Me, Virginity, and Society
Posted: April 3, 2011 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: ace, asexual, asexuality, feminist, feministing, gray-a, Protestantism, sex, sexuality, shame, virgin, virginity 2 Comments »submitted by Anonymous
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I saw the call go out for blog posts several weeks ago, but I’ve been putting off and putting off participating because I didn’t know what to write about. I am a feminist, and I am a virgin, but the former has been far more significant in my life and personal development than the latter. When I thought about my virginity, as a teenager and young adult, my reaction was usually something along the lines of, “I’d rather wait until I get married to have sex, and I don’t know anyone I want to have sex with, anyway.” It was simply never something that appealed to me.
Virginity: I don’t know how I define it. I’m in favor of people defining it for themselves. Since I’m a cis woman, and have never identified as lesbian or bisexual, for me the baseline definition included “never having had PIV sex.” Would I still have identified as a virgin if I had performed oral sex on someone or had oral sex performed on me? What about fingering and hand jobs? I don’t know; the issue never came up. Even when I was in serious relationships, I wasn’t interested in sex, and for a long time I thought this was simply my following the mainline Protestant church’s stance on pre-marital sex (which, while I like it as and use it as a guideline for my own life, I am disturbed by the double standard found across much of the church, where women bear the brunt of the idea of abstinence). Occasionally I wondered if I might be lesbian or bisexual, but the thought of being sexually (or romantically) involved with a woman wasn’t appealing, either.
Some of you may have figured out where this is going by now. Eventually I realized I was asexual, specifically grey-a. That explained a lot, and I learned, with fascination, that most of the people in the world can get turned on simply by looking at someone, can want to have sex with someone they don’t know. I realized, too, (one of the reasons) why I had found it easy to be abstinent– indeed, I’d never desired to be otherwise.
I knew that as I got older I was becoming more and more of a statistical anomaly, but that didn’t bother me. What did bother me was the idea that I was repressed, the insinuation that there was something wrong with me for not having sex. I resented the implication that if I was normal, I would want sex, and that it was wrong of me to take a cue from my religion in not having any. Feministing ran a post entitled “Why everyone should have pre-marital sex”, which bothered me; I didn’t want to have sex, and shouldn’t feminists of all people know better than to tell a woman what she “should” do with her body?
A commenter on that post, FLT (it’s second from the top on the second page, as I write this), writes, “I really hope my daughter finishes college and has a career before getting married. So she’d be 25 before she does more than kiss? Not realistic or healthy.” Let me tell you something: while I have a couple of years to go before I’m 25, I haven’t even kissed. (At first I was reluctant to admit that; then I realized that was just a mutated form of feeling shame for my sexual inexperience, and, well, that’s just not cool.) I don’t feel about kissing like I feel about sex; I’d like to try it sometime, I think it would be fun, and I’ve gone out of my way to make it happen, but I’m not crushed that it hasn’t. I don’t feel that my life is lacking in richness for not having snogged someone; there are lots of things I haven’t done yet besides kissing, and I don’t lose sleep over them. All this is by way of saying, I resent the implication that I am unhealthy.
One reason I’ve never kissed is that I never felt desperate enough for the experience to risk pushing my partner into something he wasn’t ready for, something he didn’t want. I’ve been on the receiving end of that attitude, and I definitely never wanted to make someone else deal with it. That brings me to my next point, which is the pressure men experience to have sex and, specifically, to want sex. I’m not a man, and I don’t want to speak for them– but I think most feminists would agree with me when I say the societal expectations for men are that they always want sex and that they can always perform. This is just as damaging as saying that women never want sex and are dirty if they do, but it’s an expectation that is strengthened by virgin-shaming and the idea that everyone should have sex.
Time to wrap up this rather rambling monologue. As a Christian, feminist, ace virgin, I really resent the idea that there’s anything wrong with me. I resent the idea that I’m repressed or unfeminist for letting my religion influence my decision not to have sex. As an ace, I resent being told that I am broken or unhealthy for not wanting sex– statistically unusual, I’ll grant you, but that’s all I’ll grant you– and, unfortunately, I have heard this from sex-positive feminists. So let’s stop shaming and pressuring people who choose not to engage in sex for whatever reason, whether because they’re not ready, because they’re expressing their religious preferences by doing so, because they lack the desire to have sex, or because of anything else.
Virginity: A Rant
Posted: April 2, 2011 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: ace, asexual, asexuality, cultural norms, culture, double standard, femininity, gender, masculinity, sex, sexual double standard, sexuality, society, virgin, virginity 1 Comment »x-posted at Purple and Grey
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There’s a blog carnival going on right now about feminism and virginity, and since I’d been planning to write a post about virginity anyway, I thought I’d throw in my two cents on the subject.
My two cents actually pretty much boils down to this: I absolutely hate the entire concept of virginity, for multiple reasons. Here are the most important ones.
