Fanny and Stella: The Young Men Who Shocked Victorian England

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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. 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. 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.” 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.”

I was afraid of penises my whole life. First I wanted to have one. Then I entered puberty and my breasts grew, and I knew there was no way I was going to be a boy. Then I was hurt by penises. I was molested by my father and I had teenage interactions with boys who put pressure on me.Even though she refers to it as the hardest part of the project, Laura believes including so many of these harrowing experiences adds to the impact of her message – because there is no singular female experience. Although Laura admits to being nervous at the beginning. “I hadn’t knelt before a woman with her legs spread before.” 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. 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.

It got to the point where I was obsessive in my desire to have a child. My mum told me I needed some counselling. I started to re-evaluate what womanhood could look like for me, outside of my biological capabilities. I think we kind of take for granted that we’re going to be able to have children. Not being able to conceive doesn’t reduce your value as a woman, it doesn’t make you less of a woman – but that’s kind of what society tells us.Dr Naomi Crouch, chair of the British Society for Paediatric and Adolescent Gynaecology, has also noticed a “marked increase in girls and young women seeking labiaplasty” over the last few years.” 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.” The idea that women are turning away from pleasure because they’re worried about what they look, smell and taste like has unearthed a fundamental message for Laura. I’m 70 and I still enjoy sex. I see my current partner for extended weekends. For half the week I do my own thing: I look after my grandchildren, I belong to a women’s drama group, I see my friends. I was ready for the menopause to happen. I think we have to come to terms with life’s changes in the most positive way we can. You lose some of your lubrication, but a little bit of spit solves that problem. Later, a BBC report about girls as young as nine seeking labiaplasty – surgery that involves the lips of the vagina being shortened or reshaped – because they were distressed by its appearance, had Laura reaching for her camera again. “The idea that girls and young women think their vagina is ugly and want to change how it looks is just wrong, and sad.” I feel like I’ve been a creative warrior for women, helping them reclaim their bodies and their stories – and I’m fiercely protective of them. I hope it’s a game changer, especially for young women. If I’d seen and read this when I was 18, I think my entire life would have been different.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. 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.