Let my vulva be
Since the 90's and early 00's cosmetic surgery on the inner vulva lips has developed into one of the most popular beauty surgery procedures. The underlying desire is often to conform to an image of the “normal” vulva - in unawareness of the diversity of this body part. But why would people with vulvas put themselves under the knife for aesthetic reasons and what does that say about the “female body” in Western society?
Information: This article is mostly based on research material focused on Western, cis-women, born with a vulva. In diverse, queere communities, body images around genitals hold different cultural connotations and are dealt with differently.
The word “slaoj” is Maastricht (Netherlands) dialect means salade, derived from the Dutch word “sla”, but also vulgar woman or slut. The image of the salade should be a reference to the idea that “loose women” have too much sex and get “flappy” vulvas and large vaginas. (© Viola Karsten, 2021)
A couple years ago a good friend told me about her desire to undergo beauty surgery on her vulva, also referred to as labiaplasty. There was no pressing medical condition but some comment from some guy put the idea in her head that she didn’t look “normal” down there. Instead of questioning her choice of partner, she started questioning herself.
Labiaplasty is the world's fastest-growing cosmetic procedure according to a study conducted in 2017 – and the numbers are still rising. It is a form of cosmetic surgery, for both aesthetic and medical reasons, to reduce the size of the labia minora, described by the Dutch Skin Surgery Clinic as: “A small procedure that is going to give you so much self-confidence”. However, the surgery on this hidden body part, as compared with facial surgery for instance, is particularly contextually charged as this is a part of the body linked to femininity in a traditional biological sense. It therefore represents a melting point for feminist discourse and a body part where ideas of gender and sexuality become visible – and made invisible.
There are many reasons to decide on genital surgery: gender reassignment, accidents, post-birth treatment, body conditions that get in the way of everyday life or sexual pleasure – ultimately, it is everyones’ personal decision. At the same time, there are still over 200 million young women worldwide who undergo the dangerous and often traumatizing procedure of circumcision or also referred as female genital mutilation (WHO). In other words: female genital mutilation, keeping the belief alive that non-circumcised women are worthless. But even in a different cultural context and in this case a voluntary, purely aesthetic operation: where do these needs come from to change the aesthetics of such a sensitive body part? Are we not ultimately subjecting ourselves to a norm that makes us believe we are not "normal” and through taboos and covering up, keep us from really taking a good look at the problem?
Culture of modification
In the documentary The Perfect Vagina (2008), UK journalist Lisa Rogers speaks about the rising trend of female genital surgery. The trend goes towards bald, or nearly bald and almost child-like vulvas, perpetuating unbalanced power dynamics between gender roles. One thing that particularly caught her attention was the young age of these patients, feeling insecure about their genitals because they do not look like a porn model underneath their pants, or simply thinking a bigger inner labia is ‘abnormal’. When she met artist Jamie McCartney who is creating a sculpture of prints called The Great Wall of Vagina (which are actually vulvas), Lisa and other women were amazed by the diversity of the appearance of the vulva. It appears that it is a combination of this uninformed idea of the vulva, the lack of “real” – meaning non-porno star women – comparisons and consumerism which puts forward the idea that even beauty is for sale, that leads women to put themselves under the knife.
The invisible body part
It appears that unrealistic beauty standards, and the lack of exposure to normal and diverse vulvas, creates a societal pressure that leads people identifying as women to ‘normalize’ their genital area. But what else could be behind that?
Psychologist Harriet Lerner believes that the false terminology leads to people forgetting that women have outer genitals that are visible. So why not just cut them off? Biologically speaking the reproductive organs assigned to the female sex, consists of three parts: the vulva, the vagina and the inner parts of the ovary, and the uterus, yet in common language we reduce it to “vagina”.
Not only the missing or incorrect terminology of the vulva signifies the invisibility in the cultural sphere. People with vulvas are generally not exposed to a diversity of other vulvas to compare oneself with. Taboos and shaming make it hard to even address the subject and possibly realise that you are less abnormal than you think. In fact, over 50 percent of people with a vulva have an inner labia that is slightly bigger than the outer. However, beauty standards- portrayed through pornography but even biology books - give the impression that this is abnormal. In order to make the vulva ”smoother, smaller and firmer, women cut this part of their body off.” This is a pathologization of a healthy organ, which surgeons promote as “an improved body image and greater physical comfort” (Strömquist).
