Content warning: This article mentions misogynistic slurs, rape, prejudice against women, and gender-based discrimination. 

It’s a busy Saturday night on King Street. You’re wearing a cute outfit, your hair and makeup are done, and you feel good. You’re waiting in line with your friends to get into a bar when suddenly a man approaches you, microphone and phone camera in hand. He shoves both into your face and asks, “What’s your body count?” 

After a fun night and almost enough drinks to forget it, you’re on the subway ride home with your headphones in, listening to a popular pseudo-feminist podcast. Another fan wrote in, describing how her boyfriend ended their relationship after learning about her sexual past. She explains that they’ve since gotten back together, but after hearing her response, he now constantly reminds her that she’s ‘easy’ and that her body count is too high.

‘The question’ always seems to carry an underlying air of judgment. It is not an invitation to share, but a demand to confess. It asks women to convert their lived experience into a number that is used to determine their value. 

The question presents itself as an innocent inquiry, a gateway toward openness, honesty, and even intimacy. However, it resurrects an old logic: that society is entitled to a woman’s sexual history in order to determine her worth. 

The language we use to talk about sex and relationships — especially in relation to heterosexuality and women — has quietly become a tool for translating women’s bodies, behaviour, and online presence into moral data.

Sexual attitudes through historical eras

‘The question’ almost always seems to be posed to women rather than men, as if a man’s sexual past is not a determining factor of his integrity, while it is a woman’s. According to an article published in the journal Frontiers in Psychology, this is known as a “sexual double standard,” where men and women are judged “differently for the same sexual behaviour.” 

Double standards are only exacerbated in the sphere of sexual activity, most often to the detriment of women. Shame has long been pushed on women’s romantic and sexual lives — what has evolved over time is the language and terminology we use to reinforce it. 

In her 1993 study on sexual language in early modern London, England, historian Laura Gowing examined how sixteenth-century courts handled cases of sexual defamation, which refers to cases where an accused’s sexual activity was being slandered publicly. 

When women were accused of being ‘whores,’ they were often forced to defend themselves in courts against allegations rooted in these perceived criminal and immoral sexual behaviours. 

Sociologist Mary Evans similarly explored in her 2020 book Making Respectable Women how, in the nineteenth century, social norms for women were shifting. Clothing shifts like the normalization of knee-length skirts arose, but women were ultimately still having their “respectability” determined by their “domestic and sexual behaviour.” 

Medical language also reinforced sexual double standards through the diagnosis of hysteria in the sixteenth century. Derived from the Greek word hysterikos, meaning ‘of the womb,’ a 2015 article from the National Library of Medicine explained how hysteria was framed as an inherently ‘female’ disorder. Women’s wombs were thought to produce “excess pollution.”

By the early nineteenth century, hysteria became further associated with sexual expression, suggesting that women suffered when sexual desire was either excessive or insufficient. This pathologization positioned female sexuality as something requiring regulation and control, reinforcing the idea that women’s sexual behaviour was dangerous and socially disruptive. 

The language surrounding marriage has also historically connoted sexual shame and coerced compliance, framing women’s bodies as inherently accessible to their husbands. Terms such as ‘wifely duties’ and ‘marital rights’ normalized the erasure of consent within a marriage, and reconfigured access to a wife’s body as a right rather than a consensual agreement. Until 1983, marital rape was legal in Canada. 

The term ‘virginity’ also operates as a deeply gendered linguistic marker that sanctifies a woman’s sexual inexperience as evidence of her moral integrity. When a woman keeps her virginity, she is said to keep it ‘intact,’ suggesting that there is something ‘broken’ about women with sexual experience. Other words, such as ‘purity,’ ‘flower,’ and ‘innocence,’ are used to characterize virginity as a morally superior state. Furthermore, having your virginity ‘taken away’ or being ‘deflowered’ posits sexual experience as something passive for women, portraying them as objects to be claimed by the men with whom they have sex. 

Comparable standards rarely apply to men. In fact, when men lose their virginity, they are often praised by society — and often by other men — for ‘coming into their own,’ again reinforcing the sexual double standard.   

The twenty-first century is heavily influenced by what is known as the Sexual Revolution — a movement of the 1960s and ’80s that challenged norms surrounding sex and gender. Part of the rhetoric of this revolution was that it encouraged women to reclaim their sexuality, by openly talking about and engaging in it. 