FIrst, there’s the problem of actually defining virginity. This is actually two problems: determining a biological definition, and determining a social one. Biologically, for females, it’s often thought of as the presence or absence of an intact hymen. But you can have sex without breaking your hymen and you can break your hymen without having sex. [I've also seen articles (this one, for example) claiming that the ideas many people have about the hymen are biologically inaccurate in the first place. I'm not an expert on anatomy, so I'd welcome the input of anyone who knows more about this than I do.] And there’s no corresponding physiological definition for males.
The definition of virginity is also pretty vague when we’re talking about sexual experience – not to mention extremely heteronormative. When we talk about virginity, what we generally mean is that someone has never had penis-in-vagina sex. This definition completely erases same-sex relationships, which obviously don’t involve both a penis and a vagina. If you never have heterosexual intercourse in your life, but have every kind of sex possible with someone of your own sex, are you still a virgin? The penis-in-vagina definition also positions heterosexual intercourse as the ultimate definition of sex, because it minimizes the importance of any other kind of sexual contact. If you’ve had, say, oral sex but not vaginal, you’re “technically” still a virgin. You haven’t really had sex.
I’ve heard some people use “virgin” to refer to not having had any kind of penetrative sex, but I don’t think that’s much better. It still positions penetrative sex as the most important, and everything else as secondary. And the only real reason to position penetrative sex as most important is because of the association with heterosexual intercourse. So this definition is still heteronormative.
I also really hate the value judgments that are placed on the concept of virginity. Virginity, in our society, is associated with “purity,” with innocence, with childishness. I think part of this is rooted in internalized sex-negativity: sex is “dirty” and makes you “impure.” But there’s also this idea that sex is somehow connected with maturity; that until you’ve had sex, you are in some sense still a child. This is an issue that is particularly relevant to ace-spectrum people, some of whom might never have sex and might therefore have this idea imposed on them all their lives. But it’s also relevant to anyone who’s never had sex and who hates being branded as “innocent,” even if they know tons about sex and have no problem talking about it (or even educating others about it!).
Related to the previous point is the double standard of male vs. female virginity. Culturally, male virginity is something to be ashamed of. If you’re male and have never had sex, especially past a certain age, you’re likely to be subject to ridicule or pitied as a loser who can’t attract a partner. Female virginity, on the other hand, is valued to a completely ridiculous degree. Such a high degree that we end up with things like reparative surgery on the hymen, and horrific abuse in some societies of females who are not virgins. This double standard is harmful both to males, who are subjected to societal pressure to have sex in order to get rid of the stigma of virginity; and to females, who are put on a pedestal of virtue and “innocence” if they haven’t had sex and subjected to everything from being shamed as a “slut” to abuse and murder if they have.
So, to sum up: if you’re male, being a virgin is bad (regardless of whether you’re personally happy with it); if you’re female, it’s good (also regardless of whether you’re personally happy with it). In fact, if you’re female, it’s so good that if you aren’t a virgin, that’s reason enough for shame and abuse. But if you are a virgin (of any biological sex), then you’re viewed as not-quite-adult and might be ridiculed or belittled for that. And by the way, no one’s really sure how to define virginity, anyway.
Sooo… why are we still clinging to this concept, again? Why not just start saying, “I have done x, but I have not done y?” It’d be a lot more accurate, and wouldn’t bring all of this ridiculous cultural baggage into play.
Virginity: No Excuses
Posted: March 31, 2011 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: asexual, asexuality, identity, sex, sexuality, virgin, virginity Leave a comment »by Ily, x-posted at her blog Asexy Beast
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If I said I was a 26-year-old virgin, what responses might I tend to get? Pathetic, lonely, unattractive, repressed, super-religious, weird, or just hopelessly uncool. Maybe my fate is terrifying, unfathomable, or even worse than death. After high school, no one really asks “are you a virgin?” anymore. But if it stopped mattering, there wouldn’t be all these negative stereotypes. Luckily, I have a handy excuse: I’m asexual! No sexual attraction to anyone! So it’s totally okay for me to still be a virgin! Right, folks? Right, folks?
In my rush to neatly explain my virginity though, maybe I’m doing a disservice to all the other adult virgins out there. We shouldn’t feel pressured to provide reasons in a quest to convince others that our choices are valid. It can be hard to own a status that some people may consider embarrassing, but then again, it will always be embarrassing unless people own up. Whether we were “too busy” or “career focused” or “waiting for the one”, we just did not feel like having sex.
I wanted to answer the question “is virginity my choice?” but gave up in frustration. The usual reasons why people have sex–romantic love or sexual attraction–don’t apply to me. There is no personally relevant reason for me to have sex, although this might relate to my chosen priorities as much as my asexuality. I want to avoid sexual pressure, I don’t want to be the subject of someone’s desire, and I don’t want to engage in sex as a means to power or an expression of gender roles. You know those feminists that people tend to be scared of, who bandy around stuff like “heterosexual sex is oppressive?” Well, I think that any form of sex can be oppressive, or not, depending on the people and situation. Sex of any kind would feel oppressive to me personally, outside of a very narrow range of hypotheticals that I am unlikely to encounter. This doesn’t mean I’m repressed. To me, the most “traditional” sex is also the most unappealing. Nor am I against anyone else having sex. As they say, do you.
