The True Test of Young Women’s Worth: Virginity

The BBC had an interesting article last week about the rise of virginity testing as an HIV- and unwanted-pregnancy-prevention strategy in South Africa, and it offers a nice opportunity for some reflections on virginity, self-worth, and the cultural politics of young women's sexuality—since, at the moment, girls are the only ones being tested. Supporters of the strategy, including several young women quoted in the article, argue that steering clear of sex gives young women a stronger sense of self-worth. The testing sessions—which involve discussions of "general sexuality," including how to deal with rape, but not including condoms—give girls an opportunity to meet and support each other in their efforts to avoid sex. Then everyone lines up for testing.

I'm all for girls coming together to support each other, and I'm all for young women making their own sexual decisions and feeling good about themselves. I'm also all for young women choosing to abstain from sex if they feel that is the best decision for them—abstinence is, after all, a sexual right, despite its fiercest advocates' contempt for the term. If virginity does it for you, then cool. But virginity—in most cases—is a transient state. We can't all be virgins forever. Most of us will spend the majority of our lives contending with some degree of sexual activity, whether for purposes of pleasure, necessity, reproduction, or some combination of the three. So valorizing virginity seems, at best, to be a shortsighted strategy: it's all well and good to feel good about yourself because you're a virgin, but what happens when you decide it's time to have sex, or worse yet, when someone else decides for you?

Which brings me to my next point. Although I'm glad to hear that rape is on the virginity testing workshop agenda, pardon me for being a little bit confused about how rape fits into a strategy that bases women's self-worth and social value on their ability to stay virgins, especially in a country with the highest per capita rate of rape in the world? Valorizing virginity (and the whole abstinence-only approach to HIV prevention, for that matter) rests on the assumption that women can choose when they will become sexually active. We know that this is often not the case. According to a 1999 UNAIDS report, in fact, 30 percent of girls in South Africa say that their first intercourse was forced. If women are taught to draw their self-worth from their virginity, does that mean that a girl who has been raped is less valuable than a girl who hasn't been? And mightn't she already feel that way, after the experience of, oh, I don't know, getting raped? Is she still allowed to be a member of the virgin club?

Worse yet, as a number of South African activists have pointed out, publicly self-identifying as a virgin might not be the safest strategy for avoiding HIV in a country where many still believe the myth that sex with a virgin cures AIDS, and where nearly 20 percent of the population is estimated to be HIV-positive. When this and other realities of the situation are taken into account, it becomes clear that the virginity-testing strategy is more concerned with controlling women's sexuality—and putting a cultural premium on their virginity—than keeping them safe from HIV and unwanted pregnancies.

In a perverse push to counter accusations of sexism, the strategy's supporters have proposed extending the testing to include young men. Strangely, this does not assuage my fears, since I am as skeptical of equal-opportunity denial as I am of its gender-specific cousin. Is it really a social good for all young people to be ignorant of sex? We have already established that most virgins will have sex at some point—will live the majority of their lives, in fact, as sexually active individuals. So why not equip them to develop a sense of self-worth and identity that exists concurrent with, rather than in opposition to, being sexually active? Why not encourage them to feel good about themselves, to base their decisions (sexual and otherwise) on that abiding sense of self-love, and to let it sustain them through the hardships (sexual and otherwise) that we all inevitably face in life?

To put things in perspective, the fixation on virginity as a solution to the world's thorny sexual and reproductive challenges is far from an African phenomenon, and is certainly nothing new. After all, who wants to take on the wasps' nest of sexual politics, power dynamics, and decision-making when you can just pass out silver rings instead? Current South African proponents of this latest virginity testing fad may be framing it as a return to Zulu cultural roots, but this discussion is relevant to us all, since it's not hard to find cultural elements in most corners of the world who invoke sexual purity as a direct index of women's value—and, by association, an indication of the strength of their families and communities. You don't have to look far to find virginity-promoting abstinence-only programs that cloak the promotion of sexist social norms in the language of young people's empowerment and self-worth, and that leave young people just as vulnerable to all the things that virginity is supposed to magically cure. But here's my question: why can't we just skip the virginity part and focus on empowerment, self-worth, and decision-making instead? Or would that be too controversial?

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  • invalid-0

    While I agreed with almost everything you said, a sentence in your second paragraph stood out: “Most of us will spend the majority of our lives contending with some degree of sexual activity, whether for purposes of pleasure, necessity, reproduction, or some combination of the three.”

    I don’t quite follow what you mean by “necessity”. Pleasure and reproduction, of course I follow. But unless you are a prostitute, in a forced situation (e.g., rape), or some sort of arranged marriage (which I would also see as forcible sex), I don’t see where “necessity” fits. Could you provide some examples? Thanks!

  • andrea-lynch

    Hi Dee,


    Thanks for your comment, I’m happy to clarify what I meant. I was referring to transactional sex (women and/or men exchanging sex for money, food, school fees, clothes, gifts, etc. in countries and contexts where there are few opportunities for income generation) and sex work. Sex in exchange for money is sadly one of the few options available to many young women all over the world who are struggling to feed and clothe their children, support sick relatives, pay their way through school, pay for their own medical care, or just get themselves out of impossible situations—often in countries where women cannot own or inherit property, and are often forced to drop out of school at an early age to support their families.


    I think it’s important to recognize that sex workers and women engaging in transactional sex are also sexual subjects, and that they make the difficult decisions they make for a range of reasons. Coercion and exploitation often play a role, but women’s experiences with sex work are tremendously varied, as evidenced by research and writings about women’s experiences with sex work, including some excellent articles in the online journal Research for Sex Work (


    Some further resources:

  (a report on transactional sex in sub-Saharan Africa published by the Policy Project) (an excellent article by New School professor Alys Willman-Navarro about how current “poverty reduction strategies” in Nicaragua force many women into sex work in order to support themselves and their families—worth the price of a download if you are interested!)


    Finally, as you point out, in some situations such as child marriage, the line between “reproduction” and “necessity” is blurred: take for example a young Indian bride married at the age of 14, living with her husband and in-laws, cut off from her own family, and expected to bear children (preferably sons) immediately, or she will be thrown out of the house. From her perspective, is she having sex with her husband for necessity or for reproduction? I would argue it’s a combination of the two.


    I hope that clears things up and thanks again for your comment,