It also sought to cultivate a culture that respected women’s agency in choosing with whom, when, and how to have sex and express their needs and desires. This revolution posited sex as a form of resistance against heteronormative and sexist structures. But while some attitudes and rules around sex and the outward expression of it had changed, the underlying patriarchal formulation of women and sexuality would prove more difficult to dismantle. 

Where women were once shamed and told to be quiet or subtle about sex, they are now heckled to be explicit and open, for the same end: to be surveilled and categorized.

Sexual freedom, in practice, came with a new expectation: to explain, justify, and narrate one’s sexuality in legible terms. The question is no longer whether a woman is sexual, but how much, how often, and at what cost to others.

Everyday language quantifies women’s sexual history

When asked what comes to mind upon hearing the phrase “sexual reputation,” third-year political science major J.S. listed three words: “virgin,” “offender,” and “slut.” He described ‘slut’ as “the most common word, but the one with the least impact as a statement.” 

According to J.S., terms like ‘slut’ have become increasingly desensitized, losing much of their shock value as offensive and insulting. “You don’t even need to say the word,” he explained. Its frequent usage means everyone knows what it means.

Fourth-year kinesiology major L.T. echoes this observation, noting that “the classics are out of fashion.” According to L.T., calling someone a ‘slut’ is no longer effective at offending them precisely because judgment now operates through subtext. She thinks that the policing of female sexuality has not disappeared but has simply become more subtle, since it is no longer socially acceptable to publicly shame women for their sexual activity.

L.T. speculates that when a man asks about women’s body count, “it’s a loaded question” that comes less from a place of curiosity, but the desire to “gauge something” — presumably about the woman’s character. L.T. also observes that “men seem to have an idea of what would be okay” for a woman to have as her body count, whereas for men, “it’s not a big deal.”

 

“Women’s sexual value — especially a ‘negative’ one — is transferable, as if it were a disease that could be caught through mere proximity.”

 

How are people judged on the sexual market?

Sexual Market Value theory is a framework used by some scholars that conceptualizes one’s value as a sexual partner, as a function of traits like appearance, behaviour, and social status. These traits are thought to determine someone’s value within a ‘mating market,’ which posits that people with more desirable traits can be more selective with their partners.

To J.S., the potential partner assessment happens instinctively, through what he describes as a logic of “supply and demand.” If a woman has slept with or is presumed to have slept with multiple people, her desirability to men is assumed to decline — not because of an explicit moral objection, but because “her value… is [implicitly] diminished.” 

This thought process mimics the Sexual Market Value theory, wherein a person’s value as a sexual partner is treated as something that depreciates through each instance of sexual activity. A woman’s sex life is no longer simply her personal business, but is something that can affect her reputation. 

J.S. even notes that this logic surrounding women’s sexuality even influences how men imagine their own sexual value is diminished by association. He says that “sometimes the only reason not to go out with a girl” who has a high body count is because “you don’t want to be seen in public” by other women you may want to be with in the future. 

In this way, the judgment is perceived to be both internal and external. Within this logic, women’s sexual value — especially a ‘negative’ one — is transferable, as if it were a disease that could be caught through mere proximity. 

But this doesn’t just apply to sexual proximity. Women are also blamed for men’s own romantic or domestic failings.

The title ‘single mother,’ for example, often carries negative connotations that suggest the mother in question has been abandoned by the father of their child. Although the woman has not necessarily done anything wrong, she is judged on the assumption either that she has had a child out of wedlock or has tainted her dignity by having had a child with a man who is unable to care for a child. In either case, it is perceived that she is at fault for her child’s fatherlessness. 

Another example of how language reinforces gendered imbalances are the terms used to describe unmarried women and men of a ‘mature’ age. Author Karen Stollznow exemplifies how double standards re-emerge with the difference implications with the terms‘spinster’ versus ‘bachelor.’ While ‘bachelor’ is a more neutral term, ‘spinster’ is cited as “derogatory,” if you look the definition up online. This is once again a testament to the value we place on women’s sexual life, as opposed to men’s.