If being a virgin was so awful, I could find a sexual partner. But virginity is not so bad, and despite what this post might convey, it’s pretty much irrelevant to my personal identity. Having sex for the first time is not a major rite of passage in my life, which would be the factor giving virginity much of its meaning. I would guess that by our late 20′s, most people who really wanted sex have found some way to have it. So virgins, as we get older and fewer in number, might get more content with their status rather than more frustrated. That’s been my own experience, and it’s the complete opposite of what the media portrays. At 2o, I was confused and distressed by my lack of sexual experience, but at 26, I know that for me, this is normal.
Girls, Sex, and the Church
Posted: March 29, 2011 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: christianity, double standard, evangelical, feminism, masturbation, purity, religion, sex, sexual double standard, sexuality, virginity 1 Comment »-by Becca of Something Lovely
(reposted from her 2008 blog)
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I honestly can’t think of a time when I haven’t known about sex. My parents weren’t the type for stork stories, so when my mom kept having babies and I wanted to know why, she wasn’t in the least hesitant to tell me exactly why. Because of this, it’s become an easy topic for me to talk about; I’ve never been afraid to ask questions of those older than me or answer the questions of friends whose parents may not have had the same outlook on sex education mine did.
As I got older, I began going to girls only studies and seminars on the topic, and while the information on what the Bible has to say about sex was useful, I found myself growing increasingly frustrated with the attitude towards sex that was being spread. I’m not talking about abstinence—I’m still a virgin and I do believe there is a right time and a right place for sex, but the idea of purity is what bothers me most. The other two things that bugged me were the pressure put on girls to keep guys’ hormones in check and the fact that lust is a problem for girls was never brought up.
-Unclean! Unclean!-
By using the term purity in reference to sexual activity, we are creating the idea that girls who don’t wait until marriage are somehow dirty and useless, not as good as those who do manage to abstain. I always got images of those disposable sponges you use to clean the bathtub. No girl deserves to be viewed as a dirty sponge. People have sex. It happens. Just because sex has the potential for more negative life-long consequences then, say, stealing your sister’s Barbies, doesn’t mean we should put such a heavy load on those who have it.
And it’s not just the church that’s spreading this idea of pure vs. dirty. In her book Full Frontal Feminism: A Young Woman’s Guide to Why Feminism Matters, Jessica Valenti discusses abstinence only education in public schools and includes this charming tale:
But really and truly, the following gem is my fave. It comes from an “educator” speaking at an abstinence conference last year: “Your body is a wrapped lollipop. When you have sex with a man, he unwraps your lollipop and sucks on it. It may feel great at the time, but unfortunately, when he’s done with you, all you have left for your next partner is a poorly wrapped, saliva-fouled sucker.”
Seriously? Not only is that a gross analogy (and I always thought the lollipop metaphor was in reference to guys) but presenting girls who have had sex as discarded trash is so many different kinds of disturbing.
YOU ARE NOT TRASH. EVER. DON’T EVER LET ANYONE MAKE YOU THINK YOU ARE.
And then there’s the whole idea of “True Love Waits,” because as we all know, it’s impossible to ever have True Love if you’re not a virgin when you get married. Can’t we just have facts presented to us without all these catchy terms and phrases? Yeah, they make for cutesy t-shirts, but what’s so wrong with sex just being sex?
Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone does things they regret. It’s just part of life and our job is to make the best of our decisions and learn what we can from them. Girls who wait for sex should not be glorified over those who don’t.
-Headaches and Hard-ons-
I believe that at the root of this issue is the belief that girls don’t enjoy sex as much as guys do. Where it’s natural for guys to want sex, girls must have some other motive. It’s all over pop culture—wives on sit-coms making headache excuses, girls giving up their virginity because they just want someone to love them—and the main method used when teaching girls about abstinence. You don’t need a man to be a happy person, they say. If a man really loves you, he won’t make you have sex with him! While that’s all good and true, what about the girls who just like orgasms? They exist! They’re everywhere! I’ve heard plenty of my friends talk about how they’d just like to have sex for sex’s sake, not for love, not for a meaningful relationship, but just for the fun of it.
I read one Christian book that addressed this topic (I honestly don’t remember what it was–Dating Mr. Darcy by Sarah Arthur maybe?) and it treated it like an abnormality. The author stated that girls who felt like this had separated themselves from their emotions, had made themselves feel casually about sex in order to fit in with the guys. And that’s just wrong.
I opened a discussion about girls and sex on my private blog and got a lot of awesome responses from my on-line friends. Kim, who also grew up in the church, was just as frustrated about this as I am.
I went to a youth conference in Orlando the summer before last. […] You chose the topics you wanted to hear more about and planned your schedule according to the times those talks were given. […] The sex-based lessons for guys were primarily centered around living a godly life and avoiding temptations like porn when it’s most difficult. EVERY SINGLE ONE of the sex-based talks for girls, though, was about purity, and not letting boys take advantage of you. […] As if every time a girl has pre-marital sex, it’s because she let a guy convince her into doing it. Not because she wanted it, not because she was tempted, but because she let peer pressure get to her. […] Why do men have a monopoly on hormones and sex drives just because they have penises?