The issue is summarised quite well by scholar of culture and gender studies Sarah Carbow, who rolled out an empirical research study on the relationship or non-relationship of cis-women to their vulva. In conversation, she argued “the relationship between cis-women and their vulvas is negotiated by the fact that there is a great tension between visibility and invisibility, that people with vulvas are torn between”. On the one hand shameful veiling and on the other hand sexualised representation in a sex-positive or porn context, coupled with a non- or misnaming, creates a great ambivalence that ultimately leads to a toxic norming of the ‘female’ genitals. People with these genitals navigate their relationships to their bodies and sexualities in an environment of sexualisation and taboos, sexual availability and discloure. Not seldom, this results in a toxic culture of self-optimization, often for the sake of someone else. In other words, people read as female are trapped between these poles, trying to live up to the social pressure by ‘normalising themselves’ artificially.
The word “slaoj” is Maastricht (Netherlands) dialect means salade, derived from the Dutch word “sla”, but also vulgar woman or slut. The image of the salade should be a reference to the idea that “loose women” have too much sex and get “flappy” vulvas and large vaginas. (© Viola Karsten, 2021)
Reclaiming the body
How do we get out of this mess? Sarah Carbow believes one way that people with vulvas can once again relate positively to their bodies and sexuality is through emancipation and repossession of their bodies. So first of all, we need to get to know our bodies, break with the (linguistic) invisibility and start calling it by its name; start calling the vulva, vulva. How do we see our genitals? Do we actually see them through the eyes of someone else? Or a culture that wants to tell me I am not normal?
The whole discourse about "normal" bodies and ideals of beauty has grown historically and probably says more about the culture involved than the bodies affected. In cosmetic surgery, these culturally-grown needs frequently come to the fore. Shaved and tucked-in, or large and strong; cosmetic surgery on the otherwise primarily veiled genitals exposes our ideas of "femininity" and "masculinity". In the end, no matter if you identify as man or woman – or anything else – what you are doing with your body is your decision. Shave and wear your hair as you please, show or hide as much skin as you like or undergo cosmetic surgery if you must, but be aware of the reasons you are doing so and know that with every act you can either feed into a stereotype or a tradition of objectification or you can rebel against it.
Bibliography and further reading:
Mithu, S. (2009). VULVA - Die Enthüllung des unsichtbaren Geschlechts. Wagenbach Verlag
Strömquist, Liv. (2018). The Fruit of Knowledge. Virago, London
A clever and hilarious graphic knowledge that explores how different cultures and traditions have shaped women's health and beyond.Rogers, L. (2008). The Perfect Vagina. Documentary produced by North One. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nw9qKBI4D3o
Atalanta, Hilde. (2019). A Celebration of Vulva Diversity. o. O.: This is us Books.
Dobson, Amy Shields; McDonald, Karalyn; Kirkman, Maggie; Scouter, Kay; Fisher, Jane (2017): In-visible Labour? Tensions and Ambiguities of Modifying the ‘Private’ Body: The Case of Female Genital Cosmetic Surgery. In: Elias, Ana Sofia; Gill, Rosalind; Scharff, Christina (Hg.). Aesthetic labour. Rethinking Beauty Politics in Neoliberalism. London: Palgrave Macmillan.
Méritt, Laura (Hg.) (2017). Frauenkörper neu gesehen. Ein illustriertes Handbuch. Unter Mitarbeit von Suzann Gage und Beatriz Higòn. 5. Auflage. Berlin: Orlanda Frauenverlag.
Meßmer, Anna-Katharina (2017). Überschüssiges Gewebe. Intimchirurgie zwischen Ästhetisierung und Medikalisierung. Wiesbaden: Springer VS (Geschlecht und Gesellschaft, Band 68).
Nurka, Camille (2019). Female Genital Cosmetic Surgery. Deviance, Desire and the Pursuit of Perfec-tion. Cham, Schweiz: Palgrave Macmillan.
Documentary: Zimmermann, Ulrike; Richarz, Claudia (2014). Vulva 3.0. Zwischen Tabu und Tuning. Deutschland: MMM Film Zimmermann & Co. GmbH.