http://www.nytimes.com/2016/10/01/arts/the-sex-ed-queens-of-youtube-dont-need-a-phd.html 2016-09-30 21:54:33 The Sex-Ed Queens of YouTube Don’t Need a Ph.D. A young online generation of advisers on sex and relationships is using the internet to get their message out. Their lack of credentials is a plus. === The This is Laci Green, the sex-ed queen of YouTube. Since posting her first video from her dorm room in 2008 (it was a review of her NuvaRing), her videos have been viewed a combined 131 million times. She’s building a digital empire around what she calls “sex ed for the internet,” and she’s leading a new generation of amateur sexperts along with her. They earn money from college speaking engagements; ads on YouTube; and by sponsoring products like Durex And traditional media companies, like Viacom and Univision, are getting in on the action, too, snapping up online sex-ed personalities and releasing their own pop-sexual content. For young people raised with abstinence-only education in school and unfettered pornography online, these internet sex gurus offer a third option — access to other young people who feel comfortable talking about sex. This is sex ed by and for internet natives: It is personal, energetic, unfiltered and not entirely fact-checked. The sex and relationships commentators who arose in the self-help boom of the 1980s emphasized their expert status. But while Dr. Ruth, Dr. Laura and Dr. Drew telegraphed their academic credentials in their names, modern sex-ed stars make an asset of their amateurism. Eileen Kelly, the 20-year-old Instagram-famous founder of the sex blog and forum “You don’t have to be a doctor to be involved in sex education,” Ms. Witton said. “It’s sex. It should be accessible to everyone. There shouldn’t be any barriers to talking about it.” If grade school sex-ed classes are clinical and awkward, YouTube sex-ed videos are shamelessly exuberant. A minute into her video about the secrets of the vagina, Ms. Green whips out a Play-Doh model of the female reproductive system to giddily point to the cervical os. A typical YouTube editing tactic, in which dozens of takes are stitched together through hyperactive jump cuts, imbues sex-ed monologues with an almost manic energy. Illustrations pop onscreen to punctuate points, and piped-in music swells to stoke feelings. For all the talk about the fantasies and fallacies of porn, it’s notable that there is something not entirely real about these online outlets, either. Watching Ms. Green’s videos or scrolling through Ms. Kelly’s coolly glamorous Instagram feed can feel less like talking to a sister or a friend than marveling at a dazzling sex-ed cyborg. Or maybe they’re more like sexual avatars, modeling a level of liberation that their viewers can’t yet achieve themselves. The exhibitionism endemic to social media stardom comes in handy here. Sex-ed YouTube borrows from the same tropes that dominate personality-driven videos across the network; these ones just have more naked people. (The relevant bits are censored, as nudity runs afoul of YouTube rules.) A lot of the videos are styled as party games, light “social experiments,” or crossover collaborations with other web stars. Ms. Witton hosts a series called “Drunk Advice,” where she and internet-famous friends get tipsy and talk sex. Shannon Boodram’s YouTube videos play with classic video formats like the The educational component kicks in when the hosts tie the stunt to a broader lesson about self-esteem, sexual health, tolerance, whatever. The point of the vaginal taste-test video was to nudge women toward overcoming the discomfort some have in receiving oral sex. “If it’s just sexy and fun, you lose the education part,” said Ms. Boodram, who this summer was picked to host a Trojan-sponsored MTV web series called “Guide To” (and who showed up at the Even educational institutions are taking cues from that insight. This new breed’s desire to entertain, however, can allow room for myths to slip in. In a video that delivers a “These videos mean that more people can have access to information about sex, and they get to choose who they’re comfortable getting it from,” said Debby Herbenick, an associate professor of public health at Indiana University. “Sex is still pretty stigmatized, so that can be really lovely.” On the other hand, she said, “the information is not necessarily accurate.” Internet sexperts pull from a grab bag of materials. Ms. Green, who sees her video archive as a virtual “sex-ed library,” takes care to quote sound medical resources and publishes “You can open a textbook and learn the facts,” Ms. Scarcella said. “Like, a penis goes into a vagina, and babies come out.” She’s more interested in exploring the emotional side of sex. “Teenagers are flocking to the internet because they’re trying to understand how they feel,” she said. Sometimes all they need is a role model who is comfortable being herself. Well, mostly comfortable. At 30, Ms. Boodram bills herself as a “professional big sis” and bristles when her younger fans code her as more maternal. “I’m not trying to be your mom,” she said. Ms. Scarcella avoids discussing her age online because she’s afraid of alienating parts of her audience. “I don’t want them to think that I’m not relatable anymore,” she said. The very thing that makes their work so compelling also risks limiting their careers. For the internet’s sex-ed personalities, getting older may be the only taboo.