This needs to be addressed. Lust isn’t just a male problem; girls experience it, too. Female desire isn’t just about finding a one true love and making lots of babies. Girls have to deal with the physical side of sex, too, and it’s being completely ignored.
-Double the Pressure-
In addition to making girls feel they’re only worth something if they’re virgins, it seems like we’re making girls responsible for not only their own sex drives, but those of guys. If a guys stares at our chest, it’s our fault for not dressing modestly. If a guy gets too forward, it’s our fault for being too flirty. If a guy and girl have sex before marriage, it’s her fault for not trying hard enough to stop him.
Earlier in the semester Harding held a week of chapels all about sex. One of the days they had a split chapel where girls could ask guys questions and guys could ask girls questions. Now, I could be wrong about this because I skipped this day, but I was told that at one point during the girls’ chapel, one of the guys leading the panel said something along the lines of, “If you want us to look at your eyes when we talk to you, don’t wear low-cut shirts,” and that girls actually applauded at it.
I’m sorry. This bugs me so so so so much. The fact that the guy said this just proves to me that we aren’t holding men responsible for their actions. Guys should have the decency to look at your face when talking to you regardless of what you’re wearing. That discussion I held on my private blog mentioned earlier? This was discussed, too! Said Sarah, “I am WELL AWARE that guys will look at my boobs if I wear a low cut shirt. BUT…NOT IF THEY’RE TALKING TO ME…[W]ho does that?” I find it very telling that a college student who hasn’t grown up in a Christian environment is shocked by something that a group of Christians took as normal behavior when we think of ourselves as having higher morals.
Guys who look at your chest (or any other part of your body) for uncomfortable amounts of time are just jerks. Plain and simple. Another friend of mine, Nina, shared this story:
My thing on low-cut shirts is that if guys are really so distracted that they cannot possibly look at my face, then that’s THEIR problem […] I had a meeting with my physics professor, so I dressed conservatively and frumpily, in just a t-shirt and jeans, as I ALWAYS did with professors (MIT demands frumpiness to begin with, too). He still stared at my boobs for the entire time. Not once did he meet my eyeline. […] That is [screwed] up. Clearly that is so not my problem.
And it doesn’t help that modesty is in the eye of the beholder and that it varies based on body-types. Girls with small boobs can get away with more than girls with large boobs can. During the 1800s it was scandalous for women to expose their ankles, but undergarments were worn to boost breasts high above plunging necklines—quite the opposite of how we view modesty today.
While we’re on the topic of modesty, may I just ask why guys aren’t held to the same standards? It’s perfectly okay for guys to walk around shirtless, but girls can’t show even the slightest bit of cleavage? My friend Tiffany recently posted a note about this to her Facebook.
Why is it that in life guys can walk around topless and not be seen as “slutty,” but a girl who shows a little cleavage is a harlot? I’m sick of seeing muscle shirts in the caf with the sides completely cut away. […] But really guys, its men who are sexual beings and monsters and we need to cover ourselves so we aren’t hit with the brunt of their sexuality. […] In a study done in the UK, women and men were both given the same sexual material to look at and their eye reactions, subconscious and reliable ways to measure attraction, were exactly the same. If I can control myself, so can every [jerk] on this campus.
The double standard has gone on for far too long. If we’re going to hold girls to modesty standards, we need to start holding guys to them as well; and if we’re going to expect girls to control their thought, we need to start expecting that from guys, too.
It’s a difficult topic to address because standards rely on so many different variants, but a basic rule of thumb is this—focus on your motive. Are you dressing for sexual attention, or do you simply just like that outfit? In the end, I believe modesty is up to the individual. You still need to use common sense (if it were up to me, I would just be naked all the time), but don’t feel pressured into dressing a certain way.
-Love Yourself!-
I’ve saved the hardest topic for last—masturbation. I hate hate hate how it’s never addressed for girls. EVER. Okay I take that back. I’ve read one book that did, and it presented it in a wholly negative light by telling the story of a woman who claimed the reason her husband wasn’t able to give her an orgasm was because of her masturbatory habits before marriage. Is it not possible that her husband was just bad at sex?
I just did a Google search for “Christian female masturbation” and on the first page of results were three porn websites, an article associating it with lesbianism, a YouTube video of some comedian talking about it, and a bunch of articles about sex and history—nothing actually helpful. I searched the Focus on the Family website for “masturbation”, and all the information on masturbation was geared toward guys. It’s a tricky topic, and different for everyone, and I’m not saying that the church should hand out free vibrators, but it would be nice to have it acknowledged. In truth, I’d say about 75% of the girls I know do it and because it isn’t addressed as a female issue, a lot of them feel perverted for it.
I have a lot more I could say on this topic, but I’ll end here because I know it is a touchy topic (no pun intended) and I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. As James Dobson has said, it’s for the individual to decide. I know girls who don’t like doing it because it makes them think about sex in general more often, but I also know girls who do it as a way get sex out of their systems and help them not think about it as much. Either way, ignoring it is not helping. Those who wish to stop feel like they have no one to talk to about it, and those who enjoy it may still feel badly about it due to feeling alone.