To get a like is to be seen 

L.T. notes the pressure placed on women to appear confident but not overt in their sexuality. “You’re supposed to look like a hot girl in a way that you’re trying to be desired, instead of in that self-empowered kind of way.” In other words, women are encouraged to cultivate their sexual personality not for themselves, but for the benefit of others. This expectation mirrors the logic J.S. describes when he explains that women’s social market value is fragile, constantly assessed, and vulnerable to decline based on how others perceive them sexually. 

L.T. also believes that male-dominated spaces like fraternities and ‘locker room talk’ publicly perpetuate this hierarchy, signalling which women are desirable and which are not. She emphasizes that judgment is not solely male-driven; women also monitor one another to avoid associating with those who are considered of lesser value. 

Social media operates as an amplifier, making sexual reputations into quantifiable social currency with increased visibility and digital metrics. An example of how this plays out is the viral TikTok trend, “They’re a 10, but….” With this trend, both men and women assign value to hypothetical romantic partners; they start with a perfect score of 10, then deduct a point each time the person in question exhibits a trait or behaviour they don’t like. Desirability becomes a calculable metric, and attraction is a scorecard.

What is questionable about how women’s ‘scores’ are evaluated in trends like these, is the criteria that determine them. In the trend, men’s desirability is frequently assessed by traits that confer economic success and good treatment of their female partners. Yet women’s desirability is often rooted in conformity to traditional gender roles and their sexual activity. 

In one video that appears when you search for the trend on TikTok, a group of men react to various prompts, including “She’s a 10, but she has a small [butt],” “She’s a 10, but she doesn’t know how to cook,” and “She’s a 10, but she smokes and drinks.” Another one features negative reactions from the male participants to prompts like “She’s a 10, but she’s not good in bed,” and “She’s a 10, but she has multiple piercings.” 

Contrastingly, in a video from a woman’s perspective, the prompts include “He’s a 10, but he doesn’t give you flowers,” “He’s a 10, but he doesn’t have a car,” and “He’s a 10, but he only sees you on weekends.” 

There is a clear imbalance between how men and women evaluate each other’s romantic desirability. Even though many videos of the trend are simply playful, the misalignment between what traits make a man’s score decline versus a woman’s seems anything but a joke. 

A woman’s value seems to diminish if she does not satisfy the superficial and sexual wants of a man, including through factors as insignificant as bodily piercings. Yet, a man’s value declines in the eyes of women if he is not a dedicated partner, as opposed to physical characteristics. 

How does it all add up?

The common question of one’s body count lingers in the same systems that seem to promise sexual freedom. Social media encourages the illusion that such a question fosters relatability and openness, and contemporary sexual discourse frames transparency as a marker of maturity. 

Yet, as the experiences of students like J.S. and L.T. show, the potential interpersonal and social consequences of that transparency are uneven. Women are told they are free to govern their sex life however they choose, but those choices remain subject to constant scrutiny. 

Women are not necessarily freer to express their sexuality today, despite the impact of movements like the sexual revolution. Sex-based insults and shaming are often more implicit and subtle, but they’re still there. 

Even if an outright insult is not made, underlying connotations still bubble at the surface of each comment or inquiry about a woman’s sexuality. And when women are outrightly a

How are people judged on the sexual market?

Sexual Market Value theory is a framework used by some scholars that conceptualizes one’s value as a sexual partner, as a function of traits like appearance, behaviour, and social status. These traits are thought to determine someone’s value within a ‘mating market,’ which posits that people with more desirable traits can be more selective with their partners.

To J.S., the potential partner assessment happens instinctively, through what he describes as a logic of “supply and demand.” If a woman has slept with or is presumed to have slept with multiple people, her desirability to men is assumed to decline — not because of an explicit moral objection, but because “her value… is [implicitly] diminished.” 

This thought process mimics the Sexual Market Value theory, wherein a person’s value as a sexual partner is treated as something that depreciates through each instance of sexual activity. A woman’s sex life is no longer simply her personal business, but is something that can affect her reputation. 

J.S. even notes that this logic surrounding women’s sexuality even influences how men imagine their own sexual value is diminished by association. He says that “sometimes the only reason not to go out with a girl” who has a high body count is because “you don’t want to be seen in public” by other women you may want to be with in the future. 

In this way, the judgment is perceived to be both internal and external. Within this logic, women’s sexual value — especially a ‘negative’ one — is transferable, as if it were a disease that could be caught through mere proximity. 

