Is “Faking It” Harming Your Relationship?

In an ideal world, the bedroom is a space where partners (in any configuration) feel safe to be their authentic selves. Yet, a pervasive and often unspoken issue amongst many couples can change everything: the pressure, especially on women, to “fake it” in sex. This article delves into the origins and complexities of the “faking it” phenomenon and what it means for partners of both genders.

The “Male Gaze”

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From a young age, girls are conditioned to view sex and their bodies through a male lens. The “male gaze” (Mulvey) describes the way visual media often depicts the world from a heterosexual male perspective.

A readily identifiable aspect of the male gaze is the blatant objectification of the female form. For example, action movies usually incorporate “unnecessary” scenes focusing on a woman’s cleavage or lingering on her body as she bends over. These seemingly insignificant moments contribute to the idea of women as objects that exist primarily for male pleasure and visual consumption.

Traces of the male gaze can be found even in children’s shows and cartoons. Think about classic Disney princesses. Many early princesses were defined by their exaggerated features, such as large eyes, tiny waists, and flowing hair. The focus on physical perfection reinforces the idea that a woman’s worth is tied to her appearance. The visual imagery, coupled with the “damsel in distress” plot of most stories, perpetuates traditional gender roles and the idea that women are objects to be rescued.

Unfortunately, the constant bombardment of images and narratives eventually leads women to internalize the male gaze and begin to view their bodies and worth through the lens of male desire.

Beyond Intercourse

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The male gaze does not just shape how women are perceived—it limits the experience of sex itself. Mostly, the dominant narrative equates sex with intercourse, sidelining other forms and sources of female pleasure.

The truth is that the over-emphasis on penetrative sex clashes with the biological reality of many women. Mounting research, anecdotal evidence, and whispered truths in therapists’ rooms all reveal a powerful truth: For many women, the clitoris—with 8,000 nerve endings (double the amount found in the penis)—reigns supreme as an intense source of pleasure. Yet, throughout their lives, women are taught to look elsewhere, to chase fulfillment through vaginal intercourse.

While physical factors can certainly contribute to sexual difficulties, the unnecessary medicalization of a sociological problem can also lead women down a path of seeking external validation and solutions—consulting books, therapists, sexual health clinics, toys, lubricants, and even medicines—in a desperate attempt to “fix” what they’ve been told is broken. These lead many women to feel like there is something “wrong” with them or that they are somehow “doing it wrong.”

The cultural landscape that holds up the “faking it” pandemic is what philosopher Simone de Beauvoir sharply captures in her seminal work, The Second Sex. As de Beauvoir wrote, “One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman.” Unlike men, who are often free to experience and understand pleasure on their own terms, women find themselves in the disconcerting position of having to “retrain” themselves on what pleasure is and should be.

De Beauvoir also observes, “Man is defined as a human being and woman as a female—whenever she behaves as a human being she is said to imitate the male.” This statement cuts to the heart of a patriarchal system that positions “man” as the default, the universal, while “woman” is relegated to the realm of the “other”—defined not by her own inherent humanity but by her difference from the male norm.

Within such a system, it is understandable that a woman would internalize the message that her worth, her ability to fit in and belong to humanity, to be medically sound and recognized by the wider society as “normal,” even down to her sense of ontological safety in the world, is contingent upon her ability to satisfy a man.

It is within this context that “faking it” emerges not merely as a personal choice but as a symptom of a deeply ingrained systemic issue. Faking an orgasm becomes a survival tactic, a way to protect herself from judgment, awkwardness, or the emotional labor of bridging the chasm between societal expectations and her own lived experience.

Our Obsession With Orgasms

Behind the “faking it” pandemic is a larger cultural phenomenon that places an unrealistic emphasis on achieving orgasm—what we might call the “orgasm imperative” (Potts, 2002).

Orgasm, for many men, is a relatively straightforward, almost inevitable, outcome of sexual activity. However, for many women, achieving orgasm through intercourse alone is more elusive than most think.

Mainstream pornography frequently portrays a skewed and unrealistic representation of female sexuality—the timeline, what it looks like and sounds like, what women “should” say when they achieve orgasm, and so on.

The obsessive focus on “giving” orgasms as a measure of sexual prowess can be damaging for both men and women. It reduces intimacy to a scoreboard, where a man’s worth in the bedroom is judged by his ability to deliver a specific outcome. The situation leaves many women feeling pressured, inadequate, and ultimately, more likely to fake it.

Can We Stop Faking It?

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The epidemic of inauthenticity when it comes to sex has caused many communication breakdowns in relationships, and it does not help that female orgasm remains a taboo topic in most conventional social settings.

If you’ve ever found yourself, as a woman, silently performing an ecstasy while your body screams otherwise, you’re not alone. The pressure to fake it isn’t your fault, nor a personal weakness. As philosopher Michel Foucault would argue, power operates not just through overt coercion but through subtle, insidious forms of social conditioning. From a young age, you were bombarded with stories, images, and ideas about how women experience and express desire—and this started as early as when you watched Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty.

Unlearning these ingrained scripts may require you to question long-held assumptions about desire, and most importantly, start an honest, and perhaps uncomfortable, conversation about pleasure—with yourself, your partner, and if you feel courageous enough, the wider world. But for the sake of reclaiming your right to true connection and your truth, it may be worth it.

If you’re a man who has ever felt disappointed, frustrated, insulted, or embarrassed when struggling to help a partner climax, it might be time to examine the values and beliefs you’ve unknowingly internalized. Despite what you have heard and internalized, masculinity is not defined by the outcome of conquests, neither on the battlefield nor in the bedroom. As feminist scholar bell hooks argued, men are also victims of the patriarchal framework and pressured by toxic masculinity. This framework traps you in a performance of masculinity that prioritizes conquest over connection and pressures you to the point where it is counterproductive.

True intimacy, for all genders, thrives not on achieving a specific outcome, but on mutual respect, genuine curiosity, and a shared commitment to exploring the full spectrum of what pleasure can be.