British researchers, having reviewed the existing literature on cosmetic labioplasty (surgery to reduce the size of a woman's labia), have concluded that it risks "impairing sexual sensitivity and satisfaction," much as female circumcision does; that not enough long-term research has been done on it; and that "counseling and support" might be more appropriate alternatives for women who seek surgery because they believe their vulvas aren't pretty enough. Moreover, says the report's author Lih-Mei Liao, aggressively marketing the surgery exacerbates one of the problems it's meant to correct. "Advertisements promote labial surgery as easy answers to women's insecurities about their genital appearances -- insecurities that are fuelled by the very advertisements that prescribe a homogenised, pre-pubescent genital appearance standard for all women." (I'm envisioning the ladyparts version of a Latisse commercial here: "For inadequate or more than enough labia.")
Unsurprisingly, Douglas McGeorge, past president of the the British Association of Aesthetic Plastic Surgeons, told the BBC he thinks the concern is "over the top. Essentially this is just about removing a bit of loose flesh, leaving behind an elegant-looking labia with minimum scarring." Oh, well if that's all it is! I mean, obviously, if you want to be taken seriously at a job interview or get a decent table at a hot restaurant, you can't just show up with inelegant-looking labia. Adds McGeorge, "Lads' mags are looked at by girlfriends, and make them think more about the way they look. We live in times where we are much more open about our bodies -- and changing them -- and labioplasty is simply a part of this." By "this," you mean "a painfully sexist culture that encourages debilitating body shame," right? Because otherwise, you might want to think that one through a little more.
On the other hand, there are women out there who really do need genital reconstruction. Amanda Hess at The Sexist shares the stories of two of those, women who didn't just have "more than enough labia" but serious post-pregnancy complications described by one as "My vagina is falling out of my body!" (Actually, it was her uterus. Also, for the record, that woman had labioplasty while she was at it and reports that it "was brutal. All of 'Dr. 90210''s patients who say it doesn't hurt are lying. I'd rather get my teeth pulled out than do that again!") But after all that suffering, both women describe their new equipment as A) equivalent to a virginal young woman's and B) therefore incredibly desirable. Allison Henry, who nearly bled to death more than once: "We just had a cocktail party to celebrate me feeling healthy. And I do have the vagina of a 13-year-old virgin, with a perfect labia, as a bonus." MomLogic guest blogger Sara: "So now I'm on the mend, with a teenage-sized vagina ... The way things are at present, no man's apparatus, even of the Fisher Price variety, could ever fit down there. Still, I'll try to write a follow up report when it happens. That is, if my husband and I ever leave the bedroom again!"
To recap: These two women suffered severe trauma to their reproductive organs, but the big silver lining is that they now have vaginas reminiscent of girls too young to consent to sex. It's what every man wants, without the pesky statutory rape charges -- lucky hubbies! Sara even jokes (I hope) that her husband bought her cheerleader costumes to go with the new model. Look, I'm all for making inappropriate wisecracks about horrifying things, and any woman who has ever had to say or even think the words "my vagina is falling out of my body" has earned the right to be seriously inappropriate, but what the hell? Neither of you squicked yourself out, writing that? Hess puts it best: "I'm happy for you. I am. You went through some bad shit, and now your vagina is back inside your body, and I think that's wonderful. But I never, ever, ever, ever again want to have to think about a grown woman having a 'the vagina of a 13-year-old virgin.' That's some messed up heebie-jeebies shit."
And it's the same messed-up shit that drives perfectly healthy women to pay someone to cut into their genitals for purely aesthetic reasons. Oh wait, I'm sorry, did I say "messed-up shit"? I meant openness about our bodies. Now that our culture is much less repressive, we've learned important information that used to be hidden away -- like that pubic hair is disgusting (on a woman), which means we must wax it all off to avoid offending our sexual partners, after which we might just discover our vulvas are kind of funny-looking and thus require surgery to give us the "elegant labia" of ... children. Such progress we've made! Why, if people had never broken the silence, we'd all still be walking around assuming adult-looking vaginas are perfectly fine! Instead, we've completely eliminated all that old-fashioned shame about our bodies and backward thinking about sexuality. Whew.
In today's "living up to the cultural stereotype" news, the G-spot, which earlier this month British researchers dismissed as perhaps just a mere figment of our hopeful imaginations, has been championed by, naturellement, the French.
Speaking today in the UK Guardian, French gynecolgist Odile Buisson called the rather dubiously researched King's College London report a "totalitarian" approach to female sexuality. The British study – the largest ever on that fabled realm first pioneered by Dr. Grafenberg -- involved over 1,800 sets of identical and fraternal twins and was conducted solely via questionnaire. But asking women whether they possess a body part and proving that they do or don't are two different matters. For many women, after all, subjectively identifying their own pleasure zones can be as challenging as finding Cameroon on the map. Just because they can't, it doesn't mean Cameroon isn't there.
