Episode 3

Ep 3: How does your identity impact your pleasure?

Your name. Your job. Where you're from. That's the version of you most people get. In this episode, host Danielle Bezalel asks deeper questions about identity.

Danielle turns to Dr. Candice Hargons for what research shows about how identity impacts pleasure, the orgasm gap by gender and sexuality, why queer couples report better sex than straight ones, and what "pleasure worthiness" means when you don't feel entitled to it.

Three participants from the Magic Wand study share how the study reshaped their sense of self: Binx working through years of not feeling worthy of pleasure, Stanley navigating shame about what "counts" as sex, and Sueann tracing a lifetime of respectability politics tied to her height, her hair and her desirability.

Pleasure People is hosted and produced by Danielle Bezalel

Executive Producer: Sarah Tomchesson

Lead producer: Kate Helen Downey

Music supervision, sound design, and mixing: Kelly Kramarik at Maven Post Media

Our theme music was composed by Julie McCarthy

Pleasure People was made possible by the financial support of Vibratex, Inc.

Thank you to Magic Wand Study principal researcher Dr. Candice Nicole Hargons and sex educator and author Emily Nagoski, phD for appearing on this episode as expert guests.

And a huge thank you to the participants in the Magic Wand study who shared their experiences in this episode.

Transcript
[:

What parts of your identities would you share? And how would you explain the changes and shifts of your identities over time? I've found myself asking those exact questions over and over again throughout my own life. I'm a bisexual Jewish cisgender white woman. I'm a proud New Yorker, from Long Island, to be more specific.

of me existed, I didn't know [:

I didn't know the label would feel good for me. While it felt scary to contend with this part of me, questioning and investigating this piece of my identity felt necessary for me to continue on the path of becoming my full self. I know that sounds a bit woo-woo, but it's true. When's the last time you questioned your identity, your gender identity, your sexuality, or how you see yourself in the world?

These are all fluid things, but your sense of self is rarely challenged out of nowhere. It happens because you felt something, a moment that didn't match the story you'd been telling about yourself, an interaction or even a sensation that cracked it wide open. Pleasure can absolutely be that something.

, Danielle Bezellal, AKA DB, [:

Today, you can identify as aromantic, meaning you experience little to no romantic attraction to others, often shortened as aro. Or maybe you identify more with the label demisexual, meaning you only experience sexual attraction to someone after a strong emotional bond has been formed. If you don't experience gender as a core part of your identity, you might choose to refer to yourself as agender.

The common use of these kinds of identifiers is fairly new. So why do these terms come up? And why do identity labels change and expand? It's a combination of things. Internet culture and social media platforms like TikTok allow us to hear from other people more easily. We get let in on more of other people's lives and experiences.

more than ever before. Up to [:

So when we talk about identity labels, we're not just talking about words. We're talking about people finally having language for things they may have felt their whole lives but never knew how to name, and that matters because language can be a doorway. When someone realizes their thoughts and feelings are normal, acceptable, and shared by others, that can change how they relate to themselves, their relationships, their bodies, and even their pleasure.

o we are, we often have more [:

Then we'll talk with Dr. Candice and get her expert insight as a psychologist and the Magic Wand study leader. You'll remember Dr. Candice from the last episode. But first, let's hear about Dr. Candice's identities and how they've changed over time. So I identify as a Black, cisgender, heterosexual woman who is middle-aged and middle class from a working class family background.

And so I have a lot of privileged identities and a few marginalized identities, and I think the combination of those things leaning more into my marginalization really makes me an astute scientist and a studier of people as a psychologist. Shifting into middle age has been interesting, delightful, and also perry is showing me new things about myself.

Perimenopause [:

As a Black woman, I think that I understand, especially in the United States, that there's always been a human hierarchy, and a lot of times we get placed at the bottom of it. And so being able to make it to this point as a sex scientist and have the type of success I've had in my career, I don't take for granted, and I'm always thinking about who I can bring with me And as a person who is cisgender and heterosexual, I'm always thinking about how do I broker my privilege, privilege that I just was born into, into making sure that there's room at the table [00:06:00] and that other people get to create the tables that they want for themselves.

