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We blame others for somehow depriving us of sex, as though it were something we were owed.
We blame for whatever flaws make us perceive ourselves as unfuckable.
The fear of being “outed” as a virgin becomes a self-perpetuating cycle.
They so fear rejection for being virgins that they can’t bring themselves to approach women.
And just as traditional masculinity is a fragile thing, any minor deviation from the Virginity Narrative throws the whole thing into disarray. And there will be plenty of people eager to reinforce the narrative, to mock us, and tell us that this deviation from the narrative calls our masculinity into question.
The PUAHate forums that Elliot Rodger frequented take this to an almost fascinating extreme, comparing brow ridges and jaw angles and eye space in some sort of unified theory of sexual phrenology.
We get the Standard Virginity Loss Narrative burned into our minds early on, reinforced over and over again by pop-culture until we start to believe it’s the TRVTH, carved into stone tablets delivered to us at the base of Mount Sinai.
The story turns our sexual development into a performance, just as masculinity is often a performance.
When you’re focused on your identity as Virgin with a capital V, it can feel like everybody else is at a party that you’ve been left out of, even as it’s going on all around you. Prom goes from just a dance to THE BIGGEST NIGHT OF YOUR LIFE, a night when you’re supposed to confess your love and slip away to lose your virginity.
We get convinced that college is a nonstop whirlwind of parties and fucking thanks to the “Girls Gone Wild” videos, every college movie since and pearl-clutching moral panic pieces about “hook-up culture”.