Adding to the fray in today's Guardian, French surgeon Pierre Foldès explained, "In female sexuality there is a variability ... It cannot be reduced to a 'yes' or 'no', or an 'on' or an 'off'.'" The key, Foldès said, is just patient exploration -- and the desire to do so. "In discovering the sensitive parts of her own body, this sensitive zone [the G-spot] will become more and more functional," he said. "But if she has never touched it and no one else has ever touched it ... it won't exist for her as a consequence." In other words, you'll never find it if you don't at least look.
This weekend, the country's first legal male prostitute starts work at the Shady Lady Ranch. Well, OK, 25-year-old Markus technically began his new job earlier this week, but he hasn't been able to land any appointments until then. His slow start hardly helps to silence naysayers who doubt straight women will be interested in paying for sex -- but it will be even tougher to squelch another controversy at hand over gay male sex. Homophobia is in the air, as industry insiders rebel against Nevada's recent move to legalize male prostitution and the appearance of this beefy ex-Marine on the brothel scene. Never mind that Markus refuses to see male customers.
Earlier today, while reading an Associated Press article about the new "prostidude" in town, I came across a quote from Arie Mack Moore, owner of Angel's Ladies Brothel: "It won't be successful," he said. "You can't have both (male and female prostitutes) in the same building or adjacent to each other, in my opinion." I wondered: Why not? So, I gave him a call. With a Southern twang, he explained: "The men that want to go see female prostitutes don't want to see a male prostitute." Well, what if they don't have to see him, I asked. "They don't even want to go where a male prostitute is," he said. Then I went for the question tugging at my mind: Do you think homophobia is at play? He answered explosively: "Very much so." Straight male clients will refuse to walk into a brothel that has a male gigolo on the premises, for fear of being pegged as gay or because there might be gay customers there, he said.
Moore says his business has gotten a recent boost thanks to customers who have outright told him they're staying away from the Shady Lady specifically because of Markus. There are certainly other issues at play aside from homophobia -- for example, he said male customers want to avoid the embarrassment of running into female customers. I would have probed further on that subject, but Moore was keener on talking about how the STD screening process is hotter for male clients than it is for female clients. Female prostitutes will place a male client's member on, and I quote, "a dick pan" for inspection and cleaning. A male prostitute, however, would have to give a gynecological-like exam and look for "rashes" on her "pussy lips," which is not so "romantic," he explained. (Got it: "Dick pans"? Romantic. "Pussy rashes"? Not so much.)
As Broadsheet's Kate Harding reported in December, some insiders have rebelled against the legalization of male prostitution out of fear that gay male sex-for-pay will bring further scrutiny to the industry. Not only do they worry about it raising health concerns, but many suspect that the general public will find it unacceptable. George Flint of the Nevada Brothel Owners Association speculated: "There should be some fallout and backlash from this decision. Some may feel it's a repugnant thing to do or something that does not have the appetite of the state as a whole." Female prostitutes in Nevada were already having sex for pay with both men and women, so it's safe to assume that he's referring specifically to gay male sex. As Jim Davis, co-owner of the Shady Lady told the AP, "Everybody's so damn scared two men might have sex -- it's happening every day in Las Vegas."
Funny thing is, Markus' refusal to see male clients is earning him criticism from an entirely different group of industry insiders. A 22-year-old prostitute from Moore's brothel says his women-only policy is sexist. "How can you just turn down services because of what someone's preferences is? It comes with the territory. It comes with the business," she told the AP. Well, that seems awfully unfair, considering that sex workers often draw personal boundaries that they do not cross. I wonder whether there's a stereotype at play here -- that of the straight male hooker who gets paid to do something he would happily do for free. It's understandable that sex workers who hate the gig might be resentful toward some dude they assume has just breezed into town feeling like he's landed a dream job; and most lady prostitutes do cater to women as well as men, regardless of their orientation.
Look, you just can't win. Cater to men and homophobes will freak; exclude male customers and you'll be considered unprofessional. What's a straight male gigolo to do? I guess we'll have to wait to find out.
The ladybits have seen hot pink pubic dyes and dollar sign stencils. They've encountered jewelry of the pierced and clip-on variety. They've been available in different flavors. They've even recently become aware of labia tinters. But this week they really sat up and took notice when actress Jennifer Love Hewitt announced on "The George Lopez Show" that she has pimped out her yoni with Swarovski crystals. Or, as she put it, "It's called vajazzling." Of such great import was the news of the Ghost Whisperer's crotch bling that Broadsheet actually received a press release from the Lopez camp about it. I shit you not, America.
