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Painful sex? Broken vaginas? This underground zine normalizes the taboo

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Painful sex? Broken vaginas? This underground zine normalizes the taboo

One night as she was lying in bed, Becky Feldman wondered, “Do I remember how to have sex?”

It had been at least a decade since the L.A.-based writer and performer tried to have intercourse. She had avoided it throughout her 20s for a few reasons: 1) She thought dating or being in a heterosexual relationship meant that she had to have penetrative sex, which wasn’t an option for her because it was too painful. 2) Several doctors had brushed off her pain, telling her that she just needed to relax. (After years of being misdiagnosed, she learned that she had a condition known as vulvodynia (a general term for chronic pain around the vulva). 3) All of the above weighed heavily on her self-esteem and confidence.

When Feldman turned 30, she realized that she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life closing herself off from intimacy and pleasure. That’s when she decided to take the advice of her sex therapist and connect with a high-class male escort, she said.

The night didn’t turn out exactly as she’d hoped. She and the guy made out but didn’t have sex. Her takeaway from the experience? For the first time, she was able to confidently tell a potential sex partner about her condition. Not only did he believe her, he tried to understand her pain unlike her previous partners or her doctors.

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This is just one of the intimate stories featured in Opening Up, a zine created by grassroots organization Tight Lipped, which advocates for people with chronic vulvovaginal and pelvic pain. The 80-page zine, which was first published in 2020, is filled with art illustrations, Q&A interviews, handwritten letters and poems from people living with conditions including vulvodynia, vestibulodynia (a form of vulvodynia and a general term for pain in the vestibule), pelvic-floor dysfunction (when the pelvic floor muscles function abnormally) and vulvar lichen sclerosus (a skin condition that primarily affects the genital skin).

The cover of Tight Lipped’s zine Opening Up.

(Kelly Fry)

Up to 28% of women deal with these physical conditions, which affect people’s daily lives when it comes activities such as having sex, using tampons and wearing pants, according to a 2013 study published in the American Journal of Obstetrics & Gynecology that polled nearly 20,000 women. (This study doesn’t appear to be inclusive of all gender identities.)

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Because these medical issues aren’t required study in most residency programs, including those for gynecologists, many patients are misdiagnosed or aren’t given a diagnosis at all from their doctor. Also, for some people, the shame and embarrassment related to having one of these conditions keeps them from seeking treatment altogether.

“It was the scariest thing I think I’ve ever done — ever,” Feldman said about sharing her story in the zine. She learned about Tight Lipped via its podcast and responded to a submissions call-out to contribute to the zine. But “I’m happy that people are able to feel seen and heard through this,” said Feldman, who also talks about her medical condition through her solo comedy show, “Tight: A Night of Painfully Sexy Stories” which she’s performed in small theaters around L.A.

“I think so many people just relate to it,” she said.

That was Noa Fleischacker’s hope when she and other members of the Tight Lipped community decided to create Opening Up. Since her younger years, Fleischacker, Tight Lipped’s founder and executive director, has struggled to use tampons. She also couldn’t complete pap smear exams and she found penetrative sex to be painful. She was eventually diagnosed with pelvic-floor dysfunction.

Shortly after, she launched the Tight Lipped podcast, which allows her to talk about how these conditions affect people’s relationships, gender and sexual identities, and their overall daily lives. She also formed the patient-led organization for people with similar conditions. In November 2019, she hosted a weekend-long workshop in New York for people with vulvovaginal and pelvic pain. She said hearing people’s stories inspired the zine.

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“I saw what happens when you put people in a room, and they hear each other say the same things that they’ve only thought to themselves,” said Fleischacker, a former political organizer in Chicago. “So it felt like: ‘OK, we have to find a way of creating something that not just makes people feel less alone but makes people understand the kind of bigger and political story about their pain and the medical experiences that they’re having.’”

Tight Lipped used donations to make the Opening Up zine. Since publishing Opening Up, the organization has distributed more than 750 print copies of the zine to individuals and doctor’s offices. (It sells for a suggested donation of $30. A free digital version allows people to listen to the contributors read their stories.)

Opening Up features entries from more than 50 contributors of various ages and backgrounds who come from L.A., San Francisco, Seattle, Chicago, Brooklyn and Indianapolis as well Australia, Canada, France, the U.K. and Germany.

(Julianna Brion / For The Times)

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In Opening Up, there’s an entry from a 78-year-old woman, who wrote about how vulvodynia affected her marriage. Another entry tells the story of a woman who added her conditions — vulvodynia and pelvic-floor pain — to her dating app profiles to inform potential suitors. Some of the entries are anonymous, and content warnings appear on stories that discuss sensitive topics such as sexual assault.

