Heard of him?
Kirill Bichutsky, aka @SlutWhisperer, is a self-proclaimed Ugly Russian Jew. He made a name for himself as a New York City nightlife photographer, before graduating into that guy who pours champagne (among other beverages) all over the faces and bare chests of beautiful women. Boasting over half a million Instagram followers, his notoriety is growing exponentially, and he is embarking on the ranks of Kardashian and Bilzerian via getting paid to show up and bring his brand of partying to a variety of venues all over North America.
His mantra is simple: there's no shame in being a fun, ratchet, half-naked, drunken mess.
Hate him yet? Many do.
Unshocking non-revelation: Kirill (TSW) is far from America's sweetheart. He has been branded a misogynist, a douche bag, and everything in between. At last count, his Instagram account has been deactivated by the brass on twelve separate occasions, and a tenacious group of feminists and other cyber bigtalkers flood his public comments section with messages of disdain.
- via @SlutWhisperer
Why are you so mad?
"He is propagating rape culture. Those poor girls he exploits need help, not champagne facials!"
Poor ... girls? Much of my beef with feminism stems from the thin line between empowerment and oppression in sheep's clothing. Why are photos of a woman's body part such a day ruiner for you? Am I to believe that certain facets of feminism only support liberation until they become uncomfortable? Legalize the boob, dammit! And ah yes, the 'R' word. A very real epidemic of our time, especially as more women realize and speak out against what is not okay. And unwanted sexual contact is a penchant reserved for the lowest of lowlives. So while his website proudly curates quite the collection of aesthetic treats, you will not find even a hint of anything less than absolute consent to the point of sheer enjoyment. Not only does he not partake in anything is not offered or reciprocated, TSW does not cosign men who do. And he conveys this message often, in his own deliciously crass way.
"He's rude and demeaning! He's anti-[inset demographic of choice here]. He's just another misogynistic cyberbully."
As I prepared for the brief yet intriguing chat I had with TSW, I will admit that I came across a few posts that made me go 'hmmmm'. So when we spoke, I made a point of sneaking in an inquiry about very posts that irked me. He calmly shut down my curiosity by explaining that he subscribes to the South Park theory, which suggests that you either laugh at everyone or laugh at no one. Classic comedic equal opportunity- no one is safe in the feeds of the Whisperer, including himself.
"I have a huge problem with the word SLUT."
You know what, so do I! I hate the word SLUT. I hate it for the power that so many of us have assigned to it. I hate that too many of us default to buying into the venomous essence of this word, subsequently thinking less of women who've been branded - often before a single interaction. Or perhaps a woman who simply makes different choices for herself, whilst not hurting anyone. And most of all, I hate that too many of us women keep this word in our arsenals to reduce other women, in order to mask our insecurities and assert mean-spirited dominance. As crazy as this may sound, making a farce of the word SLUT, and more importantly embracing it, will inevitably dilute its effects. Instead of slut-shaming - which he is so often accused of - TSW actually encourages the willing, bad ass chicks to get a little afterdark on 'em. And while he celebrates these women and provides them the platform they seek, he simultaneously puts disrespectful dudes on blast for being the real losers, unable to handle an actual party. Bye Fellipe
Hey Instagram, Really Dude?
Logging onto Instagram to find his account has been deleted due to content violations has become somewhat routine for Kirill. Proving the point that if given the resources, the internet's angry villagers can and will shut you down, he is forced to strategically position his photography based on platform, as different outlets offer varying levels of censorship. But why are we banning people like TSW when accounts curated by artists showcasing profits received partly from music which openly encourages rape are alive and well? I am in no way saying that everyone needs to accept TSW's brand with open arms, but to me, your priorities for what constitutes offensive content seem to have gone astray.
P.S., Instagram, I think the Open Carry Texas guys are a bunch of jerks and am appalled that they are afforded the same broadcast opportunities as various hilarious cats and Hannibal Burress. I would love for you to ban them and they're gross message from your platform. but you won't. I guess they don't rank amongst the actual threats, as determined by whomever you've assigned. I think it's pronounced subjective media. Or censorship. Your choice.
I was only able to grab a few minutes on the phone with TSW, while he checked in to some hotel in Vegas. He quickly proved to be a down-to-earth dude., emitting a perverted elegance and a logic even the most stubborn of writer can't negate. He is doing what he wants with likeminded people who crave to do it with, in front of, and to him. He isn't the tedious douche many assume him to be, and he definitely doesn't take himself or his antics too seriously. He is making a boatload of cash living the life the rest of us voyeurs secretly obsess over, and he isn't hurting anyone intentionally. However, for those of you who have made it through this article (hey - thanks, by the way!) and still despise the guy, I have but one piece of advice for you:
Just Don't Look.
I stole this simple brilliance from an OG Simpsons Halloween Spooktacular, in which local retail mascots came to life and terrorized Springfield. Lisa realizes that the treacherous mascots' infinite strength was fueled exclusively by eye contact from the townspeople. She urged them not looking directly at the beasts would result in them wilting due to a loss of power.
I'm just going to go ahead and leave that here. Party on, Sluts.
- Photographer: Molly Goldrick for Relapse Magazine