Let's talk about what the research shows when it comes to how certain identities access more pleasure than other identities. Mm. Do cis men have more pleasure than cis women? Is there an orgasm gap we wanna talk about? Are there studies about BIPOC folks compared to white folks, disabled folks compared to able-bodied, queer folks compared to non-queer folks, neurodivergent compared to neurotypical?

I'm curious what the research shows when we're talking about these identities and who typically is prioritized when it comes to how much pleasure they're getting. My take-home in all of those, if I'm looking at it from an intersectional standpoint, is that marginalization doesn't equal lower quality of sex.

of orgasm and more pleasure. [:

So it's like 98 or 95% for heterosexual cis men, and then 96% for gay men, and then 95, 94% for bisexual men. And then lesbians are holding strong at 88%, like a solid B plus. And then 66 to 65% for bisexual women and heterosexual women. That's our orgasm gap, right? But the orgasm gap is smallest for Black couples.

So Black men and Black women have the smallest orgasm gap out of all the racial constellations, and that's, like, Asian, Latinx, Hispanic, white, and Black. So there's unique dynamics going on where it's not just, oh, you're marginalized, so your sex life is gonna be negatively impacted. I like that there's some complexity there that we get to talk about and play around with and ask the questions of why.

So why? Why do you think [:

And that means that people don't even think sex is finished, especially people who are heterosexual, if the man doesn't have an orgasm. So it's like the end game is his orgasm, and her orgasm is sometimey, who knows. And that might be he doesn't prioritize it. It might be she doesn't prioritize it. Whereas for queer couples, they're already troubling this idea of the coital imperative.

ound and having fun with the [:

Let's talk about pleasure worthiness because I know that you've done studies in the past with Dr. Shamika Thorpe, an amazing sex researcher, and they've been about pleasure worthiness. And so I'm wondering, in these studies that you've done, if you've gleaned, do certain identities feel more worthy of pleasure than other identities?

And what even is pleasure worthiness? Can you define that? Yes. Pleasure worthiness is this idea that you are inherently worthy of pleasure. You don't have to prove it. You don't have to earn it. And that doesn't mean you're entitled, and I think that's a big distinction that I like to make. You're not entitled to anybody's sexual body, sexual experience, but you're worthy of the things you desire.

in that. Maybe it's because [:

So what I'm trying to find out now in some of my research is: where is the gap between self-reported pleasure worthiness and the practices that would indicate that you really believe that?

Next, we'll hear from Binks about her relationship to pleasure worthiness. But first, Binks shares a bit about her own sexuality journey and how it's changed over time. I came to realize that Binks and I had a lot in common in this department

ze, like, oh, I am bisexual. [:

And she was like, "Oh, it was obvious you had a crush on them," but, like, I didn't know how to explain this to you 'cause you were six or seven. And I'm just like, "Ah, what the F?" So now fast-forwarding into my 30s and having more experiences of dating women and also dating men and also being attracted to trans people, I guess I could change my identity from bisexual to potentially pan.

I'm still trying to navigate exactly how to define myself because even though I present very feminine-oriented, I embrace my masculine side heavily. I love my masculine side. I then asked Binks about what Dr. Candice and I spoke about earlier when it comes to pleasure worthiness, if they felt worthy of pleasure, and their answer surprised me

I would [:

Because after the study, I felt more inclined to go for more sensual spaces or go for more sensual opportunities

saying that or feeling like [:

A lot of people pretend or put the pretense of, "No, of course I'm worthy." But verbally and internally, they're still really struggling with that, and their behaviors show it. And so I love the behavior change that Binks shared of like, "Now I'm gonna explore a little more," or, "It makes me feel empowered to do some of the things I've always wanted to do that maybe I hadn't tried before."

That was the type of curiosity and open-mindedness that I think contributes to pleasure worthiness I then chatted with Stanley, one of the trans participants in the study. I wanted to hear about his experiences with pleasure and how his identities impacted his pleasure

people, you know, referring [:

Stanley then tells me about his relationship to the act of penetration, or the lack thereof. Even before I really, like, understood sex and my sexual preferences, I just knew I didn't want anything entering my vaginal entrance. I never tried tampons when I started menstruating because I was just like, "No.