-Happily Ever After-
In conclusion, while I appreciate the Church’s enthusiasm for addressing sex, I think there are a few problems with how they’re going about doing it. This post wasn’t meant to bash their techniques, but provide a critique that will hopefully give insight into how the topic can be more helpfully addressed. If you have any questions or would like to further discuss it with me outside of comments, feel free to get in touch with me via Facebook (see link in sidebar) or email (becca516[at]gmail[dot]com). And, of course, comment and let me know what you thought!
Clitosorous Rex
Posted: March 25, 2011 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: bodies, body, masturbation, menstruation, period, puberty, sex, sexuality, vagina monologues, virgin, virginity 2 Comments »by a University of Washington Virgin
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The day I turned thirteen, my body started to leak. Like all the other rich girls, I was having a party. But, I was having a pool party, and I was leaking down there. I had never looked down there. It was dirty down there. You’re not supposed to look down there! Don’t look down dirty there. Dirty down there don’t look. Don’t dirty look down there.
The tampon hurt so bad I was convinced that I was putting it in the wrong hole. I asked my mom to do it for me.
In high school, I was two years ahead in math so I had to skip sex-ed to learn calculus. Everything I knew about sex was limited to television and confusing jokes about limousines and garages. You know what’s worse than walking in on your parents having sex? Knowing that they never do. You know what they say about men with big feet? Will you tell me?
In college, I shaved off all my pubic hair. All the other girls were doing it. Boys don’t like girls with pubic hair. Pubic hair is gross. There’s a pube on the bathroom mirror! Pube! Pube pube ewwwwww!
My friends and I named our vaginas. Veronica, Valerie, Vanessa, I named my vagina Victoria. She was a secret, even to me. My vagina was my landlord, I visited her once a month and she smelled awful. My vagina was dirty and made me weak in shark-infested waters. My vagina was meant for somebody else’s pleasure. I had never seen a movie about a woman, just about women falling in love so the first time I got head I did not know what to do. He said “do you like it?” and I lied and lied and lied lying in his bed I was nineteen before I knew what a clitoris was. When I asked my mom we had to google it because I wanted to know where it was too, and she wasn’t exactly sure.
Everybody knows what jacking off means, but I didn’t know that girls could masturbate until I was nineteen. On my twentieth birthday, I watched the vagina monologues. Then, I bought a book about my Vulva. I googled porn without feeling guilty And I decided to stop using the word pussy. To all the men in the audience, don’t use the word pussy. I know you and Akon are “just trying to find the words to describe me without being disrespectful,” but the first three letters are pus. It comes from an ancient irish word for mouth and my mouth is saying do not call my vagina a pussy because I am not a cat person. I am a woman. My genitals generate pleasure and power so I call my vagina my sweetness, my soft spot, my treasure. I call it a lollypop, cuz, yeah, someday I’ll let someone lick it.
Some days, I feel like the only virgin at the UW, but today I am Queen Victoria, Secret Order of the Clitosorous Rex. I do not need a King or a drunk frat boy to prove that I am sexy. My pubic area isn’t dirty, it’s soil. My clitoris is a bud whose sole purpose is pleasure, my vagina is a flower blooming, blossoming. I am a garden, growing up.
Fuck Virginity: Thoughts from a SlutVirgin.
Posted: March 20, 2011 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: ab-only, abstinence, abstinence-only education, feminism, feminist, girls gone mild, girls gone wild, purity myth, slut, sluts, virgin, virgin/whore, virginity, wendy shalit, whore, whores 1 Comment »by Mary, x-posted at her blog, MissMaryMax
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The term feminist virgin unsettles many, myself included. For starters, it smacks of the empowerment rhetoric appropriated by the Abstinence-Only movement, the pseudo-liberation that rejects the false empowerment of “going wild” in favor of “going mild.” Ab-only, arguably our leading contemporary concept of what virginity means, pits itself squarely against feminism. Feminism (particularly 3rd-wave feminism) means raunch culture, it means do-me feminism, – rejecting the patriarchy by bringing on the sex.
I keep wondering why I don’t find this in feminism—even (perhaps especially) in the sex-positive feminism that supports fashion choices from flannel to stillettos, not to mention human rights for virgins and whores. Do I just know particularly awesome sex-possies, who can overlook the fact that—by not just getting laid already–I have failed to get in gear with the new feminist agenda of sex, sex, and more sex?
Feminism is polylithic, so I won’t say this anti-virgin feminism isn’t feminism, that feminism never looks like this, or that feminism can’t look like this. I will merely reiterate that I’ve never known it to. For the most part, the people explaining that feminism is not empowering are – here’s a shocker—not feminists. They’re ab-only advocates who are giving virginity a glittery new makeover for the girl power age and using a fantastically old tactic to do so: Demonize the slut to prop up the virgin. If “feminist” stands in for “slut,” ab-only can affirm girl’s and women’s right to be empowered, while redirecting it into alignment with virginity. It can also write off all the ways that feminism actually empowers people, by reducing a system of thought and activism to a misguided fashion choice. Feminism is excessiveness, so the solution is restraint. Feminism is hook-up culture; abstinence is will power. By defining the problems that women and young people face in terms of the “slut,” Ab-only effectively justifies its virginal solution.
