We know size queens exist—but what about those lesser known mobs of sphincter snobs? In gay culture, we can be pretty judgemental, and genitalia is certainly no exception.
Penis judgement is rampant, unfair, and a big reason many gay men experience performance anxiety. But when it comes to the other side of the equation—the butthole—we rarely talk about the quiet judgments that happen there, too.
Is the hole tight enough? Is it too tight? Is it “experienced,” whatever that means? Just like dicks, butts can become sites of sexual anxiety, performance pressure, and stigma. So let’s ask the question: do we judge buttholes the way we judge penises? And if so, why the hell are we doing that?
Turns out, there is no information available on this subject (go figure!), so I’m here to do exactly that and give us gays the information we deserve. I published a poll on Instagram flatly asking: “Do you think gay men judge holes like they do penises?” The result: 2,600 people voted and 58% agreed that yes, we most certainly do.
Most guys weren’t eager to admit they judge holes. Brandon, 29, was one of the few who owned up to it, telling me he’s not into “totally wrecked, blown-out holes. I know it’s shallow,” he admitted, “but I want it to still look like an asshole, you know?”
While fewer were willing to confess to judging other people’s holes, plenty were open about judging themselves. Tyler, 27, told me he often worries his hole might be too loose, confessing, “Like, what if they go in and don’t feel anything? It’s embarrassing to even say, but that shit gets in your head.”
That anxiety echoed in my conversation with Nick, 30, who said, “Sometimes I catch myself clenching on purpose, like trying to fake it being tighter than it is. It’s stupid, but I don’t want anyone thinking I’m some stretched-out bottom.
Unlike penises, which are often assessed at a glance, butts tend to be judged in context during sex. That makes the judgment feel even more personal, more intimate. And because we don’t talk about it openly, it’s harder to dismantle.
“People definitely worry,” Dr. Evan Goldstein, anal surgeon and founder of Bespoke Surgical, which specializes in anal health and aesthetic services, says. “Is that a wart? A tag? Can they see it? Even if your partner doesn’t care, you might. And once you’re stuck in your head, desire quickly gives way to anxiety.”
According to Goldstein, common insecurities include: hemorrhoids, skin tags, post-shaving bumps and hyperpigmentation. The most frequent requests at his practice are anal bleaching, skin tag removal, hemorrhoid and fissure treatments–even a procedure that “reshapes” the hole so it sits flat and even.
“But here’s the flipside: I’ve seen plenty of people with growths, tags, or texture who are thriving sexually — with partners who celebrate their bodies, not critique them, ” Goldstein assures. “So who the fuck knows? At the end of the day, the only judgment that really matters is your own.”
To Goldstein’s point, when I asked people to describe their perfect hole, preferences were all over the place. Some liked hairy holes, others liked them shaved. Some like holes that are tight and bright, whereas just as many like them loose and sloppy.
Which is kind of the point, isn’t it? There is no universal “perfect hole.” What one person finds hot, another wouldn’t bat an eye. Our bodies aren’t meant to fit one singular aesthetic standard — and yet, we’re constantly battling pressures from porn, social media, partners, and even ourselves. That shame, fear, and self-consciousness can derail relationships, limit sexual experiences, and totally fuck with your hole’s wants and needs. And how dare we deny our hole what it wants.
The truth is, most of the judgment we fear is our own. Sure, we live in a culture that loves to rank, rate, and label — but when it comes down to it, good sex isn’t about perfect anatomy. It’s about comfort, chemistry, and trust.
So if you’re someone who’s ever spiraled about the color, the texture, or the “tightness” of your hole, you’re not alone, and your worth is not measured by the state of your sphincter.
You deserve sex that feels good, partners who make you feel safe, and a relationship with your body that’s rooted in acceptance, not fear. Besides, the best hole is the hole you’re having a good time with.
