精品东京热,精品动漫无码,精品动漫一区,精品动漫一区二区,精品动漫一区二区三区,精品二三四区,精品福利导航,精品福利導航。

Picture this: it’s a busy Tuesday and reel people sex videoyou’re running into town to run errands on your lunch break. You’re balancing about six items in your arms and already having a stressful day when you’re approached by a man-child with his phone in your face and a tiny microphone in his hand. That’s when he asks you, “What’s your body count?”

He awaits your answer impatiently and you’re confused, frustrated, and not sure why the question is so important. Yet there’s still an immense pressure to answer it. 

This situation, as much as it sounds like a nightmare, is a reality. In fact, it’s a TikTok trend that's amassed an eye-watering 917 million views and counting. Whether it’s viral street interviews, skits,or podcast debates, judging women based on their body counts, or how many people they've had sex with, is algorithmic gold dust for content creators. 

For something so personal, so irrelevant to anyone else’s life, it’s staggering how much weight society still gives to this arbitrary number. And it's not just about curiosity. This number has somehow become a measure of a person’s worth, particularly for women. And they’re being shamed for views and exploited for the revenue that comes with them.

So, why does body count matter so much? Why are we still having these conversations in 2025? And more importantly, why does it always seem to matter more for women than it does for men?

The sexual double standard of body counts

When was the last time a man’s sexual history was used to discredit his character, imply he was ‘used up’, or suggest he was unworthy of love?

Body count judgement is nothing more than good old-fashioned slutshaming, the belittling of women and marginalised genders that keeps purity culture in check. Gigi Engle, clinical sexologist, sex educator, and author of All the F*cking Mistakes: A Guide to Sex, Love, and Lifeexplains that purity culture derives from Christianity and was a movement, gaining mainstream recognition in the 1990s, to emphasise the importance of abstaining from sex before marriagein order to please God. However, purity culture has leaked out of religion and the 1990s and permeated every crevice of modern culture.

Engle tells Mashable that purity culture is built on misinformation about female sexuality, rarely demonising men for the same acts, and is passed off as fact. “One of purity culture’s biggest myths is the idea that every time a woman has sex, she attaches herself to that person and a part of her has been damaged or taken away,” she explains. This belief is rooted in Christian purity culture, dating back to medieval times, and is often referred to as ‘soul ties’, a method of shaming women into keeping their body count low.

Engle adds that soul ties were designed to make women feel guilty for having more than one sexual partner. “Purity culture scares us into believing we’ll lose any chance of finding a partner by sleeping around.” 

The real-world effects of body count discourse

It should go without saying, but none of these puritanical ideas are true.Studies consistently showthat a person’s sexual history has no bearing on their ability to maintain a healthy, fulfilling relationship. That being said, marriages can be impacted by partners’ amount of previous partners because of cultural issues, including the false narrative that a person’s worth can be determined by how many people they’ve slept with. Ironically, and sadly, the only danger having a high body count poses on being a good partner is being so judged by your partner that it affects the whole relationship. 

Even though we know these ideas aren’t true, the myth of purity has bled into mainstream dating culture, even for those who don’t believe in religion. It manifests in the anxiety many people feel about body count discussions. At the time of writing, TikTok videos under the ‘soul ties’ hashtaghave been viewed over 437 million times, many of them spreading misinformation about what happens to our bodies and psyches after sex.

This pressure to conform to outdated sexual expectations has very real consequences. Even in modern dating culture, the expectation that women should suppress their sexuality remains deeply ingrained. Research showsthat a significant amount of people openly admit they find a woman less attractive if she has had multiple sexual partners. And that’s just the ones willing to say it out loud.

According to a sexual secretssurvey of 1,500 British people by sex toy shop Lovehoney, 22 percent of people have lied to a partner about how many people they’ve had sex with. A third of Brits admit to keeping sexual secrets out of fear of judgement, and 30 percent say they’ve kept their number a secret out of embarrassment. 

