Fanny and Stella: The Young Men Who Shocked Victorian England

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Shame is a really big problem for human beings,” she sighs. “Where I’ve found that, generally, men are under pressure to be ‘enough’ – big enough, getting laid enough, rich enough, man enough – women feel like they’re ‘too much’ – too fat, too hairy, too saggy, too female. Frankly, we just need to be as we are. Yes, you can look at the photos and go ‘Wow, we all look really different’, but it’s also about connecting with the honesty of these stories. Because if you find yourself feeling admiration, pride and inspiration for another person, it becomes easier to apply that to yourself, too.” And when 100 women share intimate photos and deeply personal experiences relating to their vaginas, the result is a tender yet taboo-exploding message of women reclaiming their womanhood. At least, that’s what Laura set out to achieve. Over a few weeks, I bled a lot between periods, and also after sex with my boyfriend at the time. I googled bleeding and it came up with lots of different things: an STI, hormonal imbalance, cervical cancer. The labia minora are usually first, and sometimes more prominent during the early stages. But it can be hard to find accurate information about this.”

I had a stage 1B grade 3, which is small, but nasty. Thankfully it was caught early. I had my cervix removed, the surrounding kind of tissue area and the top third of my vagina and, thank God, didn’t need further treatment, like chemotherapy. I can get pregnant, but because there’s no cervix there’s a high chance of miscarriage or early birth. Having endometriosis means that my periods are irregular and can be excruciating. It’s like a hot, burning sensation in my uterus that radiates throughout the lower half of my body, into my hips and down into my knees. People think I’m exaggerating, but sometimes I can’t work. I also get a sudden sharp shooting pain in my vagina, which catches me off guard. It’s exhausting having to live with a level of pain that never really goes away. I have seen, touched, indeed worshipped many vulvas. And yet I have never had the courage to look at my own. I have identified as a lesbian most of my life. I desperately wanted to be a boy as a child. I hated my body, my gender, for many years. Since then I have come full circle to a place of love and reverence for who I am – and what I am made of. I feel a bit broken as a woman because we’re supposed to carry babies. Also, I have a shorter vagina now so I can’t even get the same pleasure I used to. I felt angry that the part of my body, which is central to women’s identity, had done a number on me at 24. With that in mind, she couldn’t not confront her own vulnerabilities. “When I first looked at my vulva I thought, ‘Whoa, there’s a lot going on there!’ But taking part has been transformative for me: I’m more comfortable in my skin as a woman. It’s a pivotal experience to do something like this because it’s so exposing.Photographing this intimate area led to some unique and deeply personal stories. “Each one has stayed with me,” she says. “The 46-year-old virgin. The woman who endured FGM. The woman who had her vagina removed because of cancer.” I didn’t grow up with my father but I thought he was incredible. When I was a teenager, I’d go and spend the weekend with him. One night he got into bed with me and started touching me. The next day I confronted him. His reasoning was that he wanted me to realise that I had a beautiful body and that sex was a wonderful thing. I was like, ‘You’re not the right person to be teaching me any of this because you’re my father.’ My early experiences of womanhood started with the women who raised me: my nan taught me about enjoying yourself, your body and who you are. My mum is my best friend, there’s nothing that I don’t share with her. I decided I wanted to wax my vulva, and I asked [her] to do it. My mum gave birth to me so there’s nothing that I have that she hasn’t seen. And I trust her.

I never wanted to have children until I developed reproductive health problems. When I was 19, I had a Mirena coil fitted and that caused me to get pelvic inflammatory disease, which was excruciatingly painful. I grew a cyst on my right ovary very rapidly. I was in and out of A&E and I had to suspend my studies at uni. In the end I had emergency surgery that resulted in the loss of my right ovary and fallopian tube and they drained five litres of fluid from the cyst. My vulva is happy and majestic. It’s heart-shaped and it isn’t one colour, there are different shades of brown. It’s kind of tidy, but it’s also an organised mess. I think there’s something really powerful about having the opportunity to look at yourself in more detail. It gives you a different appreciation for your body.I first met Laura, a photographer from Surrey, in 2015 following her exploration of 100 women’s relationships with their breasts. Where would you normally see another vulva?” photographer Laura Dodsworth asks me. “Mainly only in porn,” she answers. “Especially if you’re looking online. But there’s a world of difference between how you see vulvas in porn – and how you see them in real life. It’s so important for women to know what vulvas look like. It can help with body image anxiety. We really need to talk about them because many women haven’t looked at their own. They don’t know what’s down there.” Now, her latest work puts vulvas and vaginas in the spotlight thanks to her new book Womanhood: The Bare Reality and forthcoming Channel 4 documentary: 100 Vaginas.