Wednesday, December 7, 2016 // The Statement
8B
ILLUSTRATION BY ELISE HAADSMA
by Jackie Charniga, Daily News Editor
The Problem With Prescriptive Sex Advice
I
’m a very open person.
Most of my friends know there’s something wrong
if I haven’t divulged every detail about my day. I’ll
settle down in a dentist’s office waiting room, kibbitz
over a deli counter, even dish in the bathroom at a gay bar
about any avenue about my life.
Including sex.
So when I say I’ve never had an orgasm, a topic that
naturally springs up at bachelorette parties, sleepovers
and short subway rides, I don’t feel as though it’s an inti-
mate detail that I’ve put into the public sphere. I consider
it somewhat mechanically, as a bodily function that just
hasn’t happened to me. I’ve never had my tonsils out
either and I’ve made it this far in life without it being a
problem.
As far as Cosmopolitan magazine is concerned, though,
I’m a freak.
Our culture presents two options: right or wrong sex.
Sex is either good or bad. If you have good sex, well done
— you’re “normal.” If you have bad sex, the prognosis
is dismal. Your partner is broken. Your mind is broken.
You’re doing it wrong. You’re wrong.
The way we talk about our sex lives is similar to how
we talk about our car engines. Whether or not it’s work-
ing properly, if it’s your car you have to fix it. Sometimes
you work on it yourself and sometimes you have people
work on it for you. And if you’re not obsessed with your
car and how it runs, you’re in a weird minority. But it’s
not as simple as that, and you’ll never be able to write a
foolproof manual for everything that’s right, or wrong,
about sex.
It doesn’t help that most sex advice circulating in self-
help guides or scrawled in Sharpie on bathroom walls still
has a gendered slant. In its October issue, Cosmo directly
addressed situations like mine. In a No-BS Sex Q&A, a
reader submitted a question about how she’s never had an
orgasm. She wanted to know if she was defective.
The response was encouraging. Relax, it said, there’s
nothing wrong with you. A statistic was bandied about
that just 25 percent of women ages 18 to 25 crossed the
finish line their last time and it’s totally fine to be outside
that minority.
Now here’s where it gets interesting: The advice goes
on about how to remedy the issue by — wait for it — fak-
ing it. Listen here, confused woman of the modern age:
If you pretend that every second is pure ecstasy, rolling
around with the guy who smiled at you over his Solo cup
at 2 in the morning at a co-op party, it will feel like riding
a mechanical bull on Molly after winning the Super Bowl.
You know, if he’s properly motivated.
That isn’t to say you shouldn’t consider the needs of
the person you’re sleeping with. Remember the phrase
it takes two to tango? But when prescribed sexual advice
continues the trend — even today — of coming mostly
from just one perspective, there is an unequal distribu-
tion of praise and the blame.
Take for instance, “The Women,” a 1939 black-and-
white film revolutionary for being the first to star only
female actors. Though not one man crosses the silver
screen, powerhouse actresses Joan Crawford, Rosa-
lind Russell and Norma Shearer can talk about nothing
else. The men in their lives, whether they are ensnaring,
divorcing or earning them, are the driving force of the
plot.
“It’s all about men!” the tagline reads, putting down
men and women alike. The film makes the argument that
men are helpless when it comes to what they want; they
are prizes to be won by the women who fight over them.
The film was remade in 2008, but, considering its 4.9/10
IMDb score, its male-centric plot fell short of pleasing
contemporary audiences.
There is a history of media considering a man’s needs
first, but there’s something cheap about when that rep-
resentation is masquerading as advice for women, by
women, in the 21st century.
That issue of Cosmo somehow brought the responsibil-
ity of a man’s failing to please back down on the woman.
In 2016. Like a lightbulb, it clicked: That’s what I’m doing
wrong. Just fake it till you make it. Or, in this case, till you
can get someone else to makew it.
I’m not trying to throw magazines like Cosmopolitan
entirely under the bus here. There are plenty of others
that insist on a constant barrage of sexual imagery to sell,
well, pretty much anything. But sex is confusing enough
without being presented as a pass-or-fail test, especially
one where you’re making up the answers to get a good
grade.
As a college student, I’ve always paid close attention to
the required reading, but when the Cosmo syllabus pres-
ents essential knowledge under titles like “10 Common
Blow Job Problems and How To Fix Them,” “9 Things
Guys Secretly Hate About Blow Jobs” or “What Guys Hate
Most About Every Sex Position,” I’m feeling the negative
energy. Find out what he hates. Fix the problem.
I don’t really see where I fit when it comes to that
kind of advice. Because movies, magazines, websites and
advertisements are pumping us full of these glossy gym-
nastic expectations, sex has no space to be a human act.
It’s supposedly performed by titans, sex gods and god-
desses who are hairless, poreless and flawless fornicators.
They always cross the finish line.
I distinctly remember 2011 as a year fraught with unnat-
ural sex scenes. The premiere of films such as “Friends
with Benefits” and “No Strings Attached” continued the
parade of unrealistic romps in the sack. Both films seem
to be making the claim that sex necessarily leads to love.
Additionally, sex seems to be a breeze so long as you’re
airbrushed and athletic.
Now this isn’t to say I’m constantly broadcasting my
situation. I’m not standing at the corner of North Univer-
sity and State wearing a sandwich board disclaiming that
I’ve never climbed that holy mountain and seen the face
of God — or rather, screamed his name over and over so it
echoed down that same proverbial sex mountain.
But what gets me off about the whole thing is how
uncomfortable, indignant or offended people become by
this conversation. Sometimes it’s easier to talk about it
like a car engine. You’ve got a problem, see a mechanic.
Why discuss it outside of the auto shop?
Without leaving room for individual human respons-
es to a very human action, we’re thrusting an incredibly
intricate act into a basic format that allows only for praise
or blame. Forcing a standardized method of experiencing
pleasure, I feel, is a far greater crime than my inability to
match it.
Some people think I’m punishing myself by not explor-
ing my sexuality. I’m a prude, I’m limiting myself. That I
haven’t met the right guy. That I need to handle it myself.
My roommate once said it’s similar to eating a cheese-
cake. If I hadn’t eaten a cheesecake before, I’m not just
going to stumble upon it accidentally. I have to go out and
get one for myself.
Prescriptive sex advice usually sucks. I will con-
cede, however, that not all of it is terrible, but thought-
ful answers to difficult questions rarely make headlines.
Because suggesting people “talk it out” is not sexy sex
advice. If X, try Y or Z is much easier to sell.
Whether it’s the media’s responsibility, school systems,
parents or peers to educate on positive sexual awareness
is another story. But not everyone can tell the fact from
the fiction, and they’re looking for validation on topics of
which they’re uncertain. If you’re in the market of dish-
ing out advice, be conscious of how it’s framed. Especially
when your audience is thirsty for easy answers. If they
expect their lives to change based on what you can write
in 100 words or less, that’s a far more interesting com-
ment on our society than I’m capable of making.
My best sex advice? Let me decide what’s working for
my body. Maybe it’ll happen. Maybe it won’t. Meanwhile,
I’ll be living my life exactly as I did before — whether
Cosmopolitan approves or not.