Have Questions About Sex? Ask Our Advice Columnist

Before I ask you to dive into my sex column for PS, let me give you a little backstory — how exactly did I, Michelle Hope, become a sexologist? Buckle up, because this ride has a few twists, turns, and more than one awkward detour.

I was born in the '80s, a biracial Black girl raised in Lafayette, IN, by my white, lesbian, feminist mother. Now, Indiana isn't exactly known for being the most progressive place, especially with its rich history of racism and homophobia. My mom, a closeted lesbian, kept her sexuality under wraps to ensure our safety, which left me confused about why the loving community I was a part of had to be hidden like some dirty little secret. And that, my friends, is where my passion for unapologetic truth and justice began.

In many ways, I was raised in the closet, too. My mom's activism for gay rights was loud and proud in some spaces but muted in others. That duality taught me early on the importance of standing 10 toes down in your truth, even when society isn't exactly cheering you on. And then there was the biracial thing — I was a curiosity to both Black and white folks. Rejected by both, I became fascinated by race relations.

Middle and high school threw another challenge my way: hypersexualization and fetishization, leading me into dangerous situations I was totally unprepared for. The '90s brought a sexual revolution, with shows like "The Dr. Ruth Show," "Sex and the City," and "Loveline" making sex a dinner table topic. But in Indiana? We had no real sex ed — just whispers and rumors. By the time I was labeled a "slut" because of some middle school rumor, I leaned into it. The deck was stacked against me, so why not?

High school wasn't any better. After enduring sexual assault, I figured my only value was my sexual appeal. I nearly flunked out, realizing college wasn't in the cards. So, on my 18th birthday, I auditioned to be a dancer at a strip club — and didn't look back. I danced, performed burlesque, and go-go danced at gay bars for seven years. And, oh, the stories I could tell! But that work gave me the financial freedom to leave Indiana at 19, move to Los Angeles, and chase my wildest dreams — something between a Carrie Bradshaw and a Black Dr. Ruth. Eleven years in LA taught me a lot about sexuality (hello, participatory research!), earned me a master's degree in human development, and prepped me for the next chapter: New York City.

I landed a job at a large nonprofit in Upper Manhattan, where I saw firsthand how sexuality impacted my students' lives. There weren't enough resources to support them, so I advocated for sex ed programming. In 2015, I piloted a program with three middle school classes, and by 2017, I scaled it up to reach the entire organization.

By the end of 2019, I realized I had hit a ceiling in my career. I had spent years honing my skills as a sexologist — writing "The Girls' Guide to Sex Education" (which resonated with adult women, too), making TV appearances, and giving a TEDx Talk titled "Sexuality: Pleasure, Privilege, and the Power of Reproductive Justice."

In early 2020, I joined the Bloomberg campaign. It was a short stint, but boy, did the political bug bite hard. For the first time, I wasn't just talking grassroots change — I saw a chance to influence sex ed and reproductive rights policy on a national level. I was hooked.

Then, three months in, the world flipped upside down. The pandemic hit, followed by the racial justice uprising after George Floyd's murder. Suddenly, the streets of New York were alive with protests, and I found myself organizing alongside incredible activists, shutting down an already shut-down city. It was a moment filled with pain, anger, and solidarity — a turning point for me, personally and professionally.

While others were thriving online, I was juggling my commitment to the racial justice movement with my drive to become a celebrity sexologist through @MHSexpert. But something felt off. My content wasn't hitting like it used to, and I started to feel disconnected from the spark that had always fueled me. The pandemic had also forced me into stillness for the first time in years. In that stillness, I healed parts of myself I didn't even know were wounded. I realized that my desire to be a star was rooted in a deeper need for acceptance — something I had been chasing since childhood.

By the summer of 2022, it was clear that my time in NYC had run its course. I turned 40 and left the city that had shaped so much of my journey. Then, the fall of Roe v. Wade sent me inward once again. How could I advocate for sexual liberation when it felt like so much of that freedom was being stripped away?

This period of reflection was tough. But it solidified one thing for me: I wasn't going to sit quietly while forces tried to pull us back to a time when only white men had power. Today, I continue to work as a director of social impact and strategic communications for a national advocacy organization that champions sex education across the lifespan. My mission is to educate the public and legislators on the importance of protecting reproductive rights and freedoms — and let me tell you, education is just the beginning.

So, now you know a little about how I got here. I'm back — stronger, more focused, and more determined than ever. My mission hasn't changed: to create a world where sexual knowledge, freedom, and autonomy are for everyone. This column? It's going to be a wild ride — but a wise one, too. From situationships to full-blown sex parties, polyamory to perimenopause, strapping up to striking out, I've lived it all. Throughout my career, I've leaned into the ethnography of sexuality, conducting participatory research one situation at a time. Now, I'm here to help you navigate your own sexual freedom journey. And I want to help show you what's at stake when it comes to sex, beyond the bounds of the bedroom — how we can make meaning through everything from menopause to mansplaining.

Send me your questions here! After 15-plus years of being a sexologist, trust me, there's nothing I haven't heard, and no experience I haven't engaged in my own participatory research. I'm ready to spill the tea, if it helps you feel more empowered, less alone, and leads to better orgasms.

Let's do this!

Michelle Hope (she/they) is your go-to maven for all things sex, love, and modern relationships. A sexologist, author, and advocate for reproductive justice and sexual health equity, Michelle infuses her deep knowledge and extensive field experience into every dialogue. Whether breaking down barriers in conversation or pushing the boundaries of social norms, her approach is provocative, enlightening, and never for the faint of heart. Exploring the intersections of identity and desire, Michelle is here to shake up your perspectives, one bold truth at a time. Michelle is a PS Council member.