What’s Wrong With Me? And Other Orgasmic Tales
January 9, 2012, by Carine Fabius
Due to technical difficulties, this has been re-posted (RSS readers will be getting this twice).
Carine explores the pursuit of big business and the big O
Do you know that you are sick if you don’t have vaginal orgasms? If your libido is kind of low, you have an illness? If you are not instantly lubricated when your partner suggests lovemaking, you are diseased? And did you know that not climaxing when you engage in sexual activity means something is wrong with you?
Listen up. Your debilitating ailment has a name: Female Sexual Dysfunction, or FSD. Don’t you feel better knowing what’s wrong with you? Now you can go to reputable sites like Mayo Clinic or Web MD or AAPF (a peer-reviewed medical journal of the American Academy of Family Physicians) and read all about it. That’s the good news. The bad news is that, unfortunately, not even one of those smarty-pants scientists out there has been able to come up with the Holy Grail otherwise known as female Viagra. Ain’t life a bitch sometimes? Does God hate women or what?
I had never heard of the term FSD until I stumbled upon an eye-opening 2009 documentary called Orgasm Inc. It tracks filmmaker Liz Canner’s own stumble upon the pharmaceutical industry’s dogged pursuit of ways to make perfectly healthy women feel abnormal in order to sell them the medication that will make them “right” again. It follows that in order to sell a new prescription drug and new medical procedures, Big Pharma first had to come up with a problem, which needed curing. Hence the term FSD was born. And even though they continue to con women into trying new drugs, and an entirely new industry has sprung up around the issue (along with a veritable cornucopia of methods to sell the message—including trade shows, TV ads, self-help books and more) it turns out that (surprise!) there is nothing wrong with women. Data from multiple respected doctors and sources indicate that 50-60% of women don’t climax through vaginal intercourse, and that most women achieve orgasm only through clitoral stimulation. I guess there’s just no getting around that persistent urban legend that men and women are built differently!
It’s not like I never dreamed Big Pharma would go so far as to invent a disease in order to make money from women who are told every day in myriad ways that they are not perfect and MUST be perfect. It’s just that this excellent documentary exposes the full-of-shitness factor so handily that, warning! it may induce nausea; but in the process, it might remind you that no, you don’t need labiaplasty—plastic surgery for reducing the labia minora in otherwise fine women who are made to feel everyone is supposed to look identical (to those of you who really do need that surgery, by all means…). I once had a gynecologist who was big into labiaplasty tell me that she considered taking a booth at the LA Erotica trade show because, “We’re doing these ‘designer vaginas’ now…” I swear she used that phrasing, which is when I started looking for a new ObGyn; meanwhile, the term “designer vagina” has become the accepted and flirty way to describe the surgery during a sales pitch. Can somebody just shoot me now?
And you know how it’s become all the rage to wax off every last pubic hair you ever had in an effort to, I dunno, look like an 8-year-old? A porn star? Well, maybe you should ask yourself why your partner digs that look so much, or why you suddenly need to be bare, bare, bare! I suspect someone in the waxing industry got high one night, came up with the idea, and then figured out how to turn it into a trend. I recently saw a woman in her thirties wearing a cropped top with jeans riding so low on her hips that I wanted to say, “Okay, I get it! You have no pubic hair!” I found that in-your-face sexuality as vulgar as all the ass-cracks you see blaring out from guys’ super baggy jeans. Listen up, ladies and gentlemen, showing the entire world what’s just below your belt and in between your legs is too much information. Repeat after me: I am not sick. I am beautiful just the way I am. Now, excuse me, I have to go to Brazil to yell at them for inventing the Brazilian Wax, those snatch-hugging hip-hugger jeans with the world’s tiniest zippers, and for beating out Beverly Hills in the incidence of cosmetic surgery (mostly done to pad their booties not breasts!). Come on girls, how caliente can you get without going up in flames?