But this doesn’t just apply to sexual proximity. Women are also blamed for men’s own romantic or domestic failings.

The title ‘single mother,’ for example, often carries negative connotations that suggest the mother in question has been abandoned by the father of their child. Although the woman has not necessarily done anything wrong, she is judged on the assumption either that she has had a child out of wedlock or has tainted her dignity by having had a child with a man who is unable to care for a child. In either case, it is perceived that she is at fault for her child’s fatherlessness. 

Another example of how language reinforces gendered imbalances are the terms used to describe unmarried women and men of a ‘mature’ age. Author Karen Stollznow exemplifies how double standards re-emerge with the difference implications with the terms‘spinster’ versus ‘bachelor.’ While ‘bachelor’ is a more neutral term, ‘spinster’ is cited as “derogatory,” if you look the definition up online. This is once again a testament to the value we place on women’s sexual life, as opposed to men’s.

To get a like is to be seen 

L.T. notes the pressure placed on women to appear confident but not overt in their sexuality. “You’re supposed to look like a hot girl in a way that you’re trying to be desired, instead of in that self-empowered kind of way.” In other words, women are encouraged to cultivate their sexual personality not for themselves, but for the benefit of others. This expectation mirrors the logic J.S. describes when he explains that women’s social market value is fragile, constantly assessed, and vulnerable to decline based on how others perceive them sexually. 

L.T. also believes that male-dominated spaces like fraternities and ‘locker room talk’ publicly perpetuate this hierarchy, signalling which women are desirable and which are not. She emphasizes that judgment is not solely male-driven; women also monitor one another to avoid associating with those who are considered of lesser value. 

Social media operates as an amplifier, making sexual reputations into quantifiable social currency with increased visibility and digital metrics. An example of how this plays out is the viral TikTok trend, “They’re a 10, but….” With this trend, both men and women assign value to hypothetical romantic partners; they start with a perfect score of 10, then deduct a point each time the person in question exhibits a trait or behaviour they don’t like. Desirability becomes a calculable metric, and attraction is a scorecard.

What is questionable about how women’s ‘scores’ are evaluated in trends like these, is the criteria that determine them. In the trend, men’s desirability is frequently assessed by traits that confer economic success and good treatment of their female partners. Yet women’s desirability is often rooted in conformity to traditional gender roles and their sexual activity. 

In one video that appears when you search for the trend on TikTok, a group of men react to various prompts, including “She’s a 10, but she has a small [butt],” “She’s a 10, but she doesn’t know how to cook,” and “She’s a 10, but she smokes and drinks.” Another one features negative reactions from the male participants to prompts like “She’s a 10, but she’s not good in bed,” and “She’s a 10, but she has multiple piercings.” 

Contrastingly, in a video from a woman’s perspective, the prompts include “He’s a 10, but he doesn’t give you flowers,” “He’s a 10, but he doesn’t have a car,” and “He’s a 10, but he only sees you on weekends.” 

There is a clear imbalance between how men and women evaluate each other’s romantic desirability. Even though many videos of the trend are simply playful, the misalignment between what traits make a man’s score decline versus a woman’s seems anything but a joke. 

A woman’s value seems to diminish if she does not satisfy the superficial and sexual wants of a man, including through factors as insignificant as bodily piercings. Yet, a man’s value declines in the eyes of women if he is not a dedicated partner, as opposed to physical characteristics. 

How does it all add up?

The common question of one’s body count lingers in the same systems that seem to promise sexual freedom. Social media encourages the illusion that such a question fosters relatability and openness, and contemporary sexual discourse frames transparency as a marker of maturity. 

Yet, as the experiences of students like J.S. and L.T. show, the potential interpersonal and social consequences of that transparency are uneven. Women are told they are free to govern their sex life however they choose, but those choices remain subject to constant scrutiny. 

Women are not necessarily freer to express their sexuality today, despite the impact of movements like the sexual revolution. Sex-based insults and shaming are often more implicit and subtle, but they’re still there. 

Even if an outright insult is not made, underlying connotations still bubble at the surface of each comment or inquiry about a woman’s sexuality. And when women are outrightly attacked, the marketization of dating and sex seems to confine them to one box: undesirable. ttacked, the marketization of dating and sex seems to confine them to one box: undesirable.