Sex Horse Public Experiment
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Sex Horse Public Experiment
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Carina Hsieh
Sex & Relationships Editor
Carina Hsieh lives in NYC with her French Bulldog Bao Bao — follow her on Instagram and Twitter • Candace Bushnell once called her the Samantha Jones of Tinder • She enjoys hanging out in the candle aisle of TJ Maxx and getting lost in Amazon spirals.
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It all started when a friend of mine told me her clubbing pregame secret: She’d insert a kegel trainer (two little weighted balls on a string) inside her vagina when she went out, explaining that the weight of the balls trained her PC muscles to contract and strengthen while she drank watered-down vodka cranberries and danced.
Fucking great , I thought. Not only did this surface weird anxieties about my "loose" vagina that society has trained me to irrationally fear, but it pissed me off. At least prior to this info, I had assumed the strength of your vagina was Out of Your Control, like your first nose, or the birth year you pay someone to erase from your Wikipedia page when you get famous. Out of sight, out of mind right? Wrong, apparently.
Fast-forward two years and my editor has assigned me to train my p-slur with a kegel toy, for journalism, of course! Attention Pulitzer committee: You must specify Cosmopolitan.com when you mail my award to me; otherwise I may not get it!
Cue panic! I can’t even stick to a regs workout routine, let alone one that requires lube and squatting over my bathmat precariously trying to shove plastic inside of me.
The technology of kegel weights has vastly improved in the past two years. There are now kegel exercisers, like the Lovelife Krush that I tried, that utilize bluetooth to send you real-time feedback while you clench, testing the strength of your PC muscles. Silicon Valley has not failed women! Stop saying that!
While this is theoretically a great idea, the real-time feedback is lost on me, a person who often shakes my phone an extra few times to trick the health app into thinking I may have walked an extra block (if it’s dumb enough to count that as a step, it’s NOT EVEN MY FAULT!). What is cool however, is the ability for the kegel trainer to spring into little workout modes, vibrating at certain intervals to jolt your PC muscles into contracting and strengthening.
The Krush is a wonky little pink silicone kegel trainer that looks like two rubber balls with a tail. There’s also an anchor involved — a rubber boat-looking thing with a deep groove running from the front to the back. The retrieval cord is thick hollow rubber, so it’s a bit more conspicuous than the average tampon string.
I was basically the physical equivalent of someone who just gave birth, minus the miracle.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to confirm what I had hoped was true all along: that I had the tightest vagina on earth, that I’d broken the app. That my PC muscles were so off-the-charts, that Guinness World Record officials would be stopping by in a week’s time to award me with a prize. "Oh, I had no idea!" I’d feign cluelessness when people asked me about my record-shatteringly strong birth canal, swatting fanboys away like flies while a team of shirtless hotties fanned me from the heat.
No such luck! After my first “workout” with the app, I checked with bated breath to see my results, which ... what the fuck ?! I had scored the lowest of the low across the board in almost every category: initial pressure, control ability, and max strength. This stupid app told me I was basically the physical equivalent of someone who had just squeezed a tiny human out of their birth canal, minus the miracle. The only saving grace was that I had scored normal-good in endurance — not even cool considering I’ve been clenching my body since 2013.
Well, if I wasn’t going to start out with a super-fit vagina already, I wasn’t super excited to commit myself to a Whole Regimen for something I wouldn’t visually be able to track progress of (unlike say, when I do three squats and swear my butt has swelled up at least two pant sizes). At the very least, I wanted to test out my old friend’s hot clubbing tip: Would going out in public with the trainer be a fun experience?
It seemed daunting. For starters, I don’t think you’re supposed to wear this one while out and about, unlike the version my friend used. Secondly, this puppy vibrates — audibly. Nevertheless, I soldiered on. Since I don’t hit the clubs up very often, I decided to do the next best thing: go window-shopping on a Sunday afternoon. Wild! I recruited a friend who was willing to walk around Brooklyn together, listening for any rogue sounds emanating from my vagina (and also act as general support lest I sneeze and the whole thing clatters out on the floor of the Whole Foods in Williamsburg and I have to chase after it on my hands and knees past the LaCroix wall).
