Wednesday Martin's Blog

As the holiday season descends upon us all, let’s tackle something UNTRUE about female sexuality that’s especially timely. It’s the myth of the hymen, that overdetermined bit of membrane that earned the Virgin Mary her moniker.

The hymen is having a moment right now, and not just because of the immaculate conception. Rapper T.I. recently said that he escorts his teenage daughter to the gynecologist every year for a “hymen check” so he can rest assured she’s still a “virgin.” T.I.’s move and talking about it prompted wide outrage. Let’s state the obvious: It’s wrong to coerce a young woman into a medical appointment and then preside over it as if her body and sexual inexperience are yours to jealousy “protect” and preserve. And then to broadcast her private details to the world on a podcast? Ew. And to normalize this grotesquely controlling behavior as “a dad being a good dad” or a “natural thing to do”? Stop it. It’s only “natural” in a fu*ked up ecology where women are only valuable as “unused” possessions of men i.e. where we don’t value girls and women at all.

But T.I. and the many people who support him aren’t just tools of the patriarchy—they are idiots. Because the hymen is no proof of “virginity,” a word we need to purge from our vocabulaires (I’ll be writing about that for Elle Italia soon, stay tuned). Despite the fact that many cultures have treated the tissue like a “seal” on a girl’s chastity, there is no scientific or medical validity to this belief. Indeed, as Dr. Jen Gunter has noted, half of sexually active teens have intact hymens. And on the flipside, hymens can be disrupted by activity as unsexual as riding a bicycle or dancing or doing gymnastics. Or whatever. The hymen is a collection of cells that, at a child’s birth, form a rigid barrier to keep urine and feces out of the vagina; as the child grows older, it tears or flexes into new shapes.

So consider the Virgin Mary, (herself a teen!). Regardless of your beliefs, science tells us that her hymen meant nothing, if she even had one. FFS, happy holidays, let’s recommit to kicking these types of patriarchal tropes and behaviors that damage men and women and boys and girls alike to the curb in the New Year.

You probably don’t know that in September 1968, there was a riot in Manhattan’s Financial District. Streets were shut down, parked cars were damaged when men scrambled atop them, the police were called in, and activity on the trading floor all but halted. An article about the chaos in New York Magazine noted that “Ticker tapes went untended and dignified brokers ran amok." So what caused Wall Street to turn into such a zoo? A 5’3” clerical worker just shy of her 21st birthday. 

Francine Gottfried lived in Williamsburg, Brooklyn with her parents, and worked at the downtown data processing center for the Chemical Bank New York Trust Company. But what history remembers is her measurements. At 43-25-37 (according to the same piece in New York Magazine), Gottfried literally embodied the voluptuous ideal of the day, and men working downtown took notice. What started as a small group of catcallers leering at Gottfried early in the summer ballooned exponentially until the oglers were numbering in the thousands. By September 19th, an estimated 5,000 men swarmed the street surrounding subway station from which they knew Gottfried would emerge on her commute to work. Still others leaned out of their high-rise office windows to catch a glimpse of her notorious bust. On September 20th, it’s said there were ten-thousand people, including press, packed into the narrow streets. But it was for naught: In hopes of putting an end to the pandemonium, Gottfried’s boss had instructed her to not come into work.

For her part, Gottfried was baffled. "These people in Wall Street have responsibility for millions of dollars and they act like they're out of their mind," she told reporters. "What are they doing this for? I'm just an ordinary girl."

Happily, feminists responded to the treatment of Gottfried. Two years after the mayhem, feminist lesbian artist Karla Jay organized the “Wall Street Ogle-In.” She and dozens of other women took to the streets, wolf-whistling and catcalling the businessmen who crossed their paths. Remembering the stunt in her memoir, journalist Susan Brownmiller wrote,

“Wendy Roberts, a free-spirited hippie who called herself Wendy Wonderful, was my heroine that day. She sauntered up behind an unwitting passerby and grabbed his crotch. Oh retribution!”

