Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants But Just That One Part

You know that scene in the first Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants movie where Blake Lively is at soccer camp and she sets a goal to basically seduce this "cute" (in the early 2000's Aaron Carter, pretty boy, swooshy blonde hair kind of way) soccer camp counselor. If you don't remember this story plot, or especially if you have not seen this movie, you need to leave right now and watch it. Like I'm genuinely embarrassed for you, where have you even been. So basically Blake has endless confidence that she has the sexual prowess to make this man fall for her. He's an older man, of which her camp-mates warn her, but she assures them it's a done deal (I mean she is Blake freakin' Lively). She knows she will sleep with this guy by the end of the summer and she's very excited about the challenge. All she needs to do is make him notice her. And home-girl has some solid tricks up her sleeve to do so. Personal favorite is the classic "run past him in your sports bra and pour water on your face like you're in a slow motion Paris Hilton music video" trick. So of course he does notice her , and they do sleep together on the beach at night (classic summer camp stuff). And then there's that scene when she's lying in her bunk bed after "sealing the deal" and there's this expression on her face of... emptiness. The rush is over. It's overwhelmingly unsatisfying and almost confusing. Because why wouldn't sleeping with soccer guy fill her with infinite joy and pride? She did her thing. She slept with this seemingly unattainable guy. It should have been delicious, exciting, freeing, empowering, but it was ultimately none of those things. Poor Blake.

There are so many narratives nowadays of how young women should be in control of their sexuality. They should take charge and sleep with whoever they want because the age of being a meek and shy object waiting to be picked by a man is over. The age of men only being the horny ones, the ones allowed to flaunt their promiscuity, is over. Basically this narrative is that to be a strong, feminist, modern young woman is to be in charge of what happens to your body, and somehow being in charge of your body gets confused with finding your identity through your sexual freedom. To be an interesting woman with an exciting past is to be a woman with many worldly stories about her sexual experiences. Or at least that's what I thought. And probably still think. A couple years ago, weeks after losing my virginity, I was extremely lost about the kind of woman I wanted to be. Fueled by narratives of female sexuality from Lena Dunham's show Girls, lots of Sex and the City, and of course Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, I created this amalgam of a woman that I wanted to be. An interesting, carefree woman who collected a stockpile of not necessarily interesting men she'd slept with, but interesting stories about men she'd slept with. And what better way to kickoff this adventure than to study abroad in Spain for a year. A foreign country bursting with foreign men, foreign opportunities, and foreign stories? Bingo! Like most young people I thought I was going to find myself in Spain. But I didn’t so much find myself as I did set unrealistic expectations for who I thought I should be, and then spiral into a depression when I did not become her.

I did what I set out to do and like Blake Lively, I was thrilled about the journey, the challenge, and how it would change me forever; how freely and openly sleeping with men would make me a real ass WOMAN. Even though I truly don't regret my sexual experiences, I do however regret the reason I wanted them. Not to brag, but men kind of just fell in my lap while I was in Spain. I am an extremely lazy person especially when it comes to going out and speaking to people, the effort does not excite me. But, with help from a new friend who will always be one of my absolute favorite people and actually ended up being the one person who truly did change my life, I went out, I had fun, and I found guys to have experiences with and stories about. My "sexual freedom" goal actually started about a month prior to leaving for Spain, in a different Spanish speaking country. While in Mexico for a family wedding I set my eyes on a guy, someone I could sleep with that would be rather irresponsible and impulsive of me. He was older than me by roughly 17 years, the best man at the wedding, lived in Sweden (or maybe Switzerland?) and worked for Google. He was quite reserved, which meant I had to make all the moves, which was surprisingly fun. Once I could tell he was interested, I did some Blake Lively trickery like prancing around him in my bikini and sticking around his hotel room the night of the wedding after everyone started to leave. Being the one making things happen made me feel confident and in control, which was very different from my previous experiences with men (née, boys) who made me feel either too desperate or frankly kind of disposable. He wanted me, I was in charge of that, and it was sexy as hell. The sexual experience itself was cute but nothing too exciting, but the story, ah the STORY is pretty damn interesting. I made the mistake of keeping in touch with him once in Spain and ending up doing the cute thing I do where I let my imagination run crazy and create a fantasy of our relationship and create a fantasy version of the guy with little semblance to the man himself. In this particular fantasy we fall in love and have an expensive European wedding and have perfect French speaking children and live in the Swiss Alps where I make crepes and homemade jam for breakfast every Sunday. I projected all this onto him, and was gravely disappointed when he was not that guy at all. He actually just ended up being a normal guy who I could tell wanted someone, but not necessarily me. After realizing I was once again hoping a man would save me and create a life for me, going against my "I am in charge, men are the disposable ones" narrative, I stopped communication with him. After all, I did not want to be the settling down type. I was young and in Spain and a feminist.

Over the three months I spent in Spain, I collected the stories I thought I wanted to collect, and I also felt emptier and more lonely than I ever have in my life. It was a roller coaster of crazy slutty nights out and sad dark nights in. It's very possible that I haven't gotten any wiser from those experiences, I still crave stories to tell (omg that's like the name of this blog!), but at least now I know what I'm doing and I know the ways it will and won't satisfy me. Part of me still wants to sleep around. I believe exploring my sexuality can help me be more comfortable in my skin which I think is an integral part of learning how to be a woman. Having bad sexual experiences, or disappointing ones, is not the end of the world because you learn from them as you do with any other experience. I no longer search for men to complete me and I no longer think sex is the only thing that creates interesting stories. With the help of a therapist I'm slowly stepping away from trying to be some unattainable perfect idea of a woman. It's hard to conclude this essay because it's not something I can put in a box and label "That Part of My Life". Figuring shit out and being dissatisfied/annoyed by my behavior is still very close to home. So stick that in your pipe and smoke it! And that is how I will end this essay.