I refuse to have my vagina photographed because I have nointerest in being desired on the basis of its appearance. It hastaken me decades to appreciate its power and beauty, and notmerely because it birthed a child. Responsive to tenderness andthe source of a luminous ecstasy, my vagina has enabled me totranscend an otherwise limited sense of self. I feel no need tomake it conform to another’s aesthetic or have it applauded bystrangers.

It is only through my daughter that I have come to realise that a life without femininity – devoid of mystery, emotion, gentleness and the unerring power of a woman’s love – is no life at all.

Our culture is now one of masculine triumphalism, in which transhistorically feminine expressions – empathy, sweetness, volubility, warmth – are seen as impediments to a woman’s professional trajectory in many sectors.

In the twenty-first century, the vagina has come to eclipse the female face.