Wednesday, September 28, 2022 — 7
Michigan in Color
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Across the globe, women have
disproportionately suffered from
a longstanding disparity in stark
comparison to those in Queer
relationships: the orgasm gap. If
you are not familiar with this phe-
nomenon, it is defined in a study
by Grace M. Wetzel et al. as being
“the well-established discrepancy
in orgasm frequency between
cisgender men and women when
engaging in heterosexual part-
nered sex, with men having more
orgasms than women on average.”
While this should not be a foreign
concept, spending four years in
a predominantly cisgender, het-
erosexual,
capitalism-centric
campus has helped me put into
perspective just how pressing it is
that we have intentional conver-
sations about our pleasure, espe-
cially when these forces permeate
into all aspects of our daily lives.
The term “orgasm gap” is pre-
dominantly used to refer to the
discrepancy
in
orgasm
rates
between
heterosexual
women
and men. While the term typi-
cally encompasses women’s sex-
ual experiences with men, other
types of orgasm gaps also exist,
such as the gaps between (a)
women engaged in partnered sex
versus masturbation, (b) women
engaged in sex with other women
versus with men and (c) women
engaged in casual versus rela-
tionship sex, etc. according to the
research literature.
I will specifically be exploring
the socio-cultural significance
of the orgasm discrepancies in
heterosexual couples. I will also
be cross-analyzing similar data
representing those in the Queer
community to illustrate that the
orgasm gap is most prevalent in
heterosexual relationships. This
will highlight that, for the most
part, straight men are indeed
most responsible for this gap.
More specifically, the differ-
ences in sexual behavior among
those with varying sexualities
are an indication of how deeply
ingrained the patriarchy is in our
daily rituals. To the men reading
this, I would like to give some
of you the benefit of the doubt; I
am sure you may genuinely want
to make your partner climax —
whether that is to inflate your
sense of self or actually meet their
needs is another question — but
you must first recognize that soci-
ety has misguided you in how to
achieve this outcome consistently,
if at all.
Moving forward, I ask that you
read this article with the same
level of consideration and sensi-
tivity as you would when learning
about any other social injustice.
The way we approach the plea-
sure of others is a reflection of
how we perceive the personhood
and bodily autonomy of those we
share such vulnerable experi-
ences with. To not acknowledge
this fact is to deprive intimacy of
its nuance, complexities and most
importantly, its humanity.
While doing extensive research
on this topic, I have found that
the language in these studies can
feel a bit dense. Therefore, I will
try my best to make this writ-
ing accessible to all audiences by
omitting any overzealous scien-
tific jargon. If you are more curi-
ous about the specific details of
each of the studies, they can be
found referenced throughout the
article. I would also like to preface
that there is a clear discrepancy in
the extent of research conducted
among heterosexual couples ver-
sus Queer couples, which makes
the data more difficult to cross-
examine across identities. None-
theless, that does not mean there
is insufficient data to prove that
straight men are significantly
more responsible for the orgasm
gap than any other group.
In a study conducted by sexual
health researchers, David A. Fred-
erick et al. examined a representa-
tive sample of adults in the United
States, concluding that “hetero-
sexual men were most likely to
say they usually-always orgasmed
when sexually intimate (95%), fol-
lowed by gay men (89%), bisexual
men (88%), lesbian women (86%),
bisexual women (66%) and het-
erosexual women (65%).” Further,
regardless of whether you’re in a
committed relationship or a casu-
al fling, on average, 95% of het-
erosexual men ejaculate from sex,
while only 18% of women orgasm
from vaginal intercourse alone.
If you’re a man reading this
and you’re thinking “nah bro my
stroke game is crazy, I can make
any girl cream,” please allow me
to dispel the illusion you have
created by providing some peer-
reviewed, statistical findings.
When having sex with a famil-
iar partner, there were no signifi-
cant differences between orgasm
rates for heterosexual (86%), gay
(85%) or bisexual (78%) men.
On the contrary, orgasms rates
among women differed across
sexualities, where lesbian women
reported experiencing orgasms
at a statistically significant high-
er rate (75%) than heterosexual
(62%) or bisexual (58%) women.