Sounds like tit for tat—or perhaps more accurately, tat for tits. 

Judith Krantz, the prolific author and novelist whose salacious stories of sex and excess defined the 1980s, died on June 22, 2019. She was 91 years old. Scorned by “serious” writers and readers for her books that were widely considered Harlequin-esque pablum, she was also partly responsible for mainstreaming one of the crucial messages of second-wave feminism: that female sexuality, desire, and satisfaction matter. 

Sure, her charactes are heteronormative and her writing today appears hopelessly male-gaze-y. (From Mistral’s Daughter: “She offered herself to him on every level with simple generosity, as if she were a field filled with tall, blowing flowers, that grew only to be gathered at his pleasure…”) But she could write the hell out of a sex scene. Take, for instance, this lurid fantasy from her debut novel, Scruples: 

“After that first time he used every art he knew to bring her to an orgasm, as if that might be the key that would unlock the door between them. Sometimes she achieved a fleeting little spasm, but he never knew that it came from her one recurring sexual fantasy. In her mind she was being made love to by an anonymous lover, lying on a low bed surrounded by a ring of men who were watching her avidly, men with unzipped pants, whose cocks got harder and bigger as they watched her lover work on her, men who concentrated completely on her reactions as she was being fondled.” 

And like Nancy Friday, Jackie Collins, and sex researcher June Dobbs Butts, Judith Krantz brought sexuality out of the closet. Her particular gift was to contort the conventions of the romance novel, updating it for the era of oversized shoulder pads and Pat Benatar, 

Though she would come to write nearly a dozen novels, many of which would hit #1 on the New York Times bestseller list, selling more than 85 million copies in more than 50 languages in total, Krantz didn’t write a word of fiction until she was 50 years old. Her career before that was the perfect CV for a future chronicler of the ridiculously luxurious lives of the wealthy and libertine upper classes: After a brief stint as a fashion publicist in Paris, Krantz wrote for outlets like Ladies Home Journal, Good Housekeeping, and Cosmo, where she published perhaps her most well-known article, “The Myth of the Multiple Orgasm” in 1972. In this piece, Krantz used science to break down the difference between multiple orgasms and sequential serial orgasms, in order to assure the reader that she can “be a truly sensuous woman, even if you only reach one climax each time you make love.”

Leveraging off her life among the well-heeled and moneyed, her novels—whose characters attended Givenchy and Yves Saint Laurent shows (Scruples), spent time on yachts, or might be titled nobility living on the DL in New York (Princess Daisy)—were meticulously and rigorously researched. Ever the journalist, Kratnz amassed binders upon binders of information before she began writing, though she told the LA Times she only used about 1% of the information she’d collected. From elsewhere in that profile: “When Red Appleton, a 40ish-but-still-beautiful fashion model, goes to Louis Vuitton at South Coast Plaza to check out an 18-karat-gold Gae Aulenti fountain pen for Mike Kilkullen, her 60ish-but-still-virile fiance, Krantz herself has visited the place and priced the thing.” (Dazzle.) Unsurprisingly, several of her novels were made into TV films, produced by her husband, Steve Krantz (who famously produced the 1972 X-rated cartoon, Fritz the Cat). 

Krantz’s career is one defined by embracing what highbrow literature was determined to demean; indeed, she was so aware that her novels defined the “sex and shopping” genre, she would use that title for her 2000 memoir. Her novels were intended to give women a delicious taste of a particular kind of escapist decadence that might help them feel entitled to better sex and more of it. About her first novel, Scruples, Krantz told the New York Times, “My novel gives women a big bubble bath. It’s a chocolate eclair. It’s the kind of novel people love. I loved it myself.” Ingeniously fusing the genres of the “one-handed read” and the fashion magazine, she is a founding mother of today’ pleasure revolution and “sex positivity” movement. Next time you feel entitled to get yours and turn on your vibrator, or even post a thirst trap on Instagram, thank Krantz.

