Laura: A 2016 study found that 60% of British women couldn't correctly identify the vulva on an anatomical diagram. Even more couldn't find the vagina. Sophia: Hold on, sixty percent? That’s more than half. That can’t be right. We’re talking about adults, right? Laura: Adults. And it's not just a gap in knowledge; it's a symptom of what you could call a global conspiracy of silence. Sophia: A conspiracy of silence. That sounds dramatic, but given that statistic, maybe it’s not. Laura: And that conspiracy is exactly what Irish journalist Lynn Enright dismantles in her award-winning book, Vagina: A Re-Education. Sophia: Award-winning is right—it picked up a Hearst Big Book Award. What I find fascinating is that Enright comes from a top-tier journalism background, writing for places like The Guardian and Vogue. She brings that investigative rigor to a topic that’s usually shrouded in whispers and myths. Laura: Exactly. She argues this silence starts incredibly young, and she shares this powerful story from her own childhood that just perfectly sets the stage. She was twelve, at her Catholic school in Ireland, and a representative from Tampax came to give a talk. Sophia: Oh, I can picture this scene so clearly. The awkwardness must have been off the charts. Laura: The representative suggested something radical. She told the girls they should all go home and look at their own vaginas with a hand mirror. Sophia: Wow. To a room of twelve-year-olds at a Catholic school? That’s a bold move. I imagine that went over well. Laura: The other girls met it with disgust and ridicule. But Enright, being a studious kid, decided to try it that night. She went into her parents' bathroom, locked the door, and held up the mirror. But the moment she looked, she felt a jolt of arousal, and she immediately retreated, feeling scared and deeply ashamed. Sophia: That's just heartbreaking. It perfectly captures that mix of curiosity and shame so many people feel. The feeling that you’re doing something wrong just by getting to know your own body. Laura: And that’s the core of the book. That shame isn't an accident. It's taught. It's a re-education because the first education we got was designed to make us fail.

Sophia: So where does this shame actually come from? Is it just a few awkward sex-ed classes, or is it something deeper, more systemic? Laura: Enright argues it's much, much deeper. It's woven into our history and our biology lessons. For instance, she reflects on her own sex education. She remembers learning a lot about boys having wet dreams. Sophia: Right, the mysterious sodden sheets. Always a classroom favorite. Laura: But girls' orgasms? Female pleasure? Never mentioned. The male orgasm was framed as the entire point of sex, and the vagina was just… a receptacle. A passive object. This teaches everyone, boys and girls, that male sexuality is dominant and female sexuality is secondary, if it exists at all. Sophia: That’s a powerful point. It’s not just about leaving things out; it’s about creating a hierarchy of importance. And that has real consequences. Laura: Huge consequences. Enright connects this silence to women feeling bad about their bodies, seeking unnecessary cosmetic surgeries like labiaplasty, or even worse, experiencing health problems because they're too embarrassed to see a doctor. But the historical angle is what’s truly chilling. Sophia: How so? Laura: She brings up the witch trials in the Middle Ages. For three centuries, tens of thousands of women were killed. And who were many of them? Midwives and female healers. Sophia: You’re kidding. They were targeted specifically? Laura: Yes. The male-dominated medical profession and the church saw them as competition. They were accused of sexual crimes, of course, but also specifically charged with possessing medical and obstetrical skills. They were killed for knowing too much about female sexual health, for providing contraception or abortion. It was seen as a direct threat to a society that centers the straight male experience. Sophia: Wow. So this isn't just about modern-day awkwardness. There's a centuries-long history of actively suppressing female knowledge about the female body. It really is a conspiracy of silence. Laura: It’s what Michelle Obama called "the worst thing we do to each other as women, not share the truth about our bodies." Enright’s whole book is a call to action against that silence. As she puts it, "We have to smash that stigma. We have to grab that hand mirror and take a long, hard look at what’s in our knickers."

