In 2020, a candid conversation between Miley Cyrus and Alex Cooper resurfaced on X, quickly amassing more than 20 million views. During the episode, the former Disney star admitted that she “enjoys sexuality more than she enjoys sex,” dismissed the need for extensive foreplay, and quipped that “tits are prettier than balls.” The clip provoked a flood of reactions—some users labeled her a lesbian, others accused her of having “non-sex haver vibes,” and a few even described her statements as “depressing.” While the backlash centered on moral judgments, the underlying discomfort stems from how Cyrus’s remarks clash with long-standing ideas about what a satisfying sexual life should look like.
To move beyond the noise, I consulted Dominique Oster, LMFT, an AASECT-certified sex therapist. Oster dissected each of Cyrus’s comments, explaining why they align with a broad, contemporary understanding of desire. Her insights illuminate how personal preferences, mental framing, and self-focus shape sexual experiences, and why the pop star’s perspective should not be pathologized.
Separating sexuality from the act of sex
When Cyrus says, “I enjoy sexuality more than I enjoy sex,” she is drawing a line between two related but distinct concepts. Sexuality refers to the wide spectrum of erotic feelings, fantasies, cultural narratives, and body awareness that people encounter throughout their lives. In contrast, sex denotes the concrete physical act of intercourse or other explicit contact. Oster emphasizes that many individuals enter therapy hoping to increase the frequency of sex, yet the true therapeutic goal often involves discovering one’s sexual identity, shedding shame, and pinpointing what genuinely feels good.
For some, the pleasure stems from watching erotic media, exploring tantra, or simply discussing fantasies without ever translating those ideas into a bedside performance. This distinction mirrors the difference between interest and action. As Oster puts it, Cyrus’s statement makes sense because she is drawn to sexuality—the exploration of pleasure, beauty, and eroticism—without necessarily feeling the immediate urge to engage in intercourse.
Why foreplay is not a universal prerequisite
Cyrus’s blunt remark—”I don’t really fuck with foreplay because I’m just too busy… I really want to get the fuck done and get the fuck back to editing”—challenges the prevailing narrative that extensive foreplay is a prerequisite for arousal. While many sex educators champion a 45-minute buildup, Oster notes that foreplay can begin in the mind for certain individuals. For people with demanding schedules or racing thoughts, prolonged physical teasing may actually introduce more mental distraction, reducing rather than enhancing pleasure.
The pressure to maintain a heightened state of arousal throughout a lengthy pre-sex ritual can feel burdensome. If attention drifts, some interpret the experience as a failure, when in reality a spontaneous spark—a quick glance or a direct invitation—may be sufficient to ignite desire. Oster argues that society has unintentionally built a hierarchy of arousal, compelling people to believe that a “proper” sexual encounter must follow a prescribed script. Recognizing that arousal styles differ helps dissolve the stigma attached to those who prefer a more direct approach.
Genital aesthetics, personal preference, and self-focus
The comment that sparked the most speculation—”I don’t really want to look at a penis for any longer than I have to. I think that’s why I want it to go inside, so it gets out of my face”—was quickly interpreted as evidence of a specific sexual orientation. In reality, Cyrus’s visual preference says little about her Oster clarifies that connection with a partner transcends genital appearance one can desire a person while feeling indifferent toward a particular body part.
Such a stance is not unusual. Many women who have experienced trauma, chronic pain, or functional challenges report that they love their partners but are less interested in the mechanics of penetration. The key insight is that sexual pleasure is often self-oriented. When someone says, “It’s all about me because I’m secretly just looking at my own body,” they are acknowledging that the internal experience—how one feels about oneself in the moment—can dominate the encounter. Just as a confident outfit can lift the mood of a night out, a positive self-image can elevate sexual satisfaction.
In sum, Cyrus’s remarks reflect a personal schema of desire that prioritizes mental eroticism, efficiency, and bodily autonomy. Oster’s analysis underscores that these preferences sit comfortably within the spectrum of healthy sexuality, even if they run counter to mainstream expectations. By recognizing the diversity of arousal patterns, foreplay needs, and visual preferences, we can move away from moral condemnation and toward a more inclusive conversation about pleasure.