Another, more recent study con-
ducted by Elizabeth A. Mahar
et al. in 2020, used a sample of
800 undergraduate students, and
found that 91% of men versus
39% of women reported usually
or always experiencing orgasm
in partnered sex. Gay men were
also 28% more likely than het-
erosexual men to say their part-
ners always orgasm and 16% more
likely to say they usually-always
orgasm.
Interestingly,
in
the
context of a familiar partner, a
recent large-scale survey of 2,850
individuals revealed that lesbian
women are more likely than both
heterosexual and bisexual women
to orgasm during partnered sex,
a finding subsequently replicated
in an even larger survey of over
50,000 dating, married, remar-
ried or cohabiting people.
Mahar et al. also found that
for women identifying as bisex-
ual who had engaged in one-
night stands with both men and
women, 64% reported frequently
or always orgasming when their
partner was a woman while only
7% of these same women report-
ed frequently or always orgas-
ming when their partner was a
man. In short, research finds that
women’s orgasm rates seem to be
context-dependent (i.e., sex with
a man vs. another woman, casual
vs. relationship sex), with women
being least likely to orgasm during
casual sex with male partners.
You may be wondering what
some of the reasons for these dis-
crepancies are, to which we can
point to our social organization
of sexuality and cultural scripts
surrounding the act of sex. The
disproportionate value we have
placed on a man’s pleasure ver-
sus a woman’s informs how we
behave in the bedroom. This
valuation is often based on one’s
exposure to the idea that women’s
bodies are meant for procreation
and, in turn, that sex is intended
to be pleasing only to the man. It
has been found that many women
have even internalized this belief
with existing research indicating
that women feel an obligation to
soothe the male ego by orgasming
during intercourse.
One qualitative study found
that female participants reported
being concerned about hurting
their male partner’s confidence if
they did not have an intercourse-
based orgasm. Further, these
women believed that asking their
partners for clitoral stimulation
would “hurt their partners’ feel-
ings,” where this prioritization
of their partner suggests a lack
of entitlement to sexual pleasure.
Since women’s bodies have been
commodified throughout history
for the sake of procreation, many
of our instincts in the bedroom
derive from this generational
trauma. Women are also less likely
to communicate to their partners
how they need to be stimulated
in order to orgasm, each of these
being factors positively correlated
with reaching orgasm.
The
overwhelming
concen-
tration on penetrative sex in
heterosexual relationships, stem-
ming from the emphasis on male
pleasure and women’s ability to
procreate, further explains these
findings. While reports vary
depending on how the question
is worded, studies overwhelm-
ingly suggest that only about 18%
of women indicate that vaginal
penetration alone is sufficient for
orgasm to occur. Furthermore,
when a convenience sample of
over 500 undergraduate students
was asked to indicate “their most
reliable route to orgasm,” only
4% indicated penetration alone.
Instead, 43% said they most reli-
ably orgasmed when pairing pen-
etration with clitoral stimulation
(e.g., with hands or vibrators),
and 34% said they most reliably
orgasmed during sexual activities
focusing exclusively on clitoral
stimulation (e.g., oral sex, manual
stimulation, vibrator stimulation).
On top of this, it has been found
that men largely overestimate the
consistency of orgasms for their
partners, most likely as a result
of their misconceptions on how
to please. Men tend to feel emas-
culated when they are unable to
perform well during sex — wheth-
er this means not lasting long
enough or thrusting hard enough
— therefore, this overinflation of
self-perceived skill aims to pro-
tect their self-image.
So why does this matter? While
the orgasm gap in and of itself is
problematic, its existence has
wider implications for society’s
perception of women’s bodies and
their humanity. No matter how
progressive you perceive yourself
to be as a man, the data shows
that you are most likely reinforc-
ing patriarchal notions of sex
whether you’re aware of it or not.
The existence of these patriarchal
structures is not necessarily your
own fault, but you will always
benefit from it, and by being
complicit in this system, you are
exploiting your male privilege in
not challenging these misogynis-
tic perceptions.
To challenge this, we must first
acknowledge the deep-seated his-
tory of the colonization of wom-
en’s bodies to serve the needs of
man. We have quite literally built
our entire society on the backs of
our women, with their bodies his-
torically being seen as a means to
an end: to procreate, expand the
workforce and ultimately maxi-
mize productivity. This reinforces
the idea that women’s pleasure
is not a necessary component of
sexual experiences; rather, their
bodies exist to serve the needs
of external societal forces at the
expense of their personal needs.
