Last summer, a television show sparked outrage, branded ‘exploitative’ and even a ‘public health danger.’ But for Marianne, a 26-year-old who had never experienced intimacy, it offered something unexpected: hope. She saw a potential path forward, a chance to unravel years of self-imposed barriers.
Six months later, she found herself on a remote Croatian island, stepping out of a life defined by sexual deprivation. World-leading sexologists, Celeste Hirschman and Dr. Danielle Harel, guided her and other participants through a series of intensely personal and often challenging workshops. Their methods, though controversial, aimed to unlock desire and confront deeply held fears.
The experience wasn’t what many expected. It was, surprisingly, heartwarming. Participants weren’t simply thrown into provocative situations; they were carefully supported as they explored arousal, intimacy, and even re-enacted ancient practices like the Kama Sutra. The specialists were there, not as observers, but as guides, holding space for vulnerability and discovery.
Marianne’s transformation is remarkable. She describes an awakening, a reconnection to her body and a newfound ability to listen to her own desires. “You just realise how long you’ve gone without actually listening to your body,” she explains, “and getting the true curiosity of ‘What actually works for me?’” She now feels a profound sadness for those who might never have access to such empowering therapy.
The show also illuminated a crucial point: virginity isn’t a monolith. It exists in diverse bodies and experiences, defying any single definition. There’s no “prototype” of an adult virgin, and the participants represented a vast spectrum of life stories and backgrounds.
Before the island, Marianne carried the weight of a childhood marked by racial isolation. Growing up in South Africa as one of few mixed-race students, she felt perpetually “not enough” – not black enough, not white enough. This feeling extended to her romantic life, where she was often seen as a “token” rather than an individual.
She carried this insecurity with her to London, hoping for a different experience, only to find the same patterns repeating. Fearful of repeating past hurts, she built walls around herself, shutting down any potential for intimacy. “I knew that if I did this, it wasn’t time, I wouldn’t enjoy it, it wouldn’t be true to myself, and I would just do it for validation,” she recalls.
Arriving on the island, Marianne immediately felt the familiar sting of being the “other” – she was the only person of colour in the cast. While production assured her they had attempted a more diverse casting, others had withdrawn at the last minute. The experience triggered a wave of childhood memories and feelings of being scrutinized.
But she persevered, drawing strength from the support of her fellow participants and the knowledge that she could lean on her twin sister. Staying on the island wasn’t just for herself; it was for her sister, too, who had faced similar traumas and built similar protective walls.
Marianne’s journey is already having a ripple effect. Her sister, who has lived through parallel experiences, is finding solace and guidance in Marianne’s newfound wisdom. “She was like, ‘You have to tell me everything… list all the things from the workshop that will help me,’” Marianne shares. “That’s helped her with the shame aspect and wanting to embody her sexuality.”
Six months after filming, Marianne’s life is profoundly changed. She’s navigating dating with newfound confidence and a remarkable lack of anxiety. “I’ve been on a couple dates… and I haven’t shut down,” she says, a testament to the transformative power of the experience. She’s learned to trust her instincts, a skill she never possessed before.
“I’m proud of going with my gut instinct,” she reflects. “A younger Marianne wouldn’t go with her gut, so I’m proud of myself for pushing through.” She’s embraced a new mission: to listen to that inner voice, the one she ignored for so long, and to live authentically.
