(sex)uality : the stupidity of sex advice

I was reading an issue of Cosmo the other night (I know, I have only myself to blame), and I couldn’t help but feel bemused by some of the “advice” that was being dispensed, especially in regards to sex.

Putting aside the ridiculous tips on how to excite your (always hetero-normative) partner, which included such gems as having sex on a washing machine and using honey as an aid during oral, one article in particular bothered me. It was about the appropriate etiquette that a lady should adhere to following a one night stand. The writer seemed to presume that the end game of casual sex, as with all things, is to bag a husband, and she dispensed her advice accordingly.

The basic gist of the piece was to be cool, collected, friendly, but not too friendly, and above all – attractive. One tip was to brush your teeth before trying to engage in any more nookie, because it’s ‘just polite’ (Cosmopolitan, September 2012).

I disagree.

Not only do I not think that casual sex is a tool to be used in the marriage stakes, but I’m sick of women being told that we’re too smelly, and ugly, and generally gross in the morning to get laid. That we can’t face the day without make-up and tweezers, and three different kinds of shower gel.

Don’t get me wrong – I do brush my teeth every morning. But I’m hardly likely to ruin the moment by dashing out of the bedroom and engaging in a 15 minute routine in front of the mirror before getting down to it.

And I’m yet to be rejected for morning sex. NO ONE will be rejected at the prospect of morning sex. This is a fact.

The problem with sex advice in the vein of Cosmo articles is that they create a culture of rules and rigidity around sex that doesn’t actually exist in the real world. There are no hard and fast rules when it comes to sex, especially casual sex.

I’ll tell you something groundbreaking : you are the mistress or master of your own desire. There is no “right” way to do sex, other than “with consent”.

As a teenager, I remember being terrified of sex. No one talked about it properly, my parents would never bring it up, and my public school was even too cheap to spring for condoms and bananas to practice with.

One thing I remain grateful of to this day is that I never read women’s magazines in those years – if I was scared at the lack of information available, I can only assume I’d be petrified with the kind of information Cosmo and Cleo offer.

Not only do a lot of the sex tips make no sense (one of the most bemusing I’ve read so far is to ‘let him watch you blow-dry your hair naked’ as foreplay – I look like a yeti while blow-drying my hair, and I doubt being naked would improve the situation), but they create this everlasting feeling of “not doing it right”.

Every time you read another bit of advice that claims you should be doing this or that, with all the authority of someone who has zero evidence, you feel like you’re even less knowledgeable about sex, far too vanilla, or maybe too adventurous. Whatever it is, you’re never quite right.

The only kind of sex advice that can be of any use, in my opinion, is that which arises out of a genuine conversation with a good friend, or with your partner. Advice that will have some proper bearing on your life, and that occurs within the context of your experience.

Oh, except for ‘wear a condom’ – that advice is pretty hard to pass by.

By Zoya Patel

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