For Kevinn Poree, 37, of New Orleans, reading the zine brought her comfort.

“I felt like, ‘Oh my God, I understand where you’re coming from,’” said Poree, who discovered Tight Lipped on social media after she was diagnosed with vaginismus and later provoked vestibulodynia (vestibule pain that occurs with pressure). “Even if you don’t necessarily have the same condition or the same symptoms, it was just so shocking and alarming that most of us have gone through the exact same experiences with providers and with stigma and dealing with friends and family and partners.”

“It was just very cathartic,” said Poree, who has since become a community member of Tight Lipped.

It took nearly a decade and about a dozen doctors for Keena Batti, 33, of Los Angeles, to receive a diagnosis for vulvar lichen sclerosus, pelvic-floor dysfunction and hormonally mediated vestibulodynia (which causes urinary urgency and frequency as well as pain during urination and penetration). She developed the latter condition from taking birth control, she said. After reading Opening Up, she asked her pelvic-floor therapist and gynecologist if they could display the zines in their L.A. offices. They happily obliged.

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After a series of unpleasant and embarrassing doctor’s visits, Batti said she wonders if having the zine sooner could’ve helped her prove to others that her “experience is not uncommon.”

“I think it’s really powerful as a patient to see a tangible example of your own experience in print,” said Batti, one of the team leaders for Tight Lipped’s L.A. chapter. (The organization has chapters in San Diego, New Haven, Conn., and New York. Additional chapters in the U.S. are expected to open this year.)

“So hopefully as we continue to distribute it, we can catch more of those people who are feeling isolated,” Batti said.

Dr. Rachel Rubin, a board-certified urologist and sexual medicine specialist, said she has seen the effect of having the zine available in her office has had on her Washington, D.C.-area patients.

“It’s really powerful and important,” said Rubin, one of a handful of physicians with training in sexual medicine for all genders, about the zine. (She completed her fellowship with Dr. Irwin Goldstein in San Diego.)

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“We can’t know what questions need to be answered if we’re not talking to people who actually have the questions,” said Rubin, who’s also the chair of Tight Lipped’s medical advisory board of 14 health-care providers. “So it’s a no-brainer to work with [Tight Lipped] because the more the patient advocates and doctors that can work together, the more change that we’ll see faster.”

In 2022, Tight Lipped launched a campaign for OB-GYN residency programs to include vulvovaginal and pelvic pain curriculum. The organization’s first major win was at Yale School of Medicine, which will offer this area of study as an elective for residents, according to Dr. Yonghee Cho, an assistant professor of obstetrics, gynecology and reproductive sciences at the school.

Fleischacker said Tight Lipped is hoping to work with Cedars-Sinai Medical Center and USC on future curriculum.

Sarah Ponce, 25, initially planned to become a primary-care physician when she enrolled in medical school at USC in 2021. But after she was diagnosed with acquired neuroproliferative vestibulodynia (pain that begins as a severe allergic reaction to a topical medication or is stemmed from a severe yeast infection), she realized that she was most passionate about urology.

“I’ve experienced the health inequities and disparities that come with being a female with pain and I know a bunch of other patients who have too,” said Ponce, a third-year medical student at USC. She added that she wants to change that.

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As a Tight Lipped organizer, she’s assisting with the group’s campaign at her school. She also has helped host free pelvic health workshops at Los Angeles General Medical Center.

Tight Lipped also wants to make change on a federal level. When President Biden announced the first White House initiative on women’s health in November, the organization sent a letter with signatures from more than 800 patients, medical students and healthcare experts to call for chronic vulvovaginal and pelvic pain to be included as a priority area of focus.

All of this gives Ponce, Feldman, Poree and others hope.

In the zine’s foreword, the creators make it clear that Opening Up isn’t just for people who are coping with these conditions. Rather they encourage people to share the publication with everyone they know including their romantic partners, doctors, high-school sex education teachers, family and friends.

“It’s going to take more than just all the patients,” Poree said. “I think that the more the general public knows about these conditions, the easier it is for people to talk about them and get directed to the help that they need.”

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Video: Prada Peels Back the Layers at Milan Fashion Week

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At Milan Fashion Week, Prada showcased a collection built on layering. For the models, it was like shedding a skin each of the four times they strutted down the runway, revealing a new look with each cycle.