Believe it or not, it’s June! Besides meaning 2019 is halfway over already, it’s also the month that heralds summer and the longest day of the year: the summer solstice, aka Midsummer. Midsummer, (which happens tomorrow night), is the official start of the harvest season in the northern hemisphere, and as such many cultures celebrate fertility and fecundity on the longest day of the year. For humans, this means one thing: Sex.

To many of us, “Midsummer” calls to mind the image of a bunch of Swedes dancing around a Maypole. (Is it just me, or does a Maypole kinda look like an enormous phallus?) The Nordic celebration of the solstice, known as Midsommar, also involves heavy drinking. When you combine drinking and dancing, what do you get? Well, Swedish ethnologist Jan-Öjvind Swahn puts it this way: "A lot of children are born nine months after Midsummer in Sweden.” In keeping with the romantic themes buzzing about Scandinavia at the end of June, traditionally, unmarried girls traditionally eat the saltiest fish they can find (or simply collect flowers) so as to dream of the faces of their future mates.

A bit farther west, at the landmark for pagan celebrations, Stonehenge, thousands of people gather to celebrate the summer solstice. For Druids, the longest day of the year represents the union of the sun god, Lugh, and the earth goddess, Danu. (For the other thousands who show up, it represents a raging party a la Burning Man.) Almost all Druid celebrations involve fertility, but the night the sun and the earth get it on? That’s a big deal.

Elsewhere in Scotland and the UK, Christendom coopted all pagan holidays, turning the summer solstice into the Feast of St. John. Though the Christians tried to turn the longest day of the year into an excuse to pray for 24 hours (sexy!), Sir Walter Scott felt the sensual vibes and wrote The Eve of Saint John, a ballad about the Lady of Smailholm, who is visited by her secret lover every night while her husband is at battle. Upon his return, she learns he killed her lover on the first night, and each night since she’d been making love to a ghost.

St. John’s Day is also what they call the solstice celebration in Greece these days, but the Greeks have managed to maintain some of their pagan traditions. Like the unmarried Swedish girls, young Greek maids are thought to be able to dream of their future beaux by placing a special personal item in a pot under a fig tree overnight. They then dig up the now-magical items while their friends recite erotic couplets about the owner’s future love life. After all this sexual tension buildup, the girls join the unmarried boys and they all jump over bonfires. Naturally.

Rounding out this tour of Midsummer in Europe, the Slavic people also jump over fires as part of Kupala Night or Ivan-Kupala Night. Young couples who are able to continue holding hands when they traverse the flames are destined to be together forever. Those who don’t have sweethearts come Kupala Night gather around the river where girls send wreaths of flowers downstream where boys are eagerly awaiting them—capturing a girl’s flowers is one step closer to capturing her flower.

Closer to home, in the States, we celebrate Juneteenth. No, this holiday isn’t tied to the solstice, or to bonfires, or to sex. But it does celebrate bodily autonomy in a much more tangible way. Juneteeth—the 19th of June—is a commemoration of the emancipation of the slaves in the United States (specifically, the announcement of the abolition of slavery in Texas, which was slow to carry out the Emancipation Proclamation). These days, Juneteenth is a celebration of Black pride. Black Americans celebrate with readings of the Emancipation Proclamation and from black writers like Maya Angelou, and with parades, barbecues, rodeoes, and beauty-slash-scholarship pageants. Juneteenth can be seen as a marker of the longest day of the year, after a long, dark night in America’s history.

Wherever you are and whatever you celebrate, I hope you have an amazing summer!

Earlier this month, I went to the Society for Sex Therapy and Research (SSTAR) conference in Toronto to learn about the newest developments in the science of sex—with a focus on female sexual pleasure. Over four days, professionals attend this annual get together to present their findings and stay on the cutting edge of sex research. The theme of this year’s conference was “Complexities of Connection in Sex and Relationships: From Technology to Touch.” I wrote about my weekend of learning for Refinery29—but the thing about writing for a publication is that sometimes your favorite moments from a piece are cut for length. So consider this the director’s cut!