First up, we hit up a coffee shop. I turned the trainer to workout mode outside and almost immediately I had to lean on a nearby pole, I was so taken aback. Doing the workout when I’m in my pajamas in bed reading Gilmore Girl fan theories is one thing. Standing up is a whole 'nother thing. I couldn’t concentrate on clenching and unclenching at all, but I kept thinking about what would happen were the trainer to fall out. I’d trapped both the kegel balls and the anchor within a thong, but nightmares still ran through my head of the set falling out of my body, getting tangled by my five-for-$25 cotton/poly slingshot while I limped cautiously home.
I can’t get over the fear of peeing with such force that the whole thing shoots out into toilet bowl.
From there, we made our way to a small bookstore where I turned the thing on “fun mode,” which sustains the vibration until manually shut off. (By the way, “fun mode” is not nearly as fun as you’d think — the vibration works best as an alert or call to action like, Hey, B, you should be clenching right now , and less of a ~SeXy sEcRet~.) The device pulsed inside me and I pictured my vagina as this cavernous thing, amplifying each rattle and shake, despite my friend promising the sound was barely noticeable.
We shopped around for a bit and I almost forgot I was wearing this thing. Almost all anxieties of it falling out of me ceased; I could only tell when I would run across the street to catch a light. Cocky from my previous encounter in the bookstore, we headed into another, even smaller bookstore. There was one man sitting in a small desk in the center, reading. Aside from two other customers browsing, it was dead quiet. Obviously, like a masochist for humiliation, I nudged my friend with my thumb hovering over the “fun mode” button on the app.
The other customer browsing near us looked up from her book and I scrambled to turn it off. Immediately I started sweating along my hairline. At this point I had to pee, badly . (I always feel like I have to pee when I get nervous, and the fear of a foreign object sliding down my leg covered in lube and vagina steam wasn’t, like, putting me super at ease.)
We bolted and made our way into a pizza shop, where I ran inside to the bathroom. First I removed the anchor and tried to pee with the kegel balls still inside, since, you know, it’s probably just like a tampon, right?! But I couldn’t get over the fear of peeing with such force that the whole thing shoots out into toilet bowl. So I removed it, walked over to the sink with my pants at my ankles, and washed it off before settling in for what felt like the most blissful pee of my whole life.
I dried the thing under the hand dryer and wrapped it in toilet paper, tucking it into a zippered compartment in my purse, worried about how long I took in there. But when I got out, there was a drunk man belting Sara Bareilles in the pizza shop, so you know. Weirder things.
When I checked my workout stats at home later, I’m disappointed but whatever. My initial pressure had gone up to 50 from my original triggering AF score of 29 out of 100, my endurance stayed the same at four seconds, and my max strength increased to 56 from 44 (again out of 100).
Pop culture and Judd Apatow films tell us that vaginas are inherently nasty — they smell, they’re ugly, they’re “”””fishy.”””” If you’ve slept with more than one person in your life, get ready for a barrage of insults depicting your genitalia as a loose Ziploc baggie full of goldfish crumbs you should be ashamed of, the sleeve of a wizard, etc. Never mind that looking at a penis isn’t exactly like staring at a tropical sunset. The only compliment it seems you can ever award a vagina is if it’s tight.
But TBH, it doesn’t matter how tight my vagina is. It’s not like I get any pleasure from it being able to bear down any harder or gentler, so there’s very little use to me running around and trying to change my body to seem cool for some hypothetical man. Men will literally stick their dick in anything, so who cares!
Sure, there’s some data backing up that stronger PC muscles can result in stronger orgasms, but science also backs up that it’s healthier to go to a gym than to shake my phone around in the hopes that it counts the movement as steps. That doesn’t mean you have to do it. If lying supine with my laptop on its side and getting lost in 33 Amazon tabs or trying to train my Instagram algorithm to show only French bulldog videos is what makes me happier than physical exercise in any capacity, then I’ll do that.
Ultimately I don’t think I’ll be kegeling too much in my future, but perhaps like the yoga mat collecting dust in the corner of my apartment, just knowing the option is there is nice. After all, what doesn’t kegel makes you stronger.
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