And, in a sense, Ab is right. It is not freedom to align feminism with a commodity model of sexuality. It is not freedom to require sex without intimacy, to require fishnets and mini-skirts, to require exhibitionism. This is what my fellow roar-er, Christine, pointed out in her post: you cannot take issue with our lack of sex-having, while we respect you freely having it. You cannot ask that the expectation of purity be dismissed in favor of an expectation of sluttiness.
The thing is… I’ve never known feminism to ask this, never known feminism to demand I be a slut. And I’ve always known the expectation of sluttiness to co-exist with an expectation of purity, to be the flip-side of a coin that is constantly present. So while Ab is right that demanding sluttiness isn’t any more liberating than demanding purity, it’s wrong to suggest that feminism expects this. And it’s dangerously wrong in suggesting that purity is somehow a more liberating, universal solution than sex. Because while it’s not freedom to demand a commodification model of sex, it’s also not freedom to vilify those for whom sex is a literal commodity. It’s also not freedom to require sex to take place within a relationship—or to require that relationship to be heterosexual, married, and gender-normative. It’s also not freedom to police the meaning of high skirts and low tops, to equate morality with how much leg is shown and whether those legs are kept closed. And when it comes down to it, feminism–in my ongoing experience with it–has yet to mandate that I sell sex or adopt the self-presentation of a Bratz doll. Ab-only, on the other hand, has very much demanded I judge others for those things or be judged myself. It has very literally demanded that I quit being queer, quit supporting birth control, quit questioning traditional gender norms. It has gone so far as to suggest I get back in the kitchen and liberate myself through baking.
Ab-only sets itself up as a solution to the problem of feminism, specifically to the problem of a feminism that has defined itself as all about wild, raunchy sex. But feminism hasn’t defined itself that way. Feminism isn’t sluttiness or virginity; it’s the both and the neither. It’s the knowledge that the virgin is not the solution to the slut and the slut is not the solution to the virgin. The knowledge that virginity is not a problem to be solved—and neither is sex. The problem is the polarity, the requirement that we be this or that, virgin or slut, mild or wild. The constant policing of our failures to live up. The rock and the hard place where our sexuality lives.
When we equate feminism with The Slut, we dismiss the system that has critiqued that very dichotomy. Feminism isn’t the opposite of virginity. It’s the slash in virgin/ whore. It’s the attempt to deconstruct the binary, to forcibly drive a wedge between terms, to create space between them for new understandings of sexuality that erase, blend, and alter the limitations of the poles.
The feminisms I align with make room for that. They understand that culture and cultural politics are inscribed on the body, but do not demand specific bodily choices to display these politics. ‘Having sex” is not a vote cast for a progressive candidate. It doesn’t stand in for activism or social critique. Virgin/ feminists are routinely dismissed by ab-only as too queer, too informed, or too political. Non-virgins often believe in traditional family structures, denounce their right to feel pleasure, or fail to understand their bodies.
In short, our feminism is not defined by what sexually do or don’t do. Repression and liberation do not land in clear-cut categories. Some of the most sex-negative people are having it. Some of the most sex-positive people abstain.
My inbox overflows daily with messages from the Feminist Majority, Planned Parenthood, and NOW. None of these organizations have ever called on me to fuck someone this weekend or dance naked on a bartop in defense of women’s lib. Like any other misleading claim–that pro-choice means forcing abortions, for instance, or that comprehensive sex ed mandates promiscuity–the conflation of feminism and sex-having actively undermines the goals of the movement—and the rights of the people it serves. Feminism is only serving the devil if you believe women, or sluts, or queers, or whores are the devil. Otherwise? It’s serving us. You and me. The slutvirgins. The human beings.
Virgin!Roar: A Blogging Carnival
Posted: March 20, 2011 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: abstinence, feminism, virgin, virginity, words 2 Comments »by Christine, x-posted at her blog HallieatHeart
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When I decided to write a blog for Virgin!Roar! I looked up the meaning for both words; virgin and feminism. This is what I found.
Feminism:–noun
1.
the doctrine advocating social, political, and all other rights of women equal to those of men.
2.
( sometimes initial capital letter ) an organized movement for the attainment of such rights for women.
3.
feminine character.
Virgin:–noun
1.
a person who has never had sexual intercourse.
2.
an unmarried girl or woman.
3.
Ecclesiastical . an unmarried, religious woman, especially a saint.
4.
the Virgin, Mary, the mother of Christ.
5.
Informal . any person who is uninitiated, uninformed, or the like: He’s still a virgin as far as hard work is concerned.
6.
a female animal that has never copulated.
7.
an unfertilized insect.
8.
( initial capital letter ) Astronomy, Astrology . the constellation or sign of virgo.
–adjective
9.
being a virgin: a virgin martyr.
