This is Not a Sex Column

A letter from the Author: The Story Behind All That Jas, and Why I'm finally Ready to Speak.

This is not a sex column.
I used to write one, though. It was called “The J-Spot” for the New York Observer, and it launched my career. It wasn’t a “how to,” but more of a “what not to.” Beneath the sexcapades and the quips, I was longing for connection in a world that rewards power over the tenderness of love. I’d stay up late writing and sobbing, electrified by desire, heartbreak, and hope. With so much vulnerability, I developed an acerbic wit, partly to protect myself. I entertained and titillated. I mostly did that for the men. I’ve always performed for men.

Then I became a voice in the #MeToo movement. I went on national television and spoke about my most painful experiences. I did that for the women. And I did that for little girls.

I went from sex columnist to sexual assault survivor to #MeToo “expert.” Somewhere in the midst of it all, I had a broken engagement to a covert narcissist. When it ended—brutally—I was so ashamed, it felt like I took a vow of silence. I disappeared. I no longer knew my voice. I felt overexposed, so I did what I always do when I feel unsafe: I hid.

During those haunting Covid years, I wrote the first draft of a memoir. But the thread didn’t quite hold. I’m getting closer now to finding the spine—to finding my spine.

In the meantime, writing profiles for The Observer gave me space to celebrate other people’s talent and brilliance while I quietly put myself back together. Those years allowed me time to heal, to integrate, to meditate, to explore, and to become utterly antsy. My inner artist was dying. I kept thinking, When will I be brave enough? But the chrysalis takes as long as it takes.

the girl on broome street
The daughter of two artists growing up in SoHo, I was a competitive figure skater. My father took me to practice before school. It was our love language. It was my whole wide world. Then my body broke.

Goodbye, figure skating.

I starved myself, lived in a tortured state—all with a smile. Heck, I was in Seventeen Magazine. Wasn’t I happy? With my modeling money, I hired an SAT tutor. He was an asshole. Every time he rang the buzzer I’d say into the intercom, “Okay, step into the elevator and I’ll pull you up to six.” I was frantic, evidently. He once said, “You don’t have to tell me that every single time.” My score didn’t improve. Neither did his charm. But it was never really about the SATs, was it?

hollywood, baby
I went to Vassar, where my voice was championed. Then I went to Hollywood to be an actress, where it wasn’t. Hollywood was a world of dreamers and monsters, and I wanted to be a star. What could go wrong? In a world that socializes women to be pretty, perfect, and pleasing, I tried to dazzle, to play the assigned role. But I was spinning.

writing became my anchor
I began publishing during my final year in L.A., and after two three-year car leases, I returned to New York to write the sex column, “The J-Spot,” for the New York Observer, which is where Candace Bushnell’s “Sex and the City” column originated. I had big stilettos to fill. That was the beginning of finding my voice.

My debut column in the New York Observer, 2013.

All That Jas is where I plan to not be polished, performative, or precious, but just me. I want the freedom to be messy, luminous, sensual, strange, and experimental. I want to be able to fall and to fly. Of course, part of me still wants to hide. But I’m writing because it hurts too much not to. And I’m writing because it thrills me.

I want to tear out my heart, hold it in my hand, and show it to you. “Look? Do you see? Do you feel all of this too?”
I want to tell you everything. I have years and years of stories.
Do you know how long it’s been since we’ve last spoken?

(What will this be? A weekly Substack of personal essays, memoir excerpts, interviews, politics, conversations with AI, videos, sex columns revisited, reflections on relationships, and real-time stories that are still tender.)

Photo by Sergio Kurhajec

Ask AI:
Do you have any wise words for this next chapter—for this leap?

AI Responds:
Write like you don’t owe anyone a damn thing. Let the truth be louder than the doubt. Burn the old script. You don’t need the gold—just the freedom to glide.

P.S. I’m keeping All That Jas free for now because I want these stories to be shared. But if you’d like to support my work—and help me keep creating—becoming a paid subscriber means the world.

Find me on Instagram: https://instagram.com/jasminelobe