The conversations I had with sexologist Frenchie Davis set the conference and the discipline of sex research in context. Davis was not at SSTAR as she’d just presented on HIV in 2019 at the National Sex Ed Conference and presented at Ujima for National Sexual Violence Awareness Month, but she had much to say on the specific work of black female sex researchers, whom she describes as “unicorns in our field.” “Because black bodies have been objectified and used as science projects, this field has only begun to change the scope of its inclusion,” she told me, noting that she she feels hopeful because she has seen accountability panels increase the number of researchers of color at professional meetings and conferences across the country. She added, “Black sexuality is comprised of components that will not only teach us about the essence of black sexuality but all sexualities. Make space for women of color and your work will no longer read as black and white.” I see Frenchie Davis as walking the path also walked by trailblazing sex researcher June Dobbs Butts.

Writer Deesha Philyaw (who writes about sex for The Rumpus, MacSweeney’s, and more) pointed out  in an email that Black women face the burden of centuries’ old stereotypes that they are sexually insatiable, lascivious, and promiscuous. These misrepresentations were used to justify the rape of enslaved women generations ago, but the caricature didn’t disappear with the Emancipation Proclamation. “How do we prioritize our pleasure in a culture that for centuries didn’t even consider us human?” Philyaw asks. It’s a question that she asks—implicitly and explicitly—in her works of fiction on non-fiction. She writes about women who seek their pleasure in ways that might surprise and also inspire us: proper church ladies who sleep with other women, mothers who are married but want more, daughters who lust without a roadmap. Through it all, Philyaw pushes back against the cultural narrative that Black women are somehow broken.

Meanwhile, Dayna Troisi, a writer, editor, and self-described “queer bionic babe with a black prosthetic arm,” told me that people with disabilities often get left out of conversations about sex entirely. She calls for us to make pleasure “accessible to all” and would have enjoyed Marina Gerard M.A.’s incredible presentation on helping women find sexual pleasure after spinal cord injury. Taking the time to do a genital sensitivity assessment in an office setting and educating injured women about female genital anatomy, she and her colleagues found, helps them move beyond their initial perception “I don’t feel a thing down there,” and may contribute to greater frequency and quality of their orgasms, or intensify other sensations of sexual pleasure.

Markie Twist, Ph.D., who helped coin the term “digisexual,” believes technology can help not only people with disabilities but all of us—especially women—get our pleasure on. Women are already the main consumers of sex toys, she said. And immersive technologies like sex robots and augmented and virtual reality could help us get the variety, novelty, and adventure newer research shows we probably need more than men do. Moreover, these technologies can help us avoid sexual assault, unwanted pregnancy, and STIs.

A theme you may be noticing here is that female researchers feel your pain—sometimes literally. Lori Brotto, Ph.D.’s work focuses on how mindfulness can help women struggling with Vestibulodynia (pain in the vulva area) as well as the more specific dyspareunia (painful intercourse). At SSTAR, she discussed everything from communication patterns between women with Vestibulodynia and their partners to dyspareunia during pregnancy. Dramatizing how research on female sexuality benefits everyone, Natalie Stratton M.A. presented her study on men who experience painful intercourse with other men, and how we can use current research on the condition in women to develop courses of treatment.

Speaking of men: Stop saying they’re always in the mood! Sarah Hunter Murray, Ph.D. presented on the experiences of heterosexual men who say no to sex and how the toxic myth of the Ever-Ready Dude damages men’s sexual health—and women’s. (She has a book out on this important research.)