, I don't think I want that. [:

Like, if anything, it's kind of more reinforced that I just don't want anything up there. It definitely made me more self-conscious when I was younger, again, of not being able to, like, if I had a partner with a penis, not being able to, like, pleasure them completely. The first time I ever had any kind of sex was kind of afterwards a negative experience because I consider sex to be two people touching each other in any capacity with the intent to elicit sexual pleasure, whether or not there's an orgasm, whether or not there's penetration, oral, et cetera.

chat with Stanley that made [:

I needed Dr. Candice as a sounding board to process my thoughts and truthfully, my own biases

So as a sex educator, when I first heard Stanley say what he said about his pain, it made me think that maybe he has an undiagnosed pain disorder, right? Which was really hard to hear because it's a very common thing that people experience, and it's something that maybe can be addressed with a professional, and Stanley can potentially physically have pleasurable penetrative sex if this were to be attended to, right?

ients who come to you with a [:

And so it doesn't sound like Stanley is distressed about it. I think it sounds like it was incongruent with his partner's expectation, but that's not distress. It sounds like it was something that he might have initially felt ashamed of because there was an expectation of who he should be as a person with a vulva, but that's not distress either.

re, and I am in pain and I'm [:

How do we help you and your partner or partners build on that?" And this is why we have you on this show. Incredibly helpful. Thank you. You talked about shame a bit, and I'm wondering, you know, Stanley doesn't necessarily use the word shame, but shame does influence the way that we view our identities and our subsequent ways to act on our identities.

How does shame do this? What does that look like for people? Shame is like a social sanction. So you can be shamed, and you can feel shame. Being shamed means that somebody outside of you, whether it's a person-to-person thing or like a social sexual script thing- tells you you are wrong, you are bad for being a way, feeling a way, doing something.

believe I am wrong, I am bad [:

Even if you do keep doing it, the shame is, like, sitting there judging you afterwards. Whoever that shamer initially was is like that devil on your shoulder like, "Mm, mm, mm." And so I think that feeling that it often pairs with shame is so painful. It's such an, a painful emotion that it doesn't change behavior, and I think a lot of people try to use it to do that, but it does make people go silent.

me can be a tool used to try [:

It just makes people feel bad. Now let's check in with Sue Ann and hear how the shame she's experienced has been deeply intertwined with her unique identity

I identify as a Black woman, and my pronouns are she and her. I am heterosexual, and I sleep with men, unfortunately, unfortunately, most days. I would definitely say growing up, my Caribbean upbringing influenced my identity. At, like, 14, I started to kinda figure out who I was. I'm also, like, super tall, and I have short hair.

I'm super tall. So my guess [:

All right now. Oh, my goodness. I'm like in public. People say all kinds of wild things to me. I'm sure. And so it's an experience. And then growing up in a household where my parent was super homophobic, it was just, like, a lot, and then in New York City and being an immigrant. When it comes to identity and how I identify, I would definitely say my upbringing influenced it a lot, but I also, like, pushed back on everything and asked a lot of questions.

it tells people that you are [:

And in that college experience, I also lost my virginity. I was having sex. I was learning about sex. And I was like, "Well, all this hair is gonna go." And they just have been distraught. And so 18 years later, they still love me, but they ask me when I'm gonna get married and, like, who's gonna marry me with my short hair.

I mean, I've literally had men tell me that I would never get married because I was tall. Sometimes it was rough. I mean, luckily I've gotten to a point with my partner now, super confident. Not taller than me. That was the other thing. Everybody was like, "Oh, you must date people that are taller than you."