Discussing her new memoir "The Day I Shot Cupid," debut author Hewitt said that after a painful breakup, "A friend of mine Swarovski-crystalled my precious lady and it shined like a disco ball," adding the imperative that "women should vajazzle their vajayjays." It was at this point that Lopez leapt from his chair to kiss the fair maiden's hand, and I went to check my iCal to see if the first day of April had arrived early. Perhaps that's because when I hear the word "crystal" I begin rather naively picturing a wedding gift-sized swan rising like the sun from Ms. Love Hewitt's Cosabella thong. A scenario that would no doubt inflict untold injury on her boyfriend Jamie Kennedy.
Instead, muffin studding is a considerably smaller scale affair, involving tinier gems. And it's festive as hell. As the folks at Completely Bare explain, you can "decorate your own jewels" because "accessorizing your privates is the hottest rage." (Anyone who associates the words "hot" and "rage" with their privates, please report immediately to anger management.) DIY types, of course, can probably just opt for a Schick and some temporary tattoos.
When you consider the seemingly endless ways a person can customize her holiest of holies, it's a wonder Martha Stewart hasn't yet done a whole segment on vajayjay projects. Consider the possibilities – a little ribbon, a shaker of glitter, and a Brother P-Touch label maker – you're looking at hours of entertainment. But it seems unfair to limit all this whimsical embellishment to just one sex. So once I master learning to knit, I am totally making a sock monkey that fits a penis.
Northern Ireland has its very own Mrs. Robinson. It has for some time now, actually, but only recently was it revealed that politician Iris Robinson shares more than just a last name with the iconic seductress in "The Graduate." The 60-year-old parliament member and wife of the province's top leader, Peter Robinson, admitted last week to having an affair with a much younger man -- and I use the word "man" loosely, because he was just 19 at the time. She's also accused of secretly securing an $80,000 loan for her boy-toy to open his own business. Now, her husband faces allegations that he knew about the loan but failed to report it, and he has temporarily stepped down as first minister while he attempts to clear his name.
This tale has all the usual elements of a political sex scandal -- namely, the younger lover and blatant hypocrisy. Not too long ago, Robinson publicly condemned the "abomination" of homosexuality from high atop her perch as a good, cross-wearing (and adulterous) Christian. (Show me a self-righteous politician with a taste for moralizing over other people's bedroom behavior and I'll show you someone with a secret, shame-filled sex life.) What makes this story different, of course, is that the adulterous politico is a woman, not a man.
We've seen women do the stand-by-your-man routine countless times before -- but, in this case, the cheated partner held his own press conference. Mrs. Robinson issued a statement through a spokesperson, while Mr. Robinson invited reporters into his home for an intimate chat about his wife's infidelity. He verged on tears, but he owned his own story. Meanwhile, Mrs. Robinson -- who admitted in her statement that she tried to kill herself after the affair was revealed to her husband -- checked herself into a hospital for psychiatric treatment. Famous male philanderers have routinely sought out treatment of some sort, but there are noteworthy differences here -- like the suicide attempt, which casts her hospital stay in a different light (the florescent glow of, say, a mental institution as opposed to the sunny environ of a luxury rehab facility).
I could perform a lengthy exegesis of this scandal as contrasted with those of high-profile male cheaters, but, ultimately, this isn't about sex differences so much as it is about similarities: Clearly, women are fully capable of screwing up their families and careers with tawdry sex scandals, too. Go, humanity.
Meet Roxxxy, the "world's first sex robot." She has folks buzzing with excitement after her debut at this weekend's Adult Entertainment Expo (never mind that she isn't actually the first of her kind). Given the hype, and the use of the term "robot," you might be envisioning something along the lines of a Real Doll that can actually perform sexy moves -- or at the very least do "The Robot." In reality, she's more like an X-rated version of Talking Elmo. She can't walk or move her arms, but when you touch Roxxxy she will purr things like, " Where you gonna put that?" As creator Douglas Hines demonstrated at the event (video below), clumsily groping at her vagina will elicit a moan; meanwhile, she remains paralyzed in her pre-programed ecstasy.
Should you tire of Roxxxy's come-ons, you can always hook her up to your laptop and turn her into a different robot-lover. She comes complete with five different personalities: Wild Wendy ("outgoing and adventurous"), Frigid Farrah ("reserved and shy"), Mature Martha ("very experienced"), S&M Susan ("ready to provide your pain/pleasure fantasies") and Young ("barely 18" and "waiting for you to teach her"). The personality you pick will alter her response to the aforementioned touching and groping. However, Roxxxy's true raison d'être, says Hines, is providing companionship post-coitus. (Note to potential buyers: All the wiring around her mouth that makes conversation possible also makes her look a bit like Kanye West post-jaw surgery. I'm just saying.) The cost for one of these customizable sexbots runs anywhere from $7,000 to $9,000.