By Chevaz Clarke and Daniel Fetherston

February 27, 2026

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Bill Cosby Rape Accuser Donna Motsinger Says He Won’t Testify At Trial

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Baz Luhrmann will make you fall in love with Elvis Presley

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Baz Luhrmann will make you fall in love with Elvis Presley

Elvis Presley in Las Vegas in Aug. 1970.

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“You are my favorite customer,” Baz Luhrmann tells me on a recent Zoom call from the sunny Chateau Marmont in Hollywood. The director is on a worldwide blitz to promote his new film, EPiC: Elvis Presley in Concert — which opens wide this week — and he says this, not to flatter me, but because I’ve just called his film a miracle.

See, I’ve never cared a lick about Elvis Presley, who would have turned 91 in January, had he not died in 1977 at the age of 42. Never had an inkling to listen to his music, never seen any of his films, never been interested in researching his life or work. For this millennial, Presley was a fossilized, mummified relic from prehistory — like a woolly mammoth stuck in the La Brea Tar Pits — and I was mostly indifferent about seeing 1970s concert footage when I sat down for an early IMAX screening of EPiC.

By the end of its rollicking, exhilarating 90 minutes, I turned to my wife and said, “I think I’m in love with Elvis Presley.”

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“I’m not trying to sell Elvis,” Luhrmann clarifies. “But I do think that the most gratifying thing is when someone like you has the experience you’ve had.”

Elvis made much more of an imprint on a young Luhrmann; he watched the King’s movies while growing up in New South Wales, Australia in the 1960s, and he stepped to 1972’s “Burning Love” as a young ballroom dancer. But then, like so many others, he left Elvis behind. As a teenager, “I was more Bowie and, you know, new wave and Elton and all those kinds of musical icons,” he says. “I became a big opera buff.”

Luhrmann only returned to the King when he decided to make a movie that would take a sweeping look at America in the 1950s, ’60s, and ’70s — which became his 2022 dramatized feature, Elvis, starring Austin Butler. That film, told in the bedazzled, kaleidoscopic style that Luhrmann is famous for, cast Presley as a tragic figure; it was framed and narrated by Presley’s notorious manager, Colonel Tom Parker, portrayed by a conniving and heavily made-up Tom Hanks. The dark clouds of business exploitation, the perils of fame, and an early demise hang over the singer’s heady rise and fall.

It was a divisive movie. Some praised Butler’s transformative performance and the director’s ravishing style; others experienced it as a nauseating 2.5-hour trailer. Reviewing it for Fresh Air, Justin Chang said that “Luhrmann’s flair for spectacle tends to overwhelm his basic story sense,” and found the framing device around Col. Parker (and Hanks’ “uncharacteristically grating” acting) to be a fatal flaw.

Personally, I thought it was the greatest thing Luhrmann had ever made, a perfect match between subject and filmmaker. It reminded me of Oliver Stone’s breathless, Shakespearean tragedy about Richard Nixon (1995’s Nixon), itself an underrated masterpiece. Yet somehow, even for me, it failed to light a fire of interest in Presley himself — and by design, I now realize after seeing EPiC, it omitted at least one major aspect of Elvis’ appeal: the man was charmingly, endearingly funny.

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As seen in Luhrmann’s new documentary, on stage, in the midst of a serious song, Elvis will pull a face, or ad lib a line about his suit being too tight to get on his knees, or sing for a while with a bra (which has been flung from the audience) draped over his head. He’s constantly laughing and ribbing and keeping his musicians, and himself, entertained. If Elvis was a tragedy, EPiC is a romantic comedy — and Presley’s seduction of us, the audience, is utterly irresistible.

Unearthing old concert footage 

It was in the process of making Elvis that Luhrmann discovered dozens of long-rumored concert footage tapes in a Kansas salt mine, where Warner Bros. stores some of their film archives. Working with Peter Jackson’s team at the post-production facility Park Road Post, who did the miraculous restoration of Beatles rehearsal footage for Jackson’s 2021 Disney+ series, Get Back, they burnished 50-plus hours of 55-year-old celluloid into an eye-popping sheen with enough visual fidelity to fill an IMAX screen. In doing so, they resurrected a woolly mammoth. The film — which is a creative amalgamation of takes from rehearsals and concerts that span from 1970 to 1972 — places the viewer so close to the action that we can viscerally feel the thumping of the bass and almost sense that we’ll get flecked with the sweat dripping off Presley’s face.