I like you, if you're funny, [:

I couldn't wait to hear what she had to say about Sue-Ann's identity. Let's start with Sue-Ann's parents being conservative because our parents, as we know as sex researchers and folks who are chatting with people in the classroom, parents influence a lot about the way in which we view sex and culture.

g to make you fit into a box [:

And their input into your life is so powerful that it's really easy to just go along with it, to feel like you have some safety, some love. So a lot of people, like Sue-Ann said, get to college before they do anything to transgress what their parents have said, and a lot of people never get there. They're really holding on to this idea that I have to be good for them.

and that has something to do [:

And so the parents aren't just putting this pressure on the kids just for the sake of the kids, but it's just like, "We gotta do this for the culture. You gotta be conservative for the culture," and it's wild. So I really appreciate that story about what hair means, what it means to be a tall person, and what it means to be a Black person that grew up in a conservative family, probably a religious family, an immigrant family, and that family navigating all of these dynamics of, like, nationalism, ethnocentrism, and racism.

And unfortunately, it breaks my heart when the way we do that navigation process causes harm to the people we love because we're trying to fit in a box that people don't want us in anyway.

most people on planet Earth, [:

I think it influences desirability politics. So I talked about respectability politics, but there's also a desirability politics, and I've been listening to Nasty Work by Erika Hart. I don't know if you got that one. It just came out, but it's so good and it breaks down that desirability schema that most of us got in the United States.

that people already assign a [:

And then to be in a tall body, a tall for anybody body, means that you're less likely to be identified as feminine, more likely to be identified as a threat, less likely to be identified as desirable. And in certain seasons of life, we really do wanna be desired. Like, sometimes you get over that, sometimes you don't.

But I think that it matters how people are negotiating their desirability, especially when your parents are adding on the messaging that you're not gonna get married if you are tall like that and you don't have no hair. Like, there's so many pieces to that, but I think that being an outlier in any way can be fetishized or it can be dehumanized, and both work together.

ve her. How do people become [:

And if there's something about oneself that they're not secure or confident in, what could they do to get there? How you talk to yourself. Talking to yourself like you love yourself makes a big difference 'cause you gotta deprogram years and years and years of trash. The marketing campaign to get people to buy stuff is poisonous, and so, like, developing confidence is really hard to do in that.

So kind of reframing that message, talking to yourself with care and with love, treating yourself with care and love makes a big difference. But I think that what I'm learning more and what I'm adding is that you need a healthy mirror, so who you choose to be in community with to affirm those messages of your worthiness, to affirm those messages that confidence looks good on you, I think that really makes the difference in building esteem and building confidence.

, being affirmed by somebody [:

Like, that's a everyday thing. But I also think you need to be in community with good people who are gonna be like, "You are dope. You are smart. You are valuable. You are helpful. You are kind," like all of the good in you so that it can be reflected back to you on those days where it gets really rough.

Our identities are ever-changing. They are fluid and shift and move over time. Accessing pleasure can allow us to question certain things about our experiences. You might ask yourself, "Do I actually want this kind of relationship, this kind of sex, this kind of life? Or was I just handed a script and encouraged to act it out?"

es. It influences the way we [:

And I'm still discovering who I am, too. I'm still learning how my own pleasure impacts me, what it teaches me, what it softens in me, what it challenges, what it opens up. Pleasure is a practice. It's a way of coming home to yourself again and again and again, even when that self keeps changing. And next week, we're getting into something that pleasure is constantly up against: stress.

hat loves to keep us worried.[:

Stress? Boy, oh boy. Stress in the brain creates a context where it is extremely difficult for your brain to interpret any stimulation as pleasurable. I was diagnosed with an incurable blood cancer and I was pretty stressed. Oh my gosh, let me make sure to always pleasure myself in some way, shape, or form if I reach that level of stress.

I'm gonna masturbate and it may not fix the problem, but it is going to help me feel better and give me something I am in control of. I can also tell in how I masturbate or how many times or if I'm able to have an orgasm how stressed out I am. These small things that you can do for yourself, by yourself, connected more into yourself, it's just relaxing Pleasure People is hosted and produced by me, Danielle Bezulel.

on, sound design, and mixing [:

Thank you to Magic Wand Study principal researcher Dr. Candice Nicole Hargons for appearing on this episode as an expert guest, and a huge thank you to the participants in the Magic Wand Study who shared their experiences in this episode. To learn more about the study, visit magicwandstudy.com.

About the Podcast

Show artwork for Pleasure People
Pleasure People
The science of pleasure told by the people who lived it.