Delve into Kink at the Australian Queer Archives

When people think of kink and fetish, those of a ‘vanilla’ persuasion are likely come up with references to leather, bondage, harnesses, and masters. These are the common tropes found in mainstream and popular media, think Madonna, Fifty Shades of Grey, and even more recently Netflix’s comedy and reality television programs. My interest in kink and fetish was borne out of my club-going days pre-pandemic. I quickly learned that a club I frequented was the early and founding site of Australia’s Hellfire club in Carlton (which is still a fantastic techno club, albeit without the play and performances).

BDSM, sadomasochism, B&D, S/M, bondage, kinky are all terms used to describe an individual with an eclectic, diverse, or more hardcore sexual appetite. These descriptors are employed for a range of reasons but are primarily used to seek out and engage with others of similar tastes. Not only can they be used as a description for sexual behaviour, but they can also be used to identify the self and others. Research into BDSM overseas has grown in popularity in recent years, but what is there to uncover about BDSM in Australia? How has the BDSM identity been commodified, commercialised, and appropriated to foster and encourage social and/or intimate connection in private and semi-public spaces? This is the focus of my research.

To learn and write about historical BDSM communities and scenes, I had to find reliable source material to draw upon. This led me to the Australian Queer Archives, which holds a wide and diverse range of material on both heterosexual and LGBTQIA+ scenes in Australia. This constellation of sources come from underground community media like Wicked Women, pornographic magazines like Ribald, and newsletters from adult entertainment stores, the most notable being Eagle Leather.

What became apparent throughout my research is that commerce (in the broad sense), was a particularly potent tool for bringing together likeminded kinky people. Beginning with the 1970s, if you weren’t attached to a particular club or were geographically or socially isolated, personal advertising was a fantastic way to self-advertise your desires. Looking into Ribald, I analysed over 3,000 personal ads, 140 of which related in some way to kink or fetish. Largely, it was individual slaves looking for a master, or even masters/mistresses looking to expand their harem of servants.

Personal ads within Ribald and the other magazines was partly a symptom of a growing sexual permissiveness in Australian social and political life which spurred on a change to how we censor adult materials. This neoliberal governmentality which rationalised privacy, personal responsibility, and free choice legitimated social hierarchies of sexuality and compelled or encouraged BDSM communities to capitalise space in pornographic magazines. In this 1970s and 1980s, despite an emerging acceptance of gay and lesbian sexuality, many social BDSM groups were at the fringe of social acceptability or were relatively young. They existed as motorcycle clubs and as gay leather groups.

You might be wondering how commerce and commodity fits into all of this. First is cost which refers the cost of advertising (around one dollar per ad) and then also the cost of purchasing the magazine and later sending a letter in response to an ad. Second is the language of advertising. It is crucial to consider the role language played in advertising yourself as a suitable play partner. This language of commodity helps us understand how individuals communicated their potential to give and receive pleasure.

Onto the late 1980s and the 1990s, I begin to look community magazines and newsletters. These are primarily Wicked

Women, The Boot Co., and Eagle Leather’s LeatherLink. Their connections to commerce and commodity are like the personal ads, but their intention or functions are far more diverse. Their primary function is as a source of connection, but also in the case of Wicked Woman and LeatherLink, they were useful springboards for ideas and discussion around best practice and safer ways to play, and a gateway for newcomers and pros to connect with each other or to even identify with a community.

The other component of my research is an oral history of Hellfire. Hellfire was a fetish and S/M club, ‘with techno and trance on the side,’ that ‘drew a diverse crowd, including Hollywood A-lister George Clooney.’ It has been touted as ‘Australia’s first … above-ground club dedicated to the celebration of consensual sado-masochistic sexuality.’ It first opened in October 1992 at the home of Dream night club. The club was a ‘polymorphous’ environment, with all sexualities mixing and playing together. Hellfire was held every Sunday night in Melbourne, and every Thursday in Sydney from March 1993. And from its early days, the Melbourne and Sydney club nights drew over 400 patrons.

This research was supported through my discussions with the volunteers at the Australian Queer Archives. Without them, I may not have found or even been able to access magazines, images and other ephemera that have helped shape my dissertation which provides a window into the lives of kinky Australians.

Author biography Reece (he/him) is an MA candidate in the Department of Archaeology and History at La Trobe University. His research investigates oral and archival accounts to produce a history of BDSM in Australia. His thesis looks specifically at the role of public space in constructing and commodifying the image of a sadomasochistic citizen.

1 Nui Te Koha, “The Cool Kids Still Want Hot Nights,” Herald Sun, May 15, 2016, sec. News. 2 Linda Jaivin, “The Mobile Guide: The Roughest Safe Sex Around,” Asian Wall Street Journal, September 3, 1993, sec. Leisure & Arts, 7.