Hi there, nice to meet you. Are you frigid or are you a slut?
Are you just really easy? Do you just put out? Do you just sleep with everyone and anyone and anything?
Oh. You don’t? Right, so you’re frigid, then. You’re a bit arrogant, have a few too many tickets on yourself and you’re just a bit of a snob, aren’t you?
Me? I’m the snob. The arrogant one, the princess, the one with too many tickets. The frigid girl.
At 22, I still have vivid, striking memories of the twelfth year of my life. My initiation into secondary school was one fraught with schoolyard politics, social climbing, the need for a strong online presence and the desire the kiss the boys you hung out with.
New York times best selling author Peggy Orenstein speaks to Mia Freedman about what hook-up culture teaches young girls. Post continues after audio.
Except I had no inclination, or intention, or kissing the boys I hung out with. They were nice enough, good looking enough, and certainly by my 12-year-old standards, cool enough. I just simply wasn’t interested, and being able to feign interest in anything has never been a strength of mine.
And so the labels came. Namely, the “frigid” one. Of course there were the spin-offs; I was also the virgin Mary, or Mary for short, because apparently being 12 and being a virgin was totally outside the realm of comprehension. (Disclaimer: we were all virgins at 12, but somehow I was the only one worth noting because I didn’t want to have sex with them.)
I remember it not because it bothered me as such, and not because mob mentality and peer pressure made me want to change, but because the word frigid was always the strangest of insults. Even at 12, I always had this fairly steadfast belief that the word frigid said far more about the person using it than the one accused of it.