You would have thought that rising levels of sexually transmitted infections (STIs) would convince us of the need for good sex advice — someone who can help us negotiate and enjoy safer sex, cope with relationships, and debunk the many myths about sex. Sex education shouldn’t begin and end at school, and STIs are not just for teenagers.
Qualified sex advisers do exist, but as an adult you are much more likely to hear from the less-qualified ”sexpert” — a media creation usually presented as a schoolteacher, seductress, pseudo-scientist, or combination of all three. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with any of the above — you can be sexy and give good advice — but many sex advisers just aren’t up to the job.
British men’s magazine Zoo recently launched a sex supplement with glamour model ”Dr” Jodie Marsh at the helm. ”No seven years at medical college for our resident sexpert,” read the introduction. ”Jodie got her expertise burning the midnight oil at the University of Dirty Sex.”
Marsh concurred: ”I haven’t exactly got a degree in psychology, but I just love sex, don’t I?”
To me, this is like someone announcing, ”I’m a lawyer! I don’t have any legal qualifications, but I never miss an episode of Judge [Judy]!”
I’m a psychologist who specialises in sex research. I have a PhD in pornography (yes, a real degree), in which I evaluated sex studies on explicit materials. Over the past 13 years, I’ve carried out research on sexual functioning, and on street prostitution. I train health professionals, and provide sex information through two advice columns and a radio phone-in. But I avoid using the title ”sexpert”: it lumps me in with everyone else, qualified or not, and I want people to trust me. Nor can we dismiss Marsh’s column as a predictable lad’s-mag stunt; women’s magazines and self-help publishing are just as rife with underqualified sexperts.
Right now, we desperately need access to good advice about sex and sexual health. Apart from the increases in STIs and teenage pregnancy, we are facing a global HIV/Aids pandemic. Levels of sexual dissatisfaction are high, expectations are unrealistic, and pharmaceutical companies are exploiting our anxieties about sexual functioning. Too often, sex advisers or columnists will assume that people over 25 aren’t at risk from STIs (they are) and are in monogamous relationships; condoms and safer sex just don’t come up.
What do come up, again and again, are the same tired myths about sex and sexuality (foreplay and penetrative sex are two separate entities; a clitoris is a smaller version of a penis; a woman innately knows how to turn another woman on; and so on). They get repeated because they sound credible (though they aren’t), and because many consumer magazines cannibalise features from one another.
Women tend to contact me with questions about body image and self-confidence; they worry about getting or keeping a partner; they worry that if they’re not ”good in bed” they will be rejected.
Guys are concerned about penis size, shape, length, ejaculation, and how long they ought to last. Both genders, gay or straight, worry about having arguments, and what to do if you go off sex, particularly in a long-term relationship.
A good sex expert can answer these questions, and hopefully make people feel more sexually confident. But a lot of sexperts don’t. Instead, they reinforce the idea that women should use sex to keep a partner interested, or that sex for women is more about pleasing someone else than pleasing themselves. The emotional and communicative aspects are sidelined. Men come under pressure to last for as long as humanly possible — which actually increases their chance of having sexual problems.
There are countless examples of the wrong advice being given. Women go off sex because they’re tired, because they have relationship problems, a new baby, or because they have never learned what works for them. But instead of being given advice that might help solve these issues, they get referred to a testosterone patch they won’t need and that hasn’t yet been invented.
Sexperts are, for the most part, fairly conventional. On the occasions when I have tried to provide alternative information that breaks this mould, it has caused problems.
Many men find it difficult to keep an erection with a condom on and so go without, putting their partners at risk from disease. But when I suggested to a men’s magazine editor that one solution was to masturbate with a condom on, he nearly fell out of his chair and told me this was ”far too rude”.
What can we expect from an expert in sex? Pretty much what we’d demand from anyone claiming expertise in any other area of health. They should have professional or extensive personal experience in the world of sex, a link to a professional body, and they should network with colleagues.
They don’t need to be academics, but they do need to know their limits. We don’t call someone who claims to know something about the heart a ”cardiologist” — so why accept second-best about sex? — Â