Be Sexy. Just Don't Have Sex. But Don't Wait Too Long, Or Then You're Weird.

“You can see how what they want the most is beauty. Not in a chauvinistic way, not even as something they can act on. Just instinctively, to look at and enjoy. It’s what they expect, and who they expect it from most of all is teenage girls. When you’re older, it’s all right to get heavy, but when you’re a teenager, being beautiful or at least cute is your responsibility. Say the words sixteen-year-old girl to any group of males, eleven-year-olds, fifty-year-olds, and they will leer, maybe a lot or maybe a little or maybe they’ll try not to leer. But they will be envisioning the sixteen-year-old’s smooth tan legs, her high breasts and long hair. Is expecting her beauty even their fault?”

--The Man of My Dreams

How has it that teenage pregnancy has become this big thing? Yes, teenage pregnancy was always around, and for most people it always loomed as a danger to avoid (at least in modern life). But in the past year it’s just exploded, with the idea of teen girls having sex a linchpin of the culture wars.

There has been a lot written, particularly aimed at Juno, about how “normalized” teen pregnancy is becoming, and it must be that newfound attitude that the Republicans and the media adopted when the news that Bristol Palin was pregnant hit. She and her mom were lionized for keeping the baby, and unbelievably, this story is spun as a positive thing.

I do not want to suggest that Bristol should be shamed by her pregnancy, but the hypocritical attitude towards girls and sex boggles my mind. On one hand, you have conservatives—including her mother—who want to avoid teaching teenagers anything about sex and preferring to stress waiting until marriage to do so, and on the other hand, the encouragement to think about sex constantly; it’s the national pastime.

Sex is this great chasm. Angela Chase put it best in an episode of My So-Called Life (7:30): “There's this dividing line between girls who have had sex, and girls who haven't. And all of a sudden you realize you're looking at each other across it.” She’s talking about an old friend here, one who’s suddenly grown up, on the other side of that line. Sex is adulthood, and you haven’t reached it until you cross that threshold.

Sex is the bane of young adults. Watching the VMAs brought this home: Many of the stars were under 20, and their stances on sex were Not Until Marriage. The fact that they were so public about it—and that Jordin Sparks felt compelled to defend her choice so ardently in front of millions of people when attacked by an aggressively heterosexual 35-year-old male—just made that culture line so much sharper.

Jordin Sparks’ sex life is only her business. Making a joke about how the kids are wasting their youth by choosing to not get any by any of their ardent fans might elicit a chuckle and some boos, but it’s tacky, and makes it seem like they are only in it for the booty, not because, y’know, they actually like music. Nor is Sparks’ comment that sex = slutty fair. It’s just promulgating a standard and a detrimental label, one that’s increasingly used as a general all-purpose slur.

One of Britney Spears’ biggest mistakes was to announce that she was waiting until marriage to have sex, because that vow was constantly hanging over her head. It subconsciously colored her image, and made her appeal vastly more interesting. But when she couldn’t hew to that misguided standard she set for herself, her image fell apart. She shouldn’t be judged for doing something millions of other teen girls do, and she shouldn’t be punished because she said something really stupid when she was young. But it also shouldn’t be the standard that is espoused to the youth of America. Since her downward spiral, she’s become a laughingstock of the public, eliciting pity and scorn. Her sister’s own pregnancy was just another nail in the coffin of the Spears saga. Someone somewhere must have made the case that because she had sex outside of marriage, breaking her vow to wait, her punishment is to become insane. After all, in pop culture, teen sex is bad! We see that time and again on TV, now it’s proven in real life!

It’s not fair that these starlets are forced to say these things. Miley Cyrus may really and truly want to wait until she is married…but she’s 15, and she will probably reevaluate many of her statements for the next few years. After all (and you can take this with a grain of salt, since it is a post-scandal apology), she said she didn’t realize the pictures in Vanity Fair were sexual, and is deeply embarrassed by the outcry. A teenager, especially one in the public eye, should not have to discuss her opinions on sex when most of us know—even if she doesn’t—that they will probably change, and if our immediate reaction to the comments is smirking that they are lying.

