Let’s Redefine Virginity

I’d like to suggest we all do something slightly radical. Something that is super personal, but on a larger scale, could transform our understanding of sex and sexuality for the better.

Despite our inevitable variety in sexual experiences, preferences, and knowledge, one thing we all share is our initial state of inexperience. The word “virgin” is defined as someone who has never had sexual intercourse — but there’s a number of problems with this narrow interpretation.

Firstly, it prioritizes the physical act of sex, the definition of which has always been hijacked by heteronormativity; sex is assumed to be a penis entering a vagina, and this is sex in its most socially valid and accepted form. Therefore, according to the dictionary, any person who has had a penis in their vagina or vice-versa, is no longer a virgin. The emotionality, intimacy, pleasure, consent status or personal significance of this experience is overlooked in this understanding of sex. But what if we prioritized pleasure over our obsession with penetration? What if we expanded “valid” sex to include non-hetero sex by default, too? How, then, would virginity change?

In addition to this, our current idea of virginity is upheld by centuries of patriarchal dominance over sex; it is anti-womxn*, anti-queer, blind to consent, and continues to be weaponized against womxn all over the world in so many ways, often as a way to prevent our sexual expression and development. The myth of the hymen (aka the vaginal corona) ‘breaking’ is supposed to be proof of whether a womxn’s had penetrative sex or not. It is completely nonsensical, there is actually no reliable way to tell. This practice came about from paternity fears, back when it was more difficult to identify who the father of a child was other than ensuring that the mother had only had sex with one man. People wanted to know a child was theirs for sure, so that political and social power and wealth could be properly inherited.

So, the patriarchy commodified womxn’s virginity, she would only then be valuable and marry-able as a virgin. The myth that people would be able to tell from the state of her vagina if she’d had sex with someone was supposed to act as a kind of mental cock-block; an imposed deterrent for womxn to embrace their sexuality. This patriarchal form of control in turn influenced many religious doctrines and continues to dominate social views on virginity, even in the 21st century.

Womxn are told to expect sex to feel painful, we’re told we are of less value to society as sexual beings and that ‘innocence’ is a currency that once sacrificed, cannot be redeemed. Not only does this deny us our right to pleasure, it suggests that the essence of womxnhood lies in an absence of independent sexuality. No wonder our pleasure is so often disregarded in conversations around sex, in pornography, and unfortunately for us, in real life.

Social and historical fetishization of virginity is also the origin of slut-shaming; the stigma around sexually active and experienced womxn, or simply any womxn who slightly transgresses society’s desire for us to be ‘pure.’ One of the paradoxes of patriarchy is that while these forces attempt to chastise womxn’s sexual expression, they simultaneously also hyper-sexualize and objectify womxn; we are permitted to be sexualized by men, but sexuality that is not an extension of or an aid to male pleasure is forbidden.

With the current language we use, our concept of sex is tainted before we’ve even had a chance to experience it; sex is demonized, maybe even dreaded by some. According to the popular verbiage, virginity defines our worth. We say we’ve ‘lost’ our virginity, as if something precious has been permanently taken away. For womxn especially, this is a statement laden with negativity. Removing this reductive rhetoric from discussions of first sexual experiences could cause a huge shift in our feelings towards the growth of our sexual identities.

Rather than subscribing to an archaic, oppressive framework, I challenge us to redefine virginity. I suggest we revolutionize it, so that its meaning is one of fluidity and independence; a definition that each individual has autonomy over, one that isn’t fundamentally a means of controlling and commodifying womxn.

Let’s define losing virginity as gaining pleasure, obtaining new connections, as learning, as intimacy, as an experience rather than an act. Let’s define it as a brick in the building of one’s sexual identity (the construction of which begins far prior to shared intimacy). Let’s define it as plural, as able to happen multiple times in different ways. It is a beginning, rather than a singular event that has no future. A watershed moment in each individual’s sexual history. Let’s define is as not contingent on another person, as able to be experienced alone. We should view it as an exchange, extending the sentence “I lost my virginity” with a “and gained…” whatever it may be in that instance; intimacy, orgasm, pleasure, knowledge, experience, confidence, satisfaction, self-love, appreciation, passion…

By prioritizing our positive sexual experiences, negative experiences that may have felt like definitive ‘firsts’ no longer have the power to control and define us. Why force everyone’s idea of virginity into one template when we are all so different and varied in our identities? If we give ourselves the freedom to self-define virginity, perhaps we will discover the moment we ‘lost’ it, hasn’t actually happened yet, or we will be surprised by it happening again in a different context.

For me, the first and most transformative experience of losing my virginity so far — where I felt I gained something completely new — sexual power and complete intimacy, was receiving oral from someone I was emotionally invested in for the first time. After that, penetrative sex actually felt pretty un-important; that act changed me far more in society’s eyes than it affected my personal sexual identity and growth. The first time I had sex with a girl changed me again in a very different way. With this “virginity loss”, I gained a entirely new understanding of my sexuality, shared intimacy, my body and female pleasure… So, take a moment to revise your sexual history, whether you’ve shared your body intimately yet or not, and try to figure out which virginity losses have given you the most, which have felt most personally significant, which ones changed you. Perhaps they’re not just moments, but people or a period of time, an act or a feeling.

Whatever you discover, from now on, you define your own sexual history, and only you own your virginities of the past, present, and future.

 

 

*The writer uses womxn here as an alternative to ‘women’ as it is more inclusive and not a defined by a relationship to men.

