Hephzibah Anderson is an attractive, successful British journalist in her early 30s who enjoys a life of jet-setting between London, New York, and Paris. And after ringing in her 30th birthday, she swore off sex for a year.
Fed up with the "kind of sex I was supposed to be cool with as a postfeminist, twenty-first century Western woman—a casual sort of intimacy without intimacy," Anderson decided to take on a vow of chastity in an effort to make sense of what was missing in the dating mishaps of her 20s. The year-long journey Anderson embarked on became about uncovering the sets of rules, expectations and assumptions that she—and many women—often create for themselves in dating.
Anderson's new book, Chastened, chronicles the ups and downs of her year without sex. Here, she discusses why sex changes relationships, the challenges (and benefits) of delaying physical intimacy, and whether her experiment brought the revelation she was looking for.
Just to give our readers some quick background of the book, could you talk about how you decided to take on this year of chastity and what you hoped to find out?
Well, it's interesting. I would say that if I had known that I would write a book about it, I would've gone about it in a much more organized way. But because it was something I was doing for completely personal reasons, at least at the start, it was a decision I really felt I had to make. The real reasons for why I made it became more apparent as the year progressed, in an odd way. There are essentially three things that caused the decision.
I was in New York, I saw somebody who looked awfully like my college boyfriend, escorting a girl into DeBeers. I got back to England, and it turned out that it probably was my old college boyfriend, and he was going out with his girlfriend, and proposed, and they come back with a ring, and I was intent on wringing some kind of meaning from this serendipitous sighting.
So that really got me thinking and looking back, and I realized that not only was he the first person I somewhat belatedly went to bed with, but he was the last person in almost a decade that I'd dated to have said "I love you," which seemed a terrible indictment of my romantic choices. I was about to turn 30, so there was some necessary self-reflection, and then I met somebody who I really thought might be, if not 'the one,' someone with whom I could have a meaningful future. And he not only didn't say "I love you," he said "I don't love you," which was honest, I suppose.
And in the middle of all of this, a good male friend told me he had finally, unintentionally, won the girl of his dreams by saying to her, "I'm so happy being with you, I'm so happy just hanging out that I don't care if I never get to sleep with you," which seemed, to me, to kind of encapsulate everything that had been missing from my relationships in my 20s. So, I really thought that I needed to step back, because it seemed that sex was really clouding my judgment. So, I decided on a year—it seemed a nice, round chunk of time—and I dated it from the time that I made the decision because it was really about taking control of my emotional life.
Did you pinpoint what changed in a relationship after sex? Was it a perceived shift in the power dynamic, was it one-sided or mutual?
Yes, I felt that I needed so much more from them. And, to me, it felt like I needed much more than my right. At the end of the year, I would be able to say, "Well, that's ridiculous." I think we've lost any sense of healthy emotional entitlement. I think if you go to bed with somebody, it is a kind of bond; it's not nothing, however much we try to say it's nothing. Whether you're a man or woman, you're absolutely in your rights to expect there to be some kind of emotional gain.
That's interesting, because for many young women there seems to be a lot of anxiety and pressure about appearing to be a burden, or needy—
Yes, needy—which I think makes us really guarded, emotionally. It was actually only during that year that I realized how guarded I'd become after a decade of not-ideal relationships. And it's a lot easier to open up emotionally, when you've set some boundaries physically, or certainly when you slow the pace. And I think there a lot of women out there who are very emotionally frustrated because they're terrified of seeming needy.
And I wonder whether men perceive it that way. Many women seem to be afraid that if they send a text message a day later, the man is going to run away scared. But I guess you'd ask why we need to tiptoe around men, when they should be tiptoeing around us?
Exactly! Exactly. It's interesting that you ask that question because I think those are rules we make as women.
So it's us?
I think it is.
Why did you pick the word "chaste" and not "celibate"?
"Chaste" just seemed to have more romance about it. "Celibate" seemed to have more of a religious edge for a start, and I was very keen to stay clear of that, because one of the things I wanted to do was reclaim chastity for a mainstream, secular, non-politically divisive audience.