life as a jumping off point,

the book is tinged with melodrama and a lack of adequate distance for dispassionate

observation, which certainly makes Cheating

on the Sisterhood a more interesting read. Researchers are often told to

strive for objectivity in their work; however, Rosewarne tossed convention

aside in an attempt to engage the reader in her meanderings on depictions of

infidelity in popular culture, the ways women hurt and compete with other

women, feminist rationalizations that allow for denial of culpability, how the

role of “the other woman” reinforces traditional gender roles, the impact of

consumer culture on relationships, and why infidelity is an exercise in sadism,

masochism, and misogyny.

How did you come to

write this book, personally and professionally?

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In 2007, I was presenting at a conference near where the man

I discuss in the book lived. I knew seeing him would be emotionally difficult

(he was still living with his partner at that time) and I knew saying goodbye

to him would be worse, so I travelled to see him with the idea that I would

write about my experiences, that when things were bad, I would have ‘work’ to

fall back on. By nature I am an organizer and I like to—where possible—put in

place infrastructure which minimizes experiences I can predict will provide

horrendously emotional. So I was travelling with books to do preliminary

research and the writing of the book became a strategy (albeit a largely

unsuccessful one!) of distracting me from the emotional torment of being in a

relationship with a man I could never truly be with. I researched and wrote and

edited right through to the end of the relationship.

Professionally the case is much simpler. I am an academic.

Publish or perish is our mantra!

Was it difficult to

divulge personal information that could inculcate negative judgments about your

character or politics?

An assumption I made during the writing of the book—and an

assumption that was only validated, repeatedly, afterwards—was that my

experience was very common. While I expected to experience criticism (which I

received in spades!) the most common response I received from women was that

they had near identical experiences. At books talks and at conferences and

through emails, women have told me about how they felt exactly the same set of

conflicted emotions and faced the same challenges when attempting to manage

their politics.

I’m not ashamed about any of my experiences. I think they’re common experiences

and experiences that are worth talking about. I not only own those experiences,

but I own up to them, and if this gets people talking about topics like sexual

politics and feminism, then I happy to take the negative judgments on the chin.

You write this book

from a markedly third wave feminist perspective and challenge feminisms that

are especially dogmatic, yet you do not always hold third wave feminist

ideology in high esteem. What do you see as useful about a third wave approach

to infidelity?

On a very cursory level, supporting women’s choices on how

to use their bodies has united each of the branches of feminisms. Yet, while

there might be much agreement on reproductive rights, sexual rights are more

complicated. This is demonstrated by second wave critiques of prostitution, for

example. Third wave feminism has clutched onto choice really, really tightly—and

I like this. I want choice in everything. I want the choice to make both good

and bad decisions. But, as evident in my book, choice on its own is not enough.

If we’re going to make our own choices we need to take ownership of those

choices, and we need to understand the consequences. In order for a feminist to

do this with any sense of academic legitimacy, understanding the consequences

of our choices needs to be examined by utilizing all that has been offered by

earlier waves of feminism.

You write that

infidelity is a topic that tends to be cast aside or ignored by the feminist

academy. Why is it necessary to have an explicitly feminist critique of

infidelity?

The ‘personal is political’ catch cry of feminism reminds us

that the goings on in each of our bedrooms makes for important, and ongoing,

political discussion. We need a feminist critique of infidelity, but of all

sexual practices more broadly. I wrote about infidelity because it was

something I was experiencing and was something that hadn’t previously been

examined from a feminist perspective.

What are some of the

most important feminist issues involved in the examination of infidelity?

I think the most important issues a feminist examination of infidelity raises

are the inherent power disparities evident in heterosexual unions and which

ones are exploited in affairs; that the competition between women—notably for

the affections of men—undermines gender equality; and that feminism adds an

additional layer of complication to affairs, which are by their very nature

complicated, often painful, and confusing.

Can you talk about how

feminism is used to justify infidelity?

A third wave feminist take on infidelity focuses on the individual woman and

her rights to sexual pleasure. For this woman, prioritizing her individual

pleasure provides an ability to rationalize her participation in infidelity as

being about the supreme importance of her own sexual pleasure and her shaking

off the shackles of feeling a need to protect the marriage. I am sure there are

cases where feminism has been used to shirk personal responsibility. Personally,

I’ve used feminism as a way to analyze my behavior, and also as a way to rationalize

it.

Despite the title of

your book, you talk about there not being a true sisterhood to betray and that,

as a result, feminist consciousness will not prevent single women from engaging

in sexual relationships with partnered men or cause them to feel guilty about

it. Can you explain why this is the case?

If no macro sisterhood exists, individual women are not

going to feel loyalties to women who they have no other connection to other

than that they both possess vaginas. When I discussed my own guilt in the book,

that guilt stemmed from knowing that infidelity wasn’t a good thing for

feminism. As things progressed I would later feel guilt towards a woman who I

was getting to know (albeit not personally) through being surrounded by her

possessions. In that case, she had an identity, and it’s harder to betray

someone when you begin to know them. I don’t think a concept of ‘sisterhood’ is

going to prevent women from acting in their own best interest when everything

else in society works to remind us that there actually isn’t a sisterhood.

You write that

feminists should condemn infidelity, yet you remain convinced that you made the

right decision to be involved with a married man. How do you reconcile that?

Ideally, of course, it is in the best interest of feminism

for single women not to get involved with married men—but idealism is a very

different thing from reality. While we can, of course, choose whether we act on

our emotions, individuals make decisions for a suite of reasons, not just

politics. In my case, I made a selfish decision that exploited my own

priorities at that time in my life. Evidently my feminism proved lower down on

that list than some other priorities, like being in an intimate relationship.