 

Photos (in order of appearance) by Jairo Granados, Alexa Fahlman, and Kama Snow.

 

Tips For Allies Of LGBTQI+ People

If you’re straight and cisgender, the daily difficulties of being LGBTQI+ are likely pretty alien to you.

Difficulties that can range from feeling afraid to reveal your sexuality or gender identity at work, to being aggressively abused walking down the street with your partner. It can be hard to know how to react or respond when an LGBTQI+ loved one confides in you about these situations and experiences; instinctively you’ll empathize and want to help them feel better, maybe you’ll jump in and give them advice or voice your opinion on the problem. Maybe you accidentally don’t respond, for fear of saying something wrong or upsetting them more… It’s tough to know the right way to be supportive of someone whose experience is so different from your own.

I’m here to tell you there is no one right way; everyone’s experiences and relationships are totally different, and people appreciate support in all kinds of forms. But there are some fundamental things that people can do to support their LGBTQI+ loved ones and be better allies in general.

 

1. It sounds obvious, but listen.

This is the single most important thing you can do. No one person is the same so, let your friend or family member tell you how you can be supportive and what would be meaningful for them, personally. Try not to be defensive or get offended if they try to tell you that you’re not understanding where they’re coming from. Hear them and then adapt. It may be your natural reaction to give advice if they tell you about a certain situation, incident, or feeling, but try to refrain from automatically doing this unless it’s been directly asked for. Sometimes, it’s a little uncomfortable to receive advice from someone acting as a voice of authority on a topic they don’t actually have to experience. The struggles and joys of being LGBTQI+ are very specific.

 

2. Educate yourself.

Don’t rely on your friend or family member to be the source of all your learning when it comes to LGBTQI+ related topics. A lot of the time they may already be burdened by their own troubles and those of their community. Have to explain yourself and educate others is often extra emotional labor, and your loved one may not have energy for it.

Google is a brilliant thing — use it.

It would be such a loving gesture to educate yourself on certain issues, to learn the correct language, stay up to date with LGBTQI+ news, follow LGBTQI+ activists and icons, watch films, understand our history, read articles and essays. All these things would indicate that you’re putting in the effort to learn and support their community and identity. Tune in to the heteronormativity of our society and find, fund, and fuel the projects and work that is seeking to undo this. Everyone should be doing their part to create better, more equal representation. Immersing yourself in this learning will likely allow you to feel more comfortable as a listener for your friend when it comes to LGBTQI+ topics, as they’ll become less alien to you.

 

3. Speak up.

Don’t let homophobic, biphobic, transphobic or any offensive rhetoric go unchallenged. If you hear or see something abusive, even if there are no LGBTQI+ people around — advocate for our community and shut down derogatory and disrespectful attitudes that perpetuate violence and stigma and pain. Silence in these moments is an act of solidarity with the abuse. Confidently destroy the attitudes and misconceptions that make it dangerous for us to exist and difficult for us to feel at peace. This is how you can tangibly be supportive of the LGBTQI+ community: by using your voice to silence aggressors and defend our existence and identities.

 

4. Unpack your own biases and prejudices, even if it’s uncomfortable.

From a young age, we’re taught to internalize a huge range of wrong and confusing ideas about the body, gender, sexuality, and sex. Undoubtedly, these misconceptions settle somewhere in the back of our minds, influencing the way we think and act — even if it’s subconscious.

It is important that we all, including people in the LGBTQI+ community, delve into these ideas, in order to reform them into more real, honest and accurate understandings of identity expression. There’s no problem in initially having a misguided idea of, for example, what pansexuality ‘is’ — as long as the time is subsequently taken to dismantle and replace this prejudice with the truth. However, be sure you’re drawing from preexisting content and research. There is so much already out there, therefore, you don’t need to request explanation from individuals unless it’s directly offered to you – reference tip two.

 

5. Know your privileges.

If you recognize how the hierarchy of social systems makes existing as an LGBTQI+ person beautifully different, but also, harder and occasionally painful, then you then will recognize how your privilege affects your experience of the world. Never forget and always acknowledge your privileges, especially when trying to comfort a LGBTQI+ identifying friend.  

 

6. With that being said, don’t ‘other’ us or view LGBTQI+ people as mythical or different. 

While elements of our identities are indeed different from the majority of our very cis-heteronormative world, we are still human and most likely way more similar to you than we are different. Being LGBTQI+ is only one piece of the identity puzzle. And yes, we are protective of our community because we need a safe space to share. However, each of us — you too, reader — is made up of several different puzzle pieces. This leads us to the 7th tip…

 

7. Consider the intersectional nature of people’s identities.

The way in which our identities filter our experiences is so deeply layered and nuanced and complex. Everyone will go through and react to things so differently; no one person is the same. Within the LGBTQI+ community, there’s an infinite array of different identities. For example, a black, straight, transgender man living in a liberal and diverse city most likely has a very different experience than a non-binary, bisexual, Muslim person living in a small conservative town… the point is, no one has the same life story. It’s important to know that just because we may share a label, it doesn’t mean we are all exactly the same.

 

If you find yourself struggling to understand the intricacies of gender and sexual identity, Stonewall’s glossary is a really great place to start: https://www.stonewall.org.uk/help-advice/glossary-terms

Photos (in order of appearance) by Brian Vu, Harley Weir, Lizzie Steimer, Petra Collins, Andreia + Nathalia Takeuchi, and Wong Kar Wai.Â