These statements are a way to protect the stars, a way of saying it’s ok to look up at them, an excuse to offer them as role models. It’s ok to emulate them, even though they put up provocative pics on the internet, because they aren’t going to have sex until they’re much older and have a wedding ring to prove their commitment. It’s not just dishonest, it’s a terrible message to send. We can sexualize ourselves all we want, make ourselves sexual commodities for other people’s fantasies, but we hold off until it really matters. The song and dance is old hat; it’s called being a tease. And yes, being a tease can be fun. That’s also called flirting. But in a public space, it’s also ripe for judgment, because it’s a way of subverting the system, of having the cake and eating it too, with no caloric payback.

The stars also become oddly sexualized by just making these statements. I know very little about the Jonas Brothers, but hearing that they all wear promise rings—and having that become a defining fact, instead of their music—immediately makes one think of them as sexual beings, because they are announcing their (lack of) intentions to the youth of America. They shouldn’t be mocked for that decision, but rather we should be questioning ourselves to why it’s necessary in the first place.

Our culture is also conditioned to accept teenage girls as sexual beings, and increasingly, they are marketed that way. Victoria’s Secret has its own line of teenage lingerie (shouldn’t that be an oxymoron?), Pink. It’s as if they’re not ready for red. Red = blood, lust, lipstick, fiery passion, adult. Pink is gentle, mild, lipgloss, sweet, girl.

Other clothing retailers, like teenage mainstay Abercrombie & Fitch, have similar lines. And they are hardly the only ones marketing sexualized material to a young audience. Music, movies and especially television always revolve around sex as the be all and end all, with looking good as the way to get sex, and often some of the most memorable episodes of a teen drama revolve around When They Finally Have Sex (see Everwood, Gilmore Girls, Dawson’s Creek, 90210…). This attitude has not only grown, it’s been enhanced. Teen stars are no good girls; they have to flirt with sexuality. It’s mandated by the rules governing pop culture. Other than Daria, can one think of a teenage character that resists the lure? She was constantly trying to prove that she shouldn’t have to tart herself up to be accepted, that she was just fine in her black skirt and green jacket. She didn’t need to conform to the ridiculous standards of beauty that a girl in her demographic was expected to don. But Daria is a glaring exception, and that’s a reference a half-generation removed. She, incidentally, decided to wait in her sex episode.

Sex and its consequences are also the backbone of the popular Twilight series; the first book will be released as a movie in a few weeks. Popular with teenage girls, Twilight features a traditional female lead, complete with a waiting-for-marriage-to-have-sex philosophy.

This ideology is hailed as being a positive role model for the target demographic, despite the fact that Bella, the protagonist, is largely a cipher. The sexual content of the novels is one of the draws; there’s no sex 'til the fourth novel, Breaking Dawn, but it’s all heart-throbbing lust until then. Edward, her eventual husband, is marketed as the perfect man (except in vampire form), patient, understanding, responsible: a real caretaker. Yet she gives up everything for him, and when she does, both she and the story lose a lot of their appeal. Reviews of Breaking Dawn all harp on this point; the story dissolves into a very traditional happy homemaker life, one that author Stephenie Meyer apparently has. In addition, her views of love and what makes a happy couple are very alarming: most, including the main one, seem to fall somewhere on the “abusive” scale. She also does not believe in the word “choice”, for in her world, everything is preordained, and nothing goes against destiny; it’s just a matter of waiting.

Twilight might be telling girls to wait—but sex here is also viewed as an act that has violent and horrifying consequences: she is badly beaten up during it, and becomes pregnant with a child whose sole existence is seemingly designed to torment her physically, psychologically, and mentally. The passion and her new life are supposed to be worth the expense of physical torture, but it’s a trade-off that doesn’t sit well with many readers. The message to wait is lost—thirteen-year-olds (not to mention twenty-five-year-olds) may be scarred by the idea of sex equaling broken bones and demon spawn.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with waiting to have sex, though in this culture, it’s often scorned at. At a certain age, the choice to wait is regarded as a curiosity. How can you not have sex? It’s a biological imperative. The 40 Year-Old Virgin exemplified this. Despite its “old-fashioned” values, the movie still managed to condemn the lead character, and by doing so, scared some people into having sex because they didn’t want to end up in his position.

Teenagers shouldn’t be forced to hold to a societal standard of sex, whether or not that is the rampant hookup or sanctioned chastity, and they shouldn’t have to defend their choices on a public scale. It robs them of the complexity of sex, boiling it down to an either/or, a narrow line of wrong or right, depending upon who’s doing the judging.