The title of Cris Mazza’s new memoir, Something Wrong with Her, refers, in part, to the condition of anaorgasma, the inability to achieve orgasm. But that’s only part of the picture.
In fact, there is a very short list of sexual experimentation that Mazza has ever actually enjoyed, and she knows what you’re thinking: in one of the book’s many subtitles, the term “sexual dysfunction” is crossed out, and “frigidity” is scrawled in. This was, after all, the age of sexual liberation, where women were supposed to be more in touch with their sexual selves than ever before. If a woman wasn’t getting it and loving it, there must be something wrong.
When people learn that I’ve been vegan for half of my life, they often ask why. “Is it political? Ethical? Environmental?” My response: “It’s personal.” This answer isn’t meant to be a cop-out; it’s actually an invitation to a longer conversation, my way of saying it’s more complex than one reason. It’s all of those things and more, and it is deeply rooted in a personal place.
The first time I saw a porno mag I was probably in fourth grade. Sex was pretty invisible to me; I was still grossed out by seeing my parents kiss, I hadn’t yet hit puberty, and my crushes on older boys at my church involved fantasies of holding hands and listening to New Edition and Tevin Campbell. I had no interest in anything sweaty or naked, and wouldn’t have known what to do even if I had been interested.