So it seems like our nation's good-boy, clean-cut, puritanical, mega-star Joe Jonas is a boy who likes to kiss and tell.
Or shall I say "sex" and tell?
"Big fucking deal, Zara," you think. I know, I know, but stay with me. That's not the dark part of the story.
Jonas also told everyone the name of the girl he lost his virginity to:
I lost my virginity to this girl named Ashley. You can probably just Google it. It's pretty easy to figure out. I dated a girl named Ashley, so just Google it to figure out which Ashley that is.
So which Ashley is it? DUH. It's ASHLEY GREENE.
You know, the stunning, sophisticated, mysterious, pale-skinned, Vampire goddess from "Twilight."
She's a classy woman, isn't she? And while classy ladies can maintain their posh energy while also being irrepressibly sexual and outspoken, most classy women don't really enjoy it when their exes discuss their sex lives without their permission.
So, it shouldn't come as much of a surprise that Greene wasn't exactly thrilled to learn her ex-boyfriend had told an audience of strangers she was the girl with whom he shared the sacred experience of virginity loss.
And what did Greene do about it? She took to social media and reacted with a classy, low-key burn.
It's not outwardly vicious, like some of the methods the less, um, "mature stars" are notorious for. No, it's more chic and abstract. It leaves you thinking, instead of gasping and clutching your imaginary pearls at the outward pettiness.
And above all, it speak volumes. As Michelle Obama famously told Hillary Clinton, "When they go low, you go high."
This is a prime example of going "high":
Greene didn't stoop down to Jonas's level and name names. She left us with a powerful message, lingering in the depths of our brains, without resorting to exploiting her ex.
So why am I so riled up about this? Why am I defending Ashley Greene being pissed at her ex for mentioning her name in his little sex story, when I constantly share my own sex stories on the internet? How could I dare be so shamelessly hypocritical?
I'm glad you asked, kitten. After all, I'm known for thinking it's great to share our own sex stories, especially when our sex stories are real and raw. We're always being painted unrealistic, fantasy sex scenes in movies, which set us up for a lifetime of poor sexual self-esteem.
We constantly think, "Why doesn't my sex life have perfectly-lit candles and airbrushed bodies? Why do the condoms sometimes break? Why do I have such severe flair-ups of bacne? Why does my partner not know how to give me an orgasm, even when I coach him for hours? If only I had sex like the pretty celebrities do! I bet a hot superstar like Joe Jonas never has sex fails. Sigh."
In general, we just feel shitty about ourselves for not having this beautiful, movie-star sex.
So it was super cool Joe Jonas shared that his first time wasn't all steamy, hard bodies, perfect timing and subtle moans, but instead, a typical, young mess, where he tore apart a room looking for a condom. Jonas confessed,
It's quite the great story because I didn't have any condoms, so I went to our drummer, Jack's room, who was my roommate at the time and I demolished his room looking for them. Found them underneath his underwear drawer. When he came home, he thought somebody broke into his room because his whole room was demolished because I was in dire need. Needed to happen then and now. Safety first, kids.
I'm glad he shared his experience with us. Maybe it even inspired a vulnerable, young thing in the audience to use a condom when they went home that night. I mean, if Joe Jonas has to use condoms, so do we, right? (Fame doesn't protect you from STDs and unplanned pregnancies, contrary to popular belief.)
But Jonas is missing the ~golden rule~ here — one that I've never, EVER broken in my stretch as a sex and dating writer. Never name names, Jonas! N-E-V-E-R.
I'll write about the time I threw up during oral sex and realized I was a lesbian, and I'll write about all the terrible sex I had in my 20s. I'll even write about the unpleasant loss of my own virginity.
But not once have I ever outed a person I've slept with.
You see, simply talking (0r writing) about your sex life is telling your own story. And I think it's empowering, important and radical, even, to share your own story.
But the second you introduce the identity of the person you shared this incredibly intimate moment with, you're not just telling your own story anymore. You're telling someone else's. And it's never ever okay to tell someone else's story for them. It's not your story to tell.
It's never ever okay to tell someone else's story for them. It's not your story to tell.
I don't care if you're gay, straight, bisexual, pansexual, transgender, queer, male, female or anywhere in-between. Sex can be funny, but never forget that sex is vulnerable, too. Another person is letting you into a very raw part of themselves — a great honor that's not to be taken lightly.
The moment you exploit another person for the sake of garnering attention, clicks, likes, shares or praise is the moment your story loses all its power.
So while I'm all about connecting through sharing our ugly experiences with the world, and using storytelling as one of the most healing medicines, I am not about naming names. That is not cool, nor bold.
As tempting as it can be to name-drop the person you slept with (especially when they're well-known), hold back! Be a classy, coy Ashley Greene in a world full of oversharing Joe Jonas's.
Because, like Greene's Instagram post states, "Class is timeless." Cheap shots at attention fade. They're just a quick fix. But integrity and respect last forever.