Earlier this week, like nearly everyone else, I was reading one of the many salacious articles written about the Call Her Daddy saga and it got me thinking about some of the fundamental tenets of what the podcast touched on that I always found so fascinating.
Feminism. Sexual freedom. The ability and enjoyment in hooking up with whoever, whenever, while "keeping it casual." Women wearing the proverbial pants.
As a woman in her 30s, I've gone through waves of this a few different times. I totally get it.
When I first moved to LA, I was a 20 something kid in a candy store. Every man I saw (aesthetically) was an 8 and above. Mostly above. It is a town filled with Ken dolls of every color. These wannabe actors, models, and musicians all had abs, perfect skin, a perfect smile, and a swagger that only 365 days of 72 and sunny can give you.
God damn. My head was spinning.
For some reason, (maybe because they could smell that I was new to town) these ridiculously hot men were interested in me. That was a pretty new feeling. Given that I grew up as an athlete and as a tomboy, without many suitors, my ego craved that "hot boy" attention. On top of all that, I was recently single and couldn't emotionally handle anything that might lead to a real relationship. I WANTED shallow and fun. I had never sowed my wild oats, especially with men that looked like this... so I thought "fuck it"--if men could sleep around relentlessly and recklessly, so would I.
Oh, baby, and you better believe I did.
I punched well above my weight class. Like way, way above.
That first year I was there was absurd. In one 48 hour span I happened to sleep with 4 (or maybe 5?) different guys.
Let me tell you, while it was hot-ish, after a while it got old.
Did I feel ho-ish or slutty? No. Not at all.
But did I REALLY enjoy the sex? Not exactly.
Every one of us is built differently, like complex machines. The truth is, biologically, women are kind of like a Rubik's cube -- very hard to figure out without an on-line tutorial. Because of that, the chances of a random stranger knowing how to properly push our buttons is pretty low. And that is what makes having good sex the first time around a total crapshoot.
I realized the only satisfied party in this experiment was my ego.
Did I stop? Not at first. The feeling of having beautiful men in your DMs, texts and generally wrapped around your finger because you truly don't want anything approaching commitment is a fucking drug. The ego feeds on it.
The one good thing it did was give me a different swagger. No matter how many people throw shade at my crooked smile, how I dress, what I look like, that period of time helped me tap into my feminine, sexual energy that showed me that I've got it like that.
So in some ways, it was valuable, but only to a point. Because proving something to yourself over and over again gets old after a while.
No matter how good that felt, it was like having too much dessert. A kind of ephemeral pleasure that isn't filling, it just makes you only want more.
At the end of the day, I wanted to be seen, valued and cared for. Even if I didn't want all of the pressures of a serious, monogamous (if that's even possible for me) relationship, I did want someone (other than my family and close friends) to be able to call when I had a win at work or a hard day. I wanted someone who could understand what I was thinking just by the look on my face and vice versa.
Even if that wasn't enough of a reason, what I really wanted was BETTER sex.
Let's be honest, for women, good sex doesn't normally happen until at least 5 times in. No matter how much chemistry there is, there will always be a tension and pressure early on that limits the ceiling of that experience. Being comfortable enough to let your guard down, relax, say what you like and what you don't, and finding out what they like, is integral for great sex. That takes trust. And trust isn't built over five Red Bull Vodkas and yelling at each other over the Chainsmokers at Soho House.
Thus, these shallow, one night stands with very hot and not very deep men were never going to be satisfying past a certain point.
So, while I LOVE the premise of young women taking control of their sexuality and exploring their wild side, I think most of us reach a point where, even if we don't want more commitment, we do want better sex.
I think all women, if they so desire, should explore this wild side of themselves just as much as men do, but given our complicated nature, it usually reaches a point where what we want -- what we deserve -- isn't going to be found in a stranger.
Because we all deserve great sex, and that can only happen after you solve the Rubik's cube.