The orgasm gap
Courtesy of Rita Sayegh
KAILANA DEJOIE
MiC Columnist
Slipping through my fingers
“Slipping Through My Fin-
gers,” from ABBA’s album The
Visitors, is an indie-meets-folk-
and-pop song that is anything but
unknown. Having garnered hun-
dreds of millions of streams, form-
ing multiple TikTok trends and
stemming from one of the most
well-known pop groups, the song
is definitely well cherished. Yet,
the song means more to me than
just a background audio or catchy
tune. When I listen to this song, I
can’t help but think of my parents
and how they must feel now: about
how for the first time in 23 years,
both their children are out of the
house, whereas silence now coats
the walls, pouring down from the
melancholy ceilings. The song is
about a mother’s realization of
how fast her daughter is growing
up as she gets ready for school —
how she wishes to reach out and
grab what’s left of her daughter’s
childhood and hold her close to
her heart forever but is unable to.
The song reminds me of my own
parents, but more specifically,
my father. Perhaps it’s because
my mother has always been more
vocal about how she feels about us
leaving. Maybe it’s because I never
thought to wonder how my father
felt. Or maybe it is simply because
he is an ABBA fan. But regardless
of the reason, for those three min-
utes and 53 seconds, I can’t help
but think about my father and my
relationship.
My father never shared much
of the music he listened to with
us. Since I can remember, a silence
during our car rides was evaded
by blasting whatever artists my
brother and I fixated ourselves
on at the time. It started with
the soundtrack from “Barney &
Friends.” Over time, we transi-
tioned from listening to Hannah
Montana, to then switching to
Nicki Minaj, before finally mov-
ing on to Faye Webster. My father
didn’t complain too much about
not getting aux. He did, however,
comment on and critique every
song we played. He’d praise my
brother’s pick of Kanye West’s
808s & Heartbreak album until he
focused on the lyrics, when he’d
critique both the explicit nature
of the song and us for choosing to
listen to it. Other times he would
forcefully drum his fingers onto
the steering wheel, missing every
beat by a second, overpower-
ing the sound of the actual beat
when Selena Gomez & the Scene
was on. Occasionally, he’d nod his
head or gently tap his leg, making
a crinkly noise from the material
of his shorts, when I’d play Katy
Perry. He’d overly compliment
Taylor Swift’s soft Folklore and
ask if it was her newest album
that he heard about on the news
and complain about how loud
Icona Pop’s “I Love It” was every
time I played it during elementary
school. But every once in a while,
he’d queue up some Bon Jovi and
ABBA, a Michael Jackson CD or a
few Tamil ones from a movie he’d
made us watch multiple times and
refuse to change it no matter how
much we pleaded, pushing our
hands away every time we tried to
reach for his phone or the CD eject
button. We complained, even more
than he would about our music. To
us his music was antiquated, older
than the thrifted dresser plopped
in the guest room that my parents
bought when they first moved
to America. It’s older than the
scratched green Toyota Camry
that has sat still for years in front
of our house with broken brakes
and an obnoxiously loud engine
that my father somehow refuses to
get rid of, and older than my moth-
er’s collection of crumpled sarees
that haven’t been worn in over 25
years, carefully placed in broken
suitcases that smelled like faded
mothballs above my mother’s clos-
et. It was old, and seven-year-old
me hated every second of it.
I don’t remember the first time
I heard the song. I can’t remem-
ber if it was one of the few ABBA
songs my father played during
a road trip, if it was on the way
home after he picked me up from
elementary school or if it was a
song I just stumbled upon on one
of my long playlist-making nights,
searching the entirety of my Spo-
tify recommended for the perfect
song to fall asleep to. But I do
remember the first time it meant
something.
I was sitting in my father’s
makeshift study that he first
built for my brother and me to do
our homework next to him as he
worked. My father was cleaning
and reorganizing the study, which
had spent the last year filled with
almost as much clutter as a few of
the houses on “Hoarders.” In the
back corner of the room above a
giant roll of orange wire too heavy
for me to pick up sat the new vinyl
player my brother and I had got-
ten him for Christmas, which he
had just mounted onto the wall.