Finally, Kristen Mark, Ph.D., who presented on how women find pleasure in sex after experiencing sexual trauma like abuse or assault, told me she was amazed by the resiliency of her study participants. “They thrived in part by finding a community where they could disclose their trauma and feel supported. These women have also been challenged to really think about and re-conceptualize sexual pleasure in a way that many of us haven’t.” The lesson for all of us, Mark suggests, is that “It may be helpful for everyone to take some time to think about what sexual pleasure means for them. Ask yourself the question, what exactly IS sexual pleasure?”

For Refinery29, I wrote about how both popular culture and popular science are catching up to the idea that female sexual pleasure isn't just the icing on the cake—it's the cake. Check it out here. 

June Dobbs Butts, a pioneer of sex research, died this week. She was nearly 91 years old.

I first encountered Dobbs Butts while I was researching UNTRUE, a book about female sexuality, and I was shocked I’d never heard of her before. Her research was every bit as important as that of Masters and Johnson and Alfred Kinsey—she was perhaps the first sex researcher to specifically investigate the sexual experiences of Black Americans, and was also a pioneer in crossing sex research into the mainstream. She also quickly became a hero of mine for her unapologetically female perspectives on the study of sex.

June Dobbs was born in Atlanta, one of six daughters of the city’s highly respected black political influencer, John Wesley Dobbs (eventually, she would become the aunt to Maynard Jackson, Atlanta’s first black mayor.) June Dobbs and her sisters were all exceptionally bright and accomplished—all attended Spelman College and most pursued graduate degrees—but their father never let them forget that they were girls. In an interview, Dobbs Butts said that she knew that boys were “more important” than girls when her nephew was born. Despite having barely registered the birth of his three granddaughters, John Wesley Dobbs packed up the whole family to caravan in three cars to Texas to meet the infant boy in a kind of pilgrimage. “I was 10 years old,” Butts said, “And Daddy’s gift was a pocket watch. Twenty-one-jewel Hamilton watch. I was jealous. And I said, ‘Why are you giving a baby a watch? It’s a pocket watch, he’s in diapers. Why are you doing this, Dad?’ And so he said, ‘Well, because time is important, and he must know that.’ No one ever told me time was important, I’m looking at my Mickey Mouse watch, I felt like a fool, and I said, ‘Well, I guess girls are not that important.’”

In defiance of this “lesson,” June Dobbs devoted herself to school...and eventually the controversial choice of training in sex therapy and counseling. She earned her EdD in family life education from Columbia in 1969—after fifteen years of marriage and childrearing. Shortly thereafter she and her husband, an MD whom she has decribed as disapproving of her interest in sex education, divorced. She once said she believed that, like many men, “he seemed to feel that when I got my degree I’d just hang it on the wall” rather than put that education into practice by writing about sex. Um, no.

Dobbs Butts taught at Fisk University, Tennessee State University, and at Howard University’s School of Medicine Later, she served as visiting scientist at the CDC.

Dobbs Butts was the first black person to be trained at Masters and Johnson Institute, after having met Virginia Johnson while serving on the board of Planned Parenthood. She brought her particular experience to the study of sex research and therapy by synthesizing the cultural phenomena of the time: the Civil RIghts, Black Power, and the women’s rights movements. A childhood friend of Martin Luther King, Jr., Butts tackled the history of marginalization and  fetishization of black men and women by mainstream America by educating them about sexual health. She wrote for popular black publications like Ebony—where she penned their first feature on sexuality, “Sex Education: Who Needs It”— and Jet and Essence.

This work caused her to constantly confront respectability politics. In a time when black Americans were just starting to make headway in being considered upright members of society, many wanted Butts to pipe down about something as distasteful as sex. In an interview, Butts recounted that "When I first wrote [the recurring Essence column, “Sexual Health”], I sent a copy to one of my sisters. I didn't hear anything. Finally, I asked her what she thought. You know what she said? 'Well, to tell you the truth, June, it turned my stomach. I didn't think black women would write about things like that.'" Her daughter, too, was embarrassed by her mother’s “salacious” academic focus, insisting she not lecture at schools she was attending despite invitations to do so.