This footage was originally shot for the 1970 concert film Elvis: That’s The Way It Is, and its 1972 sequel, Elvis on Tour, which explains why these concerts were shot like a Hollywood feature: wide shots on anamorphic 35mm and with giant, ultra-bright Klieg lights — which, Luhrmann explains, “are really disturbing. So [Elvis] was very apologetic to the audience, because the audience felt a bit more self conscious than they would have been at a normal show. They were actually making a movie, they weren’t just shooting a concert.”

Luhrmann chose to leave in many shots where camera operators can be seen running around with their 16mm cameras for close-ups, “like they’re in the Vietnam War trying to get the best angles,” because we live in an era where we’re used to seeing cameras everywhere and Luhrmann felt none of the original directors’ concern about breaking the illusion. Those extreme close-ups, which were achieved by operators doing math and manually pulling focus, allow us to see even the pores on Presley’s skin — now projected onto a screen the size of two buildings.

The sweat that comes out of those pores is practically a character in the film. Luhrmann marvels at how much Presley gave in every single rehearsal and every single concert performance. Beyond the fact that “he must have superhuman strength,” Luhrmann says, “He becomes the music. He doesn’t mark stuff. He just becomes the music, and then no one knows what he’s going to do. The band do not know what he’s going to do, so they have to keep their eyes on him all the time. They don’t know how many rounds he’s going to do in ‘Suspicious Minds.’ You know, he conducts them with his entire being — and that’s what makes him unique.”

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Elvis Presley in Las Vegas in Aug. 1970.

Elvis Presley in Las Vegas in Aug. 1970.

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It’s not the only thing. The revivified concerts in EPiC are a potent argument that Elvis wasn’t just a superior live performer to the Beatles (who supplanted him as the kings of pop culture in the 1960s), but possibly the greatest live performer of all time. His sensual, magmatic charisma on stage, the way he conducts the large band and choir, the control he has over that godlike gospel voice, and the sorcerer’s power he has to hold an entire audience in the palm of his hands (and often to kiss many of its women on the lips) all come across with stunning, electrifying urgency.

Shaking off the rust and building a “dreamscape” 

The fact that, on top of it all, he is effortlessly funny and goofy is, in Luhrmann’s mind, essential to the magic of Elvis. While researching for Elvis, he came to appreciate how insecure Presley was as a kid — growing up as the only white boy in a poor Black neighborhood, and seeing his father thrown into jail for passing a bad check. “Inside, he felt very less-than,” says Luhrmann, “but he grows up into a physical Greek god. I mean, we’ve forgotten how beautiful he was. You see it in the movie; he is a beautiful looking human being. And then he moves. And he doesn’t learn dance steps — he just manifests that movement. And then he’s got the voice of Orpheus, and he can take a song like ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’ and make it into a gospel power ballad.

“So he’s like a spiritual being. And I think he’s imposing. So the goofiness, the humor is about disarming people, making them get past the image — like he says — and see the man. That’s my own theory.”

Elvis has often been second-classed in the annals of American music because he didn’t write his own songs, but Luhrmann insists that interpretation is its own invaluable art form. “Orpheus interpreted the music as well,” the director says.

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In this way — as in their shared maximalist, cape-and-rhinestones style — Luhrmann and Elvis are a match made in Graceland. Whether he’s remixing Shakespeare as a ’90s punk music video in Romeo + Juliet or adding hip-hop beats to The Great Gatsby, Luhrmann is an artist who loves to take what was vibrantly, shockingly new in another century and make it so again.

Elvis Presley in Las Vegas in Aug. 1970.

Elvis Presley in Las Vegas in Aug. 1970.

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Luhrmann says he likes to take classic work and “shake off the rust and go, Well, when it was written, it wasn’t classical. When it was created, it was pop, it was modern, it was in the moment. That’s what I try and do.”

To that end, he conceived EPiC as “an imagined concert,” liberally building sequences from various nights, sometimes inserting rehearsal takes into a stage performance (ecstatically so in the song “Polk Salad Annie”), and adding new musical layers to some of the songs. Working with his music producer, Jamieson Shaw, he backed the King’s vocals on “Oh Happy Day” with a new recording of a Black gospel choir in Nashville. “So that’s an imaginative leap,” says Luhrmann. “It’s kind of a dreamscape.”

On some tracks, like “Burning Love,” new string arrangements give the live performances extra verve and cinematic depth. Luhrmann and his music team also radically remixed multiple Elvis songs into a new number, “A Change of Reality,” which has the King repeatedly asking “Do you miss me?” over a buzzing bass line and a syncopated beat.

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I didn’t miss Elvis before I saw EPiC — but after seeing the film twice now, I truly do.

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