Even on Pure, a dating app that actively promotes sex positivity, body counts are still a point of tension. In a survey of 3,000 people, just 16 percent of women said they feel comfortable openly sharing past sexual experienceswith a date, and 17 percent of men stated they find it unattractive when women have had many sexual partners or kinky experiences.

So, it’s no wonder women feel compelled to downplay their history. The silver lining: for everyone who finds it a turn-off, there are thankfully 83 percent who aren’t put off by certain body counts or wild stories.

Still, this leaves women feeling disillusioned with dating, afraid to disclose their true sexual history in case of judgement or personal attack, and ultimately leads to shame they don’t deserve to carry. 

Slutshaming and sex work stigma

Nowhere is body count judgement and slutshaming more evident than in the way sex workers are treated online. It’s hard to scroll through TikTok for long without seeing a sex worker being interrogated by podcasters who seem less interested in genuine discussion and more intent on condemnation.

Take Rebecca Goodwin, an OnlyFans performer who made headlines after walking out of a podcast recordingearlier this year. She later revealed she had been repeatedly berated about her career, with the hosts attempting to frame her work as morally bankrupt. Despite asking for the episode to be scrapped, clips of her trying to defend her choices flooded Instagram and TikTok, spliced with disapproving commentary. Similarly, musician Kate Nash — who joined OnlyFans to fund her next tour — was forced to justify her decision in national news segments.

This trend of scrutinising and shaming sex workers spills over into body count discourse, where women who have multiple partners are treated as if they are somehow tainted. Society continues to associate female sexual freedom with degradation, while simultaneously holding men to a completely different standard.

The backlash against sex workers is particularly apparent in the recent moral panic surrounding porn performers Lily Phillips and Bonnie Blue. Phillips set out to sleep with 100 people in a day, while Blue attempted 1,000, reigniting a debate about ‘body counts’ that quickly spiralled into outright misogyny. While some critics voiced concern over the ethics of such stunts, much of the outrage stemmed from the sheer audacity of women publicly embracing their sexuality. The reaction split into two camps: one expressing concern over the men involved and another fixating on the idea that women having too much sex is inherently wrong.

This kind of reaction, unfortunately, isn’t surprising. Slutshaming is often about power and control, according to Erica Smith, founder of the Purity Culture Dropout Program, which helps people unlearn internalised shame. She tells Mashable, “Often a person will slutshame someone because they think that person needs to be put in their place.” 

The deep-rooted stigma surrounding sex work has long been used to punish women for any sexual behaviour that isn’t seen as perfectly pure. If a woman’s number is ‘too high’, she is treated as though she has crossed some invisible threshold into territory reserved for sex workers, who are already relentlessly judged and vilified.

Of course, the idea that women's value disintegrates with each person they sleep with completely disregards consent, sexual agency, and the fact that women don’t exist purely to be chosen by men. What’s even more insidious is how this rhetoric is framed as ‘helpful advice’ rather than what it actually is: old-fashioned misogyny, dressed up in modern aesthetics. 

Slutshaming is also about deflection. “They may not be happy with their own sex lives, and it’s hard for them to see someone enjoying themselves freely,” Smith says. Instead of embracing sex positivity, some people choose to dismiss, belittle, and even actively suppress it.

At the heart of the body count debate is a fundamental misunderstanding of human sexuality. The idea that a single number can define someone’s character, their capacity for love, or their ability to commit is not just ridiculous; it’s dangerous.

Sexuality isn’t a fixed formula. Some people have had many partners, others have had very few, and neither experience is inherently better or worse. Studies consistently show that a person’s sexual history has no bearing on their ability to maintain a healthy, fulfilling relationship. So instead of 'what's your body count', the real question should be: why are we still measuring a person’s worth this way?

Sluts: The Truth About Sex Shame & What We Can Do To Fight It by Beth Ashley (£9.99, Penguin Random House) is out now and is available from Amazonand all good bookshops.