If, inexplicably, there are any straight ladies out there feeling jealous that men can own their very own fantasy fembot, take heart: Plans are currently in the work for Rocky, a literal sex machine.
In Katie Roiphe's world, the boy crisis is fictional. Not in the sense that the much-hyped threat to manliness is a fiction. No, the provocateur argued in Sunday's New York Times Book Review, that evidence of masculinity's decline is found in fiction -- more specifically, in the imaginary sex lives of imaginary male protagonists in novels written by men. This is a new take on a familiar argument, but Roiphe places the blame on the very same culprit framed for ruining the real-life sex lives of real-life men: feminism.
Today's revered young(ish) scribes are not literary lions, she says, but cuddly little cubs. Roiphe specifically has in mind Dave Eggers, David Foster Wallace, Michael Chabon, Benjamin Kunkel and Jonathan Franzen. (This short roster leaves out many members of the new guard of novelists that do not fit her thesis, like Junot Diaz, but whatever, moving on.) These writers "are so self-conscious, so steeped in a certain kind of liberal education, that their characters can't condone even their own sexual impulses," she argues. In this genre the "sexual style is more childlike; innocence is more fashionable than virility, the cuddle preferable to sex." Having grown up under the influence of feminism, these guys engage in a "convoluted, postfeminist second-guessing" instead of "conquest or consummation."
This is a pity, says Roiphe -- who in the past has written about her own desire for an old-fashioned manly man – because, in comparison, there is "a certain vanished grandeur" in the scandalous sex writing of John Updike, Philip Roth, Norman Mailer and Saul Bellow. These alpha males wrote graphically about carnal (and sometimes violent) lust. Not only were they unabashed about their conquest of women's bodies, writes Roiphe, but there also "was a feeling that [these] authors were reporting from a new frontier of sexual behavior: adultery, anal sex, oral sex, threesomes." Blame today's limp-dick literature on the "crusading feminists" who stridently railed against these virile novelists, she says.
Her argument is uncomfortably reminiscent of the claim that sexually aggressive college girls are scaring guys soft or that the lack of retro dating rules has rendered young men fearful and weak (read: feminine). As overblown as these arguments can be, I suspect they provoke so much ire because they have a strain of truth (just as I admire Roiphe as a polemicist with a keen cultural understanding, despite her tendency to cherry-pick evidence). Feminism has culturally upended many things, including our notions of masculinity, and that can be frightening. I've had too many candid conversations with too many guy friends over too many pitchers of beer to have any doubt about that.
It has to be said, though: These are not all guys. These are not even most men, except perhaps among the sensitive, liberal and well-educated set to which these male novelists and fictional protagonists belong (a rarefied group indeed). Widen the cultural scope just a wee bit, and you will find no dearth of jack-hammer sex (see: Mary Elizabeth Williams' essay "How Not to Make Love Like a Porn Star"). Plenty of men still happily rely on old-school stereotypes to pick up ladies. But, fine, Roiphe has picked a very particular and personally relevant focus for her essay. Limitations aside, I read the piece and thought: There's something there there.
So, I e-mailed the article to a guy friend in his late 20s to see whether he identified with these confused and cuddly protagonists, and did he ever. He wrote back: "In college, my somewhat obtuse interpretation of feminism coupled with my desire to be perceived as a 'great guy' made me averse to appearing sexually aggressive or dominating in any way." For him, that meant reading books like "She Comes First" and letting the woman lead in the bedroom. Unfortunately, at least in one case the response to all this sensitivity was an exasperated: "Are you gay?" He explains, "I was just trying to avoid being the stereotypical tin-eared, jack-hammering brute that I was fairly certain women didn't respond to." Eventually, he learned "to dial in a more context-dependent, sensitive and confident approach." Still, he says, "that shit messed me up for a little while."
Of course that shit messed him up -- there is some real contradiction here. Thing is, young women are also coming up against conflicting cultural influences. Many of us are trying to reconcile feminist thinking with … basically every other cultural message out there. Social change brings about growing pains. Where Roiphe and I differ is that she favors a return -- at least in certain relational respects -- to an earlier time when things were simpler, more straightforward. I, on the other hand, would like to see us keep on maturing.
Roiphe's dismissal of today's sexually confused men is proof of just how far we have yet to go. It feels like she is shaming these male authors for failing to keep up their end of the bedroom charade. (You know, the one that makes it possible to have sex without either partner revealing any vulnerability or authentic, unrestricted emotions. The one where he "takes" her and, on cue, she quivers with passion.) She seems to believe that men, be they real or fictional, are supposed to emerge cocksure on the other side of young adulthood -- or at least convincingly appear to. Even the hot pink graphics accompanying the article practically scream: C'mon you sissies -- grab your balls, be a man! But I dare say the real issue here -- for men and women, too, clearly -- is growing up, not manning up.
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