But Butts pressed on. In addition to writing and counseling couples in private practice, in the 80s, Butts held the position of assistant professor of psychiatry at Howard University, where she researched the formation of concepts of sexuality in pre-adolescent black children.

June Dobbs Butts is a hidden figure of sex research the way Katherine Johnson was in astronautics. You may not know her name, but we owe this trailblazer a debt of gratitude for her efforts to normalize female sexuality, and especially black female sexuality. She brought sex research and sex education in the mainstream, directly to the Black couples she believed needed the information, by writing for popular publications. You might honor her memory by telling a friend about her contributions to your healthy sex life—or by giving a baby girl a pocket watch.

Why study female sexuality in a moment when so many people feel that they are “non-binary”? The short answer is because of the long history of diminishing, dismissing, misrepresenting, and even weaponizing women’s sexuality.

In 1918, Nina McCall, then a teenage girl, was confronted on the sidewalk by her town’s sheriff and ordered to immediately submit to a medical examination. Nina had never undergone a gynecological exam before, (and as such, this experience left her traumatized and bleeding), nor had she had any sexual contact with a man. So when the medical officer told her she had gonorrhea, she understandably protested. The doctor “turned on her and thundered, with all the authority of his position and his gender, ‘Young lady, do you mean to call me a liar?’” Nina was ultimately remanded to a detention hospital.

During World War II, the government commissioned artists to make propaganda posters comparing “loose” women to loaded guns:

These are two examples of the “American Plan,” a “social hygiene” campaign ostensibly devised to protect the nation from sexually transmitted infections. As a result of the Plan, tens or perhaps hundreds of thousands of allegedly "promiscuous" American women were quarantined, detained, and forced to undergo gynecological exams—that is, sexually assaulted. (If you’re interested in learning more about the American Plan, check out THE TRIALS OF NINA McCALL Sex, Surveillance, and the Decades- Long Government Plan to Imprison “Promiscuous” Women by Scott W. Stern, or his article in Time.) Epidemiologists participated in creating this “public education campaign.” It’s commonly known that women are more susceptible to infection than men—Dr. Debby Herbenick says, “In terms of anatomy, vaginas leave women more exposed and vulnerable to sexually transmitted infections than male anatomy, since the penis is covered with skin which serves as a good barrier for several STIs.” So why would epidemiologists figure “loose” women as vectors of transmission and infection? They were creating a pretext to show men and women alike that female sexuality, untethered from male control, is dangerous and morally corrosive. It is literally a "national disease."

But that was in the early 20th Century, surely we’re more enlightened than that now, right? Wrong. A psychiatrist recently told me about a harrowing experience a female patient of hers had in an emergency room—in 2019. The patient sometimes experienced acute and debilitating anxiety; during one such episode, she called her psychiatrist who suggested they meet at the local hospital emergency room. The patient showed up early. By the time the psychiatrist arrived, her patient had been diagnosed as manic depressive by the ER’s attending physician, an "experienced" male doctor, and she’d been given antipsychotics. When the psychiatrist protested that her patient did not have bipolar disorder and did not need medication, the attending physician said he’d taken the patient’s sexual history and upon hearing she’d had six partners in 13 months, presumed that a woman with such a “high” partner count must be in the throes on a manic episode. It couldn’t be that the woman simply enjoyed sex—no, it must be mental illness. But this kind of oppression happens at the state level, as well. Make no mistake: bills like the ones just passed in Ohio, Georgia, and Alabama to ban abortion at conception are attempts by the state to control women’s sexuality by controlling their reproductive choices.

And it’s much worse for women of color. Going back to our country’s founding, the rape of enslaved women was justified by their “inherent” sexual insatiability, their “innate” promiscuity. Fast forward to the American Plan, which hugely disproportionately victimized black women, and we see that these deep-rooted stereotypes were maintained, as the implementers of the Plan “enthusiastically warned that nonwhite women were less moral, intent on infecting soldiers and that blacks in particular were a ‘syphilis soaked race.’”

