Confessions of an Ex-Nymphet

I first came across Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita when I was around 12 or 13.

I was a lonely, awkward preteen who felt much older than I was. I had a small amount of friends, and most of my time was spent browsing the web for Percy Jackson fan art or WatchMojo top tens ranking the best of cinema. At some point, deep in the annals of WeHeartIt (rip) I came across a whole subgroup of other weird adolescents. There were moodboards and moodboards dedicated to what was then called “nymphets”, and would later morph into the larger coquette subculture. At that moment, I knew I had finally found my people. 

It took me a minute to get what it meant to be a nymphet. Tumblr and WeHeartIt led me to believe that it was largely a fashion aesthetic, known for its frills and school girl sensibilities. I quickly learned that it was much more than that. The phrase “nymphet” comes from the aforementioned Lolita. The book’s protagonist, pedophile Humbert Humbert, uses the term to describe girls between “...nine and fourteen there occur maidens who, to certain bewitched travelers, twice or many times older than they, reveal their true nature which is not human, but nymphic (that is, demoniac); and these chosen creatures I propose to designate as ‘nymphets’” (Nabokov). The young girls of Tumblr and the like who self identified as nymphets were mature, but youthful. They liked old school cinema and Elvis Presley. Lana Del Rey was their personal hero. Saddle shoes flooded their wish lists. Most importantly however, was their obsession with older men.

I immediately felt a kinship with these girls. I loved classic cinema and old school rock and roll. I felt completely isolated from kids my own age and much preferred the company of adults. I was hopelessly in love with Atticus Finch and aging stars like Robert Redford. That was one of the main draws of the nymphet community to me. I could explore my attraction to older men without feeling embarrassed or weird. I began to scour the internet for more coquette content. I dreamed of curating a closet of Dolores Haze inspired garb. I watched movies like Hick and My Little Princess and felt seen by these wayward girls, even though I lived with a loving family in Northeast Philadelphia. I became obsessed with Lana Del Rey (and still am, for the record). I listened to “Lolita” and “Off to the Races” on full blast during math class. “Put me in a Movie” became my own personal anthem. It was in this space that I had felt free to truly be myself. For the first time, I didn’t feel freakish, because there was an entire world of young girls who loved all the same things I did and felt confident enough to share that love on the internet. So, it became increasingly disheartening to see the community be co-opted and belittled. 

Coquette means something very different now than it did back in the early to mid 2010s. Nowadays, it’s basically a catch-all term for anything girly or traditionally feminine. Everything from bows, to yoga pants, to Sofia Coppola is labeled as coquette. When I was active in the subculture, nymphet and coquette were basically interchangeable, but it was more than an aesthetic. Sure, there were the unifying fashion influences. Gingham, 1940s inspired pieces, ribbons, and heart shaped glasses were seen across the board. But, an appreciation of antiquity, love of old school film and music, and a taste for older men were all crucial in identifying as coquette. Now anything that’s colored pink can be deemed coquettish. The phrase has basically lost all meaning. I’ve seen dark feminine coquette, fairy coquette, grunge coquette, americana coquette (which out of all of these is the closest to what the identity originally described). If you told someone back in 2014 that pink lululemon athletic sets and floral patterned stanley cups would be seen as coquette, you would’ve been accused of blasphemy. 

I mainly blame Tiktok and Instagram for this. Tiktok is where individuality goes to die, so once coquette breached containment circa 2020, everyone and their mom was asking where you could buy coquette clothing at the expense of some poor child working in a sweat shop. Back in my day, most girls who dressed the part of a nymphet recommended thrift stores or vintage shops. 

Over on instagram, the Coquette label was picked up by girl bloggers and femcel types, who are much more interested in the appearance of subculture than they are actually living by the rules of said subculture. Because at the end of the day, coquette and nymphet were terms used to describe subcultures. It was made up of girls who had unifying tastes and interests, and tried to act accordingly. To see it maimed and twisted into this nothing burger aesthetic makes me feel not only old, but sad that my niche group of fellow tweenagers were the last breath of community. 

I understand why most people cringe when they hear the phrase nymphet, and in turn coquette, but for a lot of young girls, this identity was a lifeline. Obviously it wasn’t perfect. There were always racial implications that were dubious at best. Most models who appeared in the coquette and nymphet mood boards were overwhelmingly white. The one good thing about modern coquette is the inclusion of girls of color. However, I feel as someone who was there, most of the critique of nymphet and coquette communities promoting grooming and abuse were unfounded. A lot, and I mean a lot, of the girls who identified as nymphets were abused and/or groomed themselves, and were using the community as a safe space to unpack and understand their trauma. The lyric video for “Put Me in a Movie”, which now sits at 2.3 million views, is overflowing with people praising the song for its depiction of sexual abuse and how the song had helped them process their own abuse. I don’t think every girl who obsessed over Lolita was too stupid and prone to romanticization to see that Humbert Humbert was a bad guy. I know this because I didn’t. In fact, it protected me. I watched the 90s