10.
of, pertaining to, or characteristic of a virgin: virgin modesty.
11.
pure; unsullied; undefiled: virgin snow.
12.
first: the senator’s virgin speech.
13.
without admixture, alloy, or modification: virgin gold.
14.
not previously exploited, cultivated, tapped, or used: virgin timberlands; virgin wool.
15.
without experience of; not previously exposed to: a mind virgin to such sorrows.
16.
Informal . being a mixed drink resembling a specific cocktail but made without any alcoholic ingredient: a virgin piña colada.
17.
Zoology . not fertilized.
18.
(of a metal) made directly from ore by smelting, rather than from scrap.
19.
noting the oil obtained, as from olives, by the first pressing without the application of heat.
I am, in most definitions of the words, a feminist AND a virgin. I know, shocking that one would admit so openly to being a virgin, right?
WHAT??! Why is it so wrong to be a virgin? And why does it seem as though the terms virgin and feminist are mutually exclusive?
I believe women should have the same rights as men, but I don’t believe this means women should be promiscuous. This is because society has it look like men are so promiscuous that if men and women are to be equal, they should be equally promiscuous. What the hell is that about?! I think men should keep their pants zipped as well! Women aren’t the only ones who have the possibility of being virgins.
News flash: Men can be virgins too! It’s called ABSTINENCE! Look it up!
Sure men and women both have sexual desires, but they shouldn’t be penalized for holding out until marriage or even not participating in sexual activity at any time in their lives. I think these people should be applauded! Media is bombarding us with this pro-sex propaganda and if we have the bravery and courage to say “no thank you” than we should be able to live with just as much acceptance as those who partake in sexual acts.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that people who have sex are in the wrong here, but it’s not right for them to tell us we should have sex if they admonish those who tell them not to have sex.
People should be able to live their lives in accordance to their own beliefs.
http://hallieatheart.blogspot.com/2011/03/virginroar-blogging-carnival.html
A Virgin Feminist Shares Her Journey: the Prologue
Posted: March 19, 2011 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: feminism, feminist, sex, sexuality, virgin, virginity 2 Comments »Submitted by A. Bridges
I never thought to share my story of virginity in essay form – and I could probably write a book as long as the Fellowship of the Ring about ‘virginity and religion,virginity and body-image, virginity and bisexuality, virginity and sex-positivity, etc” if I was the writer type. But I’m not, so I’ll keep it short and sweet.
After commiting to the feminist project of equality and human rights some odd years ago in college(although I have rejected and reclaimed the label of feminist throughout my own personal herstory…I’m in reclaim mode at the moment), I understand the importance of storytelling and sharing your experience. Yet, I often hesistate to acknowlede my status as a ‘virgin’or in better words, to acknowledge that in my old maiden age of 23 that I lack experience in the art of kissing, making-out, dating, and any sexual act beyond self-pleasuring.
Even as a self-identified sex-positive feminist, I still feel *gasp* – virgin shame or embarassment about my lack of experience.No one likes to feel abnormal, even individuals who identify as queer, sex-positive, or feminists and who embrace ‘non-mainstream’ lifestyles or philosophies.
Can you imagine these scenarios: sharing your coming out story with friends, then admitting to them that you’ve never dated, discussing polyamory with some cute queer ladies, then admitting that you’ve never kissed or played ‘house’, giving sex and relationship advice to lesbians (hey, even we virgins enjoy listening to sex podcasts and reading sex ed blogs such as – Scarleteen, Dan Savage, Sex Is Fun, and Life on the Swingset – and can share knowledge from them), then down the road asking them for advice on how to get into the dating scene, or trying to give sex ed advice to straight pals who are ignorant about STIs and birth control, but who won’t listen to you because you’re a virgin (hey, even virgins can read health brochures)? It’s definitely awkward.
But the more I converse about my virginity, the more comfort I feel in sharing my story. My hesistancy to share stems from not wanting to divulge my closet of hang-ups, which includes self-esteem, body-image, and financial issues as well as my perfectionist and irritational tendencies. Yet, recently I’ve noticed that people who I click with and people who get me continually embrace and appreciate my experiences and do not minimize or dismiss my identities or experiences as I fear. They also never judge my flaws as much as I judge myself. Thank God for good pals; we need nuturing people in our lives.
Anyway, in this point of my life, I’m finally ready to actively set out and look for a sexual partner – a sex-positive, feminist one of course. Wish me luck. I hear friends make the best partners. So, more slumber parties for me this year and perhaps I’ll finally get to play ‘house’.
