From the 'Scarlet A' to the 'White V'

As you begin to grow into adulthood, you discover that everything you've learned as a child has been slightly/enormously exaggerated or sugar-coated to meet the societal standard. As it turns out, talking to strangers is A-okay if you've got a cocktail in your hand, and touching genitals doesn't always guarantee that you'll get AIDS and die.

And for the most part, many of these realizations are actually quite good. It means that being promiscuous doesn't necessarily entail a reputation comparable to "slutty Stephanie," who scandalously made out with someone other than her boyfriend under the bleachers in 8th grade, and that being a virgin doesn't mean you're a four-eyed nerd with an unusual amount of white-stained socks in your hamper.

... Or does it?

Though most of your high school labels and expectations die with your diploma, there is one that has a funny way of sticking around as you enter the world of grown-ups - all depending on the status of your "V-card."

In Nathaniel Hawthorne's "The Scarlet Letter," Hester Prynne is famously shamed by being made to wear a scarlet "A" on her chest as a result of her sexual expression. In today's world, I can't help but wonder if the opposite would be true in such a situation: Would a virgin be forced to wear their own "white A"?

Growing up, your authority figures feed you with the idea that your virginity is something "special," something that should be reserved for someone you deem worthy of breaking into your fortress for the first time. It's sacred, it's virtuous, it's rubbish.

It seems that this delusional romantic notion more frequently leads to disaster in the case of most late-blossoming virgins, who hold out hope that maybe one day they'll meet the perfect person who can recreate a movie-esque scene that fulfills their greatest fantasies.

Yet for those who have yet to rip that "V" off like a band-aid, they are instead cursed with endlessly sketchy dates and men/women who just don't want to bear the "responsibility" of being "that person."

And although you're told that your virginity adds a positive element to your character, what it actually appears to do is limit your possibilities in the dating world, kill your sense of 21st-century romanticism, and plague you with the expectation that your first time will be "unique."

The reality, of course, is that your "special moment" is more likely to happen as a one-night-stand or in a bathroom stall at Woody's than it is to happen on the honeymoon of your wedding. There are no rose petals to be found here, just used condoms and Zip-Loc bags filled with lube.

But I'm not one to dictate morals, and I'm certainly no advocate of throwing out the V-card just to "get it over with." Your virginity is something deeply personal, and only you should be determining its value, not the rest of the world. You can in fact prove the village people wrong and own your "white V" with pride; how you choose to spin this information will greatly affect how well it is ultimately received by others. After all, everything is in style if you just know how to wear it.