Sophia: It feels like we're taught to be afraid of the facts. Which brings us to the parts of the anatomy that are most surrounded by myth. I’m thinking specifically about the hymen. Laura: Oh, the hymen. The book calls it a "useless symbol," which is just perfect. Enright talks to a friend who, in her thirties, is still confused about her own experience. She never bled or felt pain the first time she had sex, and she spent years wondering if she’d somehow broken it falling off a horse she never rode. Sophia: That’s hilarious and also deeply sad. Because that’s the story we’re all told, right? That it’s this perfect, fragile seal that breaks, and there’s blood, and that’s the proof of virginity. Laura: Exactly. But the biological reality is completely different. For most women, the hymen is a stretchy, flexible piece of tissue, like a scrunchie. It doesn't "break" or "pop." It wears away over time. Some women are born with almost none. The idea of it being a barrier is a complete fabrication. Sophia: A fabrication with terrifying consequences, though. The book goes into this, right? Laura: It does, and it's devastating. Enright cites Egyptian feminist Mona Eltahawy, who says, "Our hymens are not ours. They belong to our families." In some cultures, the pressure is so intense that women resort to buying fake hymens online that release fake blood, or they undergo hymen reconstruction surgery. In the most extreme cases, a woman can be divorced or even killed if she doesn't bleed on her wedding night. Sophia: All for a piece of tissue that has no biological function. It’s a cultural symbol that’s literally costing women their lives. Laura: A completely useless symbol. But what about the parts that aren't just mythologized, but actively ignored? I'm talking about the clitoris. Sophia: Ah, the great forgotten organ. It’s wild to me that we even have to have this conversation in the 21st century. Laura: It's beyond wild. Enright tells this story about a sex-ed class for ten-year-olds in London. The teacher is using flashcards: 'vagina,' 'penis,' 'testicles.' He gets to the 'clitoris' card... and he skips it. He just puts it back in the deck and moves on. Sophia: No! Why? Laura: He couldn't bring himself to say the word. And this isn't an isolated incident. The book reveals something truly shocking. In 1947, the editor of Gray's Anatomy—the definitive medical textbook—literally deleted the clitoris from the diagrams. Sophia: Wait, what? He just… erased it? How is that even possible? Laura: It was just gone. And for decades, generations of doctors were trained using a textbook that pretended the primary organ for female pleasure didn't exist. It wasn't fully reinstated and accurately depicted until the late 90s, thanks to the work of an Australian urologist named Helen O'Connell. She had to essentially 'rediscover' it by dissecting cadavers, and she found it was a huge, complex structure, much larger than anyone had thought. Sophia: So a female scientist had to fix a problem created by male bias in medicine. That feels… depressingly familiar. Laura: As O'Connell herself wrote, the study of the clitoris has been "dominated by social factors," not science. Its erasure was a choice, rooted in a culture that devalues female pleasure. And Enright connects this erasure directly to its most violent conclusion: Female Genital Mutilation. Sophia: That’s a heavy connection, but it makes sense. If you culturally erase an organ, it becomes easier to physically erase it. Laura: Precisely. Both acts stem from the same root: the desire to control women's bodies and their sexuality.

Laura: So we've re-educated ourselves on the science and the myths. But Enright takes it one step further in the final part of the book, asking a really profound question. Sophia: Which is: "Does my vagina define me?" This is where the book gets really interesting and, for some, controversial. It reminds me of the debate that erupted around Janelle Monáe's 'Pynk' music video. Laura: That's a perfect example. The video was this joyous celebration of the vulva, with dancers in these incredible pink, ruffled "vagina pants." It was hailed as a feminist anthem. Sophia: But it also got pushback. Some critics called it "vagina-centric" feminism, arguing that by centering the vagina as the symbol of womanhood, it excluded trans women who don't have vaginas. Laura: And that's the exact tension Enright tackles head-on. She makes it clear that you can write a book celebrating and re-educating people about vaginas while also being a fierce advocate for trans rights. The two are not mutually exclusive. Sophia: How does she square that circle? Because it’s a genuine point of friction in some feminist circles. Laura: She argues that acknowledging trans rights means accepting a fundamental truth: not all women have vaginas, and not everyone with a vagina is a woman. She quotes the trans writer Janet Mock, who talks about the invasive, prurient curiosity people have about her genitals. Mock says, "I don’t talk about my kitty cat with my friends… But I… have been asked about my vagina… more times than I can even recall." Sophia: That really puts it in perspective. The focus is always on the genitals, as if that's the only thing that defines a person's identity. Laura: Exactly. Enright also features the story of a trans woman named Ani, who chose not to have lower surgery. Ani says her arrival at womanhood was "completely spiritual, it had nothing to do with the outside." Her story challenges the assumption that surgery is the endpoint or the requirement for being trans. Sophia: It broadens the definition of womanhood beyond a checklist of body parts. Laura: It has to. Enright insists that a feminism that works for anyone has to work for everyone—including trans women, women of color, and disabled women. The idea that you have to choose between caring about vaginas and caring about trans people is a false choice, and a misogynistic one at that. Sophia: So the "re-education" isn't just about anatomy. It's about re-educating our very concept of identity. Laura: That's the ultimate takeaway. The book starts with the most personal, intimate part of the body and expands outward to challenge the largest structures of society, history, and identity.

Sophia: Okay, so after all of this—the history, the science, the personal stories—what's the one thing we absolutely need to take away from this 're-education'? Laura: I think it’s that the silence around the vagina was never accidental. It was, and is, a tool of control. It keeps women ignorant, ashamed, and disconnected from their own power. And so, breaking that silence—by demanding better from our doctors and our schools, by having these conversations, by, yes, grabbing that hand mirror—isn't just an act of self-care. It's a political act. Sophia: It’s reclaiming something that was deliberately taken away. Laura: Precisely. Enright’s final call to action is so powerful. She says we have to "smash that stigma." It’s not a gentle suggestion; it’s a demand. The book is a toolkit for that demolition work. It gives you the facts, the history, and the language to start dismantling the shame, both in yourself and in the world around you. Sophia: It makes you wonder, what's one myth you've held about your own body that needs re-educating? It could be something small or something huge. We'd love to hear your thoughts. Find us and share your story. Laura: This is Aibrary, signing off.