ROSHNI MOHAN
MiC Columnist
Roshni Mohan/MiC
Redefining everyday life
through my film camera
Film photography is one of my
favorite new hobbies. I hesitate
to use the word “hobby” because
I think claiming a hobby implies
you’re only an amateur or novice
at it. In its most traditional form,
film photography consists of tak-
ing pictures on a camera by expos-
ing frames on a film roll. While I
don’t consider myself a photogra-
phy expert, I take my film camera
everywhere because it reminds me
to search for things to appreciate in
the moment, instead of waiting for
a reason to take a picture to share
online. Taking film pictures is a
much more conscious and inten-
tional process than taking pictures
on my phone. Instagram, Snapchat,
TikTok and other popular camera-
based apps have rendered taking
pictures on my phone a thoughtless
process. It’s so easy for me to use my
camera any time of the day to check
my appearance or take a picture of
a flier for an event I saw on the Diag
(that I think I’ll look at later but that
will instead just take up storage on
my phone). In contrast, taking out
my film camera from the bottom of
my bag, gesturing for my friends to
scooch into the frame and adjusting
the shutter and zoom to perfectly
capture the setting is a much more
deliberate process. It could also be
that using a “real” physical camera
whose only function is to take pic-
tures adds purpose to the photo-
taking process, in contrast to my
phone which also serves as my cal-
culator, notepad and my main mode
of communication with friends
and family. Taking film pictures
requires an acknowledgment of the
beauty of the moment, an apprecia-
tion of the candidness of everyday
life and the decision to capture an
image to add to your growing roll.
Two summers ago, I developed
my first film roll. I had just finished
using a disposable camera after
deciding to join the recent revival
of film photography that had been
circulating the internet for almost
a year. I developed pictures of the
sunset from my last day of high
school, trips to the lake with my
best friends, my sister’s visits home
and even moments when I was just
by myself and felt like using my
camera. I was reminded of count-
less memories that I hadn’t even
remembered making, like when
I started to go on picnics almost
every week, my budding painting
hobby and a questionable amount of
boba runs. As I flipped through the
remaining pictures, I felt a grow-
ing excitement, as I was unsure of
what other forgotten moments I
had collected. At the same time,
though, I wondered how I could be
living the same life as the one I saw
on the roll, because I didn’t see the
beauty in these moments until they
had passed. It’s easy to think that
your life is mundane and boring if
it doesn’t meet the unrealistic stan-
dards we see on social media. I find
myself looking through pictures
from the influencers I follow, won-
dering how they manage to balance
their work, social life and “making
Instagram casual,” all while look-
ing put together. My film pictures
gave me a new perspective on this,
as they presented memories that
seemed casual in fleeting time but
were incredibly meaningful to me
as I looked back on them. Unlike
my phone, my film camera took
away my ability to see my pictures
instantly after I had taken them.
At first, I was impatient and rest-
less at losing control of how the
photos turned out, but the devel-
opment process gave me time to
continue living my life and absorb
experiences with more awareness.
When I got my roll developed, I
was able to revisit these moments
with a different mindset — I wasn’t
worried or bothered about how I
looked or how the background was
captured anymore; all I cared for
were the memories and the story
that accompanied each picture. I
was able to see that my picnic trips
were my way of relaxing in nature,
my painting hobby was a form of
meditation for me and my countless
boba runs became my favorite way
to catch up with hometown friends
and try new drinks.
After my first experience
with a film camera, I kept up
with my hobby and I looked
forward to collecting more
souvenirs. I stopped waiting
for moments that were “good
enough” to make my roll, and
just took pictures of whatever
I liked. Moments spent alone,
such as reading outside, waiting
for the sunset or redecorating
my room, became more sig-
nificant. I used to be incredibly
uncomfortable with the idea of
being alone and spending time
with myself because it made
me feel like I was missing out
on what was happening around
me, and I quite frankly didn’t
know what to do with myself.
I attribute a great deal of these
feelings to social media and
the pressure it casts on people
to constantly indulge in every-
body’s business but their own.
There seems to always be a cat-
egory to box people in based
on their social media presence,
and I hate the looming stress of
having to curate your feed to
somehow perfectly encompass
the person you are. I learned,
though, that our Instagram
feeds are not a reflection of who
we are, but of who we want to be.
SAHANA NANDIGAMA
MiC Columnist
Sahana Nandigama/MiC
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