Fluid Archetypes: The Unspoken Language of Power Play

In my everyday life, I embrace a variety of roles: entrepreneur, consultant, and artist. These roles are guided by a project’s level of excitement and its potential to foster my learning and growth. I pride myself on being consistently curious, with an strong desire to learn and comprehend. As I write this during my 16-hour flight to New York, I'm reflecting on the invaluable insights gained from studying human behaviour and emotions in both vanilla and kink spaces. The intricacies of human expressions, behaviour, and body language captivate me. This keen interest in non-verbal communication has proven immensely beneficial within my explorations of kink dynamics.

Recently, I’ve discovered another layer of interest: archetypes. Originating from Jung’s analytical psychology, archetypes were proposed as innate, subconscious templates influencing our understanding of the world. While groundbreaking in its time, I find his framework too rigid. I believe we adapt to our macro-environment and life experiences, allowing us to "show up" differently across contexts. Modern psychology also questions Jung’s claims—like the "collective unconscious" or universal archetypes—due to a lack of empirical evidence. Today, we prioritise testable theories over symbolic narratives. Yet archetypes retain value: they resonate because we recognise them. The Hero, the Sage, or the Rebel aren’t rigid boxes but perhaps languages of power and identity.

This contrasts with Paul Ekman’s work, which biologically anchors universal facial expressions (e.g., happiness, anger) across cultures. I’m fascinated by how subtle shifts in body language—a glance, a gesture—can convey more than words. These silent exchanges often feel truer than speech, revealing raw intentions. Honing this awareness has made me more intuitive, deepening connections by decoding unspoken communication. (Words, and our choice of them, deserve their own article.) Whether in a boardroom—where I’ll dissect your phrasing—or in a dungeon, where you kneel trembling before me—know I observe, listen, and respond.

I’ve been contemplating how to frame this article, especially how archetypal patterns shape dynamics in both corporate and D/s spaces. The same psychological templates drive power exchanges in conference rooms and dungeons—only the costumes differ. Humans instinctively adopt archetypal roles that trigger complementary responses. The key distinction? In kink, we acknowledge the game. Scenes are pre-negotiated; we consent to the roles and limits. In vanilla life, these scripts often operate subconsciously, making "emotional hijacking" more likely to occur when power dynamics clash unexpectedly. Kink lets us explore safely.

Let’s anchor this in one Jungian concept: Anima/Animus. While Jung’s gendered framing feels outdated, I see these as symbolic representations of inner qualities. He believed everyone harbours feminine (Anima) and masculine (Animus) energies, regardless of gender. BDSM creates spaces to explore these openly—society might stigmatise a man embracing nurturing submission or a woman assertive dominance as a Domme. Consider a female CEO who exercises Animus (assertiveness) daily: she may reclaim Anima (receptivity) by surrendering control as a submissive. As a female CEO myself, I fluidly shift between these energies. Anima often surfaces in my play, but I can become the seductress or a sensual kitten for the right person it is not fixed. We are all "switches"—some make have a stronger preference than others, contexts activating different sides. Embracing this fluidity liberates us from rigid roles.

In corporate environments, Anima/Animus imbalances persist. Historically, workplaces rewarded "masculine" traits (aggression, competitiveness) in leaders while framing "feminine" qualities (empathy, collaboration) as weak—especially for men. Men hid compassion; women muted assertiveness to avoid "bossy bitch" labels. While progress has been made it is still evolving. Early in my career, as the sole female executive among men, my Animus flared when I discovered a 20% pay gap versus male peers. I demanded logic, I do the same, work the same hours and out perform some of my male peers. I ended up securing backdated pay. Why? because I demanded it. Healthy spaces let both energies thrive. Moving between vanilla and kink realms has revealed more about these dynamics than I ever imagined.

When male CEOs or lawyers enter my dungeon, they often leave with new self-awareness—which I hope for. The beauty? I get to play there too. In boardrooms, I unapologetically own my Animus. Witnessing men marvel at that power? Priceless. When I am challenge I don't curl up in a ball. If you tell me "you can’t," and I’ll ask "why?" five times. I push—and usually exit with a yes, my amazing little puppies at my feet.

This archetypal interplay in power exchange isn’t one-sided. It’s a co-creation: the Domme’s energy adapts to the submissive’s responses and the same applies to the submissive. A lead triggers a follow; a tension invites surrender. Synergy—or its absence—makes sessions transcendent or hollow what make the difference is the realisation that these sessions are co created.

This is why D/s often feels more authentic than vanilla interactions: it strips away performative layers, forcing us to confront power, desire, and vulnerability. Everyday life traps us in unexamined societal archetypes, breeding friction. Conscious power exchange lets us cast the roles ourselves and perhaps we learn a bit more about ourselves in the process. In this space we name the hidden currents shaping all human connection, moulding them with intention instead of denial.

So, what’s the point? Power exchange is a human truth. We constantly negotiate power—across conference tables or with bound wrists and safewords. The difference lies in whether we stumble through these forces blindly or step into the dungeon eyes wide open.