In more recent history, scholars like bell hooks, Patricia Hill Collins, and Mireille Miller Young examine how sexuality has been used to keep black women in particular contained. Young, for instance, has written extensively on the fact that within sex work like stripping or pornography, where black bodies are highly fetishized and exoticized, black workers make substantially less money under substantially worse conditions. In Young’s words, “it speaks to the ways in which there's this simultaneous problem: a deep desire to have those bodies present and to consume those bodies as commodities, but a deep disgust for black people, our humanity and our bodies, at the same time that allows that devaluing to function.”

What is it about female sexuality and sexual expression that society finds so threatening? Why did we create a culture wherein women who lust think of themselves as freaks—and supposed medical professionals diagnose them as literally mentally ill?

I study and write about female sexuality because of the long history and present moment where women have their sexuality dictated to them by men in power. And it’s time for a change.

A few months ago, I had the opportunity to write a piece for The Atlantic about how and why sexual monogamy is especially difficult on women's libidos. In it, I take a look at the science behind female sexual boredom—of which there is a lot! Check it out here.

The April showers are out and the taxes are in, which can only mean one thing: Spring is finally here. With the (moderately) warmer weather comes steamier preoccupations. After all, birds do it, bees do it… Let’s take a brief look at women and sex in TV this Spring.

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you know that Game of Thrones has once again reared its dragon head. I was surprised to learn that women actually make up a huge chunk of the show’s viewership—about 42%, to be precise. This is pretty startling given how much the show avails itself of naked women’s bodies as set dressing and plotlines involving rape. I can’t help but wonder how different the show would be if it acknowledged female pleasure—or how different it would be if there were a reasonable parity of female writers or directors.

Enter shows like Killing Eve, Fleabag, Wanderlust, and Forever.

It’s immediately obvious that Killing Eve was created by a woman and that most of the writing is done by women. Part of the success of the show is thanks to its exploration of female fascianation, a phenomenon where apparently heterosexual women are drawn to and obsessed by other women. (In the show, Sandra Oh’s Eve is both determined to stop Jodie Comer’s Villanelle, and completely infatuated with her.) Women everywhere can relate to this kind of ambivalence—are you my best friend or am I in love with you? It’s no wonder that Killing Eve’s creator, Phoebe Waller-Bridge, is also the responsible for (as in created, writes, and stars in) Fleabag, the second season of which is just out in the States. Season one was lauded for bringing to the screen an “unlikeable” woman who approaches sex completely aromantically, for better or for worse. Season two looks like it has the titular Fleabag lust after a priest. That should work out well. (There are also rumors that Waller-Bridge has been tapped to make James Bond more interesting to women. Long overdue.)

And then there’s Wanderlust, which is on Netflix. Though written by a man, it explores a particularly female phenomenon: sexual boredom. Toni Collette plays a woman who just can’t really “get it up” for her husband the way she used to, though she still loves him and wants to be with him. This is, as we have seen over and over again, a very common experience among women! Indeed, Forever is another show that looks at this issue, albeit with a more fantastical bend. Maya Rudolph’s June is ready for something new in her relationship with Fred Armisen’s Oscar. In the show, the “something new” is explicitly skiing—but implicitly? Sounds like June is curious about other men.

Women’s libidos, sexual boredom, so-called “infidelity,” varied sexual desires—this was all on my mind when I started work on UNTRUE. TV is certainly making strides, but I’m convinced of the ravenous appetite for women’s stories, and particularly their sexual stories, in pop culture and art. So I say keep ‘em coming. Here’s to hoping the next Game of Thrones-type phenomenon is helmed entirely by women. What have you been watching?

Or if TV's not your style, check out this "School of Greatness" podcast I did with Lewis Howes. We talk lust, infidelity, and all things UNTRUE!!