In a society in which nine-year-olds watch pornography and song lyrics are more explicit than The Kama Sutra, the revolution that Shere Hite helped to bring about in the 1970s, employing the words vagina, clitoris and masturbation, on primetime television for a start, is easily forgotten – which is exactly what has happened.
The Disappearance of Shere Hite, a documentary made by Nicole Newnham and produced by Dakota Johnson, and released in the UK this weekend, charts Hite’s rise in the 70s and her decline by the 1990s. “It’s just as simple as know yourself, not your role,” she says as advice to herself. “It’s hellish hard.”
In 1976, The Hite Report: A Nationwide Study of Female Sexuality was published. By the time of the author’s death in 2020, it had sold 48m copies in many countries and was banned in almost a dozen.
The documentary charts how, over a period of four years, Hite had sent out thousands of questionnaires asking detailed questions that probably hadn’t even been asked at the consciousness raising sessions then emerging in the second wave of the women’s movement and at the gatherings in which participants equipped with mirrors took at a look at their own vulvas, aghast or overjoyed with what they spied. It was a fun time to be alive.
“Does your partner realise you come when you come?” Hite asked her anonymous respondents. She received thousands of replies to dozens of detailed questions. One woman was in her 10th week as a cook with an all-male crew on a freighter in the North Sea. “I enjoy sex,” she wrote, in itself a challenge to the prevailing stereotype that nice girls thought it an unpleasant but necessary business. “I enjoy sex… but never have I experienced a more concentrated dose of chauvinism than being the only woman on a freighter with young men I am unwilling to fuck.”
In the documentary, Shere (pronounced “share”, born Shirley Diana Gregory) Hite talks coolly about the shocking revelation (at least to many men) that women had orgasms easily when they masturbated and that they preferred clitoral stimulaton to vaginal penetrative sex, a challenge to what the sexologists Masters and Johnson had asserted.
Whether you agreed with her or not – and plenty of feminists such as the redoubtable Lynne Segal in Straight Sex rightly took her to task for her oversimplification – Hite was trying to point out that the lack of words to portray the female sexual experience was an example of the patriarchy in action. The clitoris, whose only role is to provide pleasure, might have been discovered and illustrated in medical journals in the 17th century but by the early 20th century its value had been eroded.
In 1987, Hite published Women and Love: A Cultural Revolution in Progress. Her responses this time told her that women were fed up, they wanted intimacy and emotional connectedness with men. I interviewed her at the time. As the documentary portrays very accurately, Hite was unique: clever, spikey, ethereal with almost see-through alabaster skin, a cloud of curls, white eyelashes and a soft, baby voice. As an interviewee in the documentary says, Hite had made herself a brand. In the 1970s and 80s, it still wasn’t acceptable to be female with a brain, beauty, wit and a publicly viewed vulva (Hite had hers photographed often by the German photographer Iris Brosch in later years); a scholar and a slut.
The joy of the documentary is that it provides a history of the women’s movement in which Hite felt at home. Bisexual, she was an advocate for gay rights at a time when it was dangerous to do so. She had featured in Playboy, and, as a model, in an ad for Olivetti typewriters: ”The typewriter that’s so smart she doesn’t have to be.” Sexism was that bad, and worse.
Hite confessed to her modelling past and the liberationists took her to their heart. On one occasion, she asked those in the room to raise their hands if they masturbated; nobody moved. The idea for the first Hite report was born.
Hite, whose 16-year-old mother dumped her with her grandparents, had two history degrees. When she and her fellow activists picketed Washington’s National Museum of Natural History – “the Unnatural History Museum – women were only portrayed stirring a pot and holding a baby. I was studying the past,” Hite says in the documentary. “Because I couldn’t understand the present… why couldn’t everyone have an equal chance?”
Hite wrote half a dozen books; her report on women’s sex lives was followed by The Hite Report on Male Sexuality, published in 1981 and drawn from 7,239 questionnaires. Reading some, her editor, Bob Gottlieb, said: “I haven’t had many sadder experiences as an editor in my life.” Men said they were lonely, some were afraid. Other men reacted angrily. The backlash had already begun because Hite called herself a social scientist.
In a letter to the New York Times in 1981, she noted that “science” comes from the Latin root “to know”. Hite had employed percentages in her books – but percentages of what, her critics asked? Seventy per cent of 10 or 1,000? Regardless of the numbers, as Oprah Winfrey says in the documentary, “Nobody can deny there’s a problem.”
By the 1990s, Hite was in financial trouble and couldn’t get her books published in the US. In 1996, she became a German citizen, having married Friedrich Höricke, a couple of decades her junior in 1985. She developed Alzheimer’s disease and Parkinson’s and died aged 77. In her New York Times review of The Hite Report, Erica Jong quotes a character in Doris Lessing’s The Golden Notebook (1962): “Women of any sense know better, after all these centuries, than to interrupt when men start telling them how they feel about sex.” Shere Hite deserves to be remembered.
• Yvonne Roberts is an Observer columnist
Do you have an opinion on the issues raised in this article? If you would like to submit a letter of up to 250 words to be considered for publication, email it to us at observer.letters@observer.co.uk