— A. Bridges
This tale sums up my efforts to speak up about my virginity and introduces my experience as a virgin. With pleasure, I summarize this part of my journey. I understand that I skipped the explanation of the connection between virginity and feminism in my life. Perhaps, I shall return and write that chapter and more. Regardless, I hope this piece will inspire you, if you are a fellow virgin feminist, to write your virign saga and help us build a safe place to share our virgin feminist voices; and if you are a fellow sex-positive individual, I hope this account placed a seed in your heart to be gentle, tender, and non-judgemental towards us late-bloomers. Xoxo
Nightsky’s Roar
Posted: March 17, 2011 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: aromantic, asexual, asexuality, sex, sexuality, virgin, virginity 3 Comments »Practically the first thing I decided, when I elected to write a post for Virgin!Roar, is that I really hate the term “virgin”. It’s not like it’s a deep dark secret that I’m a virgin, but neither do I announce it, because it comes freighted with all kinds of assumptions about me, nearly all of which are wrong. I’m not a prude, an abuse survivor, gay and in denial, or saving myself for marriage. I’m a sex-positive feminist and an atheist.
It is true that I’ve never had a pregnancy scare, spend $0 on birth control, and am at 0% risk for STDs, just as the abstinence-only people claim. But I have nothing in common with the people who prize (fetishize, rather) virginity–and, while it is sometimes satisfying to smugly inform a religious nut that, contrary to what they’ve assumed, I am in fact a virgin, it doesn’t have the show-stopping effect you might think. They tend to not believe me. I am, after all, a self-described feminist, and we feminists are nothing if not slutty.
Meanwhile, the communities I do participate in seem to view people
like me with unease. The subcultures I’m interested in (Renaissance
Faires, science fiction fandom) are sex-positive. Maintaining that one is a sex-positive feminist while in possession of a hymenal ring seems suspicious, as if I either haven’t fully thought out my positions or am a sort of sexual snob–sex for thee is fine, but not for me; I am chaste.
I am a virgin not because I’m auditioning for sainthood but because
I’m an aromantic asexual: I have never experienced sexual attraction to anyone, of either sex, ever; and it doesn’t bother me because I don’t seem to have any particular need for it. This admission comes with a few standard responses, chief of which is “You poor thing.” This is especially common in feminist circles, where female sexual empowerment is considered a very important goal. The thing is, I absolutely agree! I reject the idea that sex is sinful, dirty, shameful, wicked, etc. My best friend is bi and poly. Sex is a healthy and fulfilling part of lots of people’s lives. It just isn’t part of mine, and I’m aware that I’m in the minority. It’s like–suppose I didn’t like chocolate. I could still reject the idea that chocolate is sinful, and chocolate eating is hedonistic and wicked.
There are other standard responses.
* “You’ll change your mind someday.” One of the benefits of being in my mid-thirties is that I don’t get this one anymore. I was pretty sure when I was 20 that I was going to be single long-term, very possibly forever; the past ten-ish years haven’t changed my mind, but at least they’ve changed everyone else’s. Result!
* “You’re kidding.” Usually delivered with incredulity, as if the speaker either suspects I’m lying, misinformed, a fundie in disguise, or just beamed in from another planet. Also beginning to fade away, though there are annoying incidents–such as the usually very cool Dan Savage first scoffing at us, then demanding that we keep away from the normals. Thanks, dude! Anyway, I do sometimes encounter surprise that I’m a virgin, given that I swear, know lots of dirty jokes, watch R-rated movies, and generally act like any other adult. Virgins, as everyone knows, are innocent and pure. I’ll admit that I’ve had my
moments of naivete, but–I have heard of sex.
* “C’mon, gay or straight? You’ve got to pick one or the other. Or, OK, you can be bi. I guess.” More territory that is fraught with danger for the asexual who staunchly supports equal rights for her fellow* queers. There’s nothing wrong with being gay–but I’m not gay. I may have short hair, be unmarried at 30+, not dress very femme, not be into men–in short, tick all the boxes on people’s “lesbian” checklist, but I’m not gay–because I’m not into women, either. Nor do I have any easy way of correcting people’s idea of my sexuality: I either sound hypocritical, in deep denial, or both. This one was actually a major problem in my adolescence and young adulthood (I was in my mid-twenties before my parents stopped dropping hints that they were OK with me being gay), and has become something that I just live with: that people may form a mistaken idea of my sexual identity, and there’s not really anything I can do about it. (For the record, I only have this problem with straight people. Gay and bi women have no trouble picking me out as not on their team.)
* “Ooh, how trendy.” Yes! I spent my entire adolescence feeling defective because I wanted to get in on the trend of 2010-11! I’m not sure why we asexuals are all coming out of the woodwork now, but I am glad that we’re starting to be seen. Mind you, I’m not sure why so much online asexuality seems to be focused on being “asexy” or “a sexy piece of ace”–being perceived as sexy interests me not at all. Not even my fellow asexuals think exactly alike. Some of us even date. Weirdos.
So there you have it. The virgin thing has its own set of issues, but most people have their own sets of issues. Feminism is an umbrella of issues with a common theme, and I assure you that I’m committed to fighting for everyone’s sexual identity.
* The queer question: are asexuals queer? Another potential minefield.
On the one hand, it is a minority sexual orientation, mostly invisible except when a target of scorn. On the other hand, I’m keenly aware that my experience is not like gay or trans people’s–nobody looks at me dirty on the street, accuses me of engineering the downfall of society, or tries to take away my civil rights. I’ll accept the label “queer” if they want to extend it to me, but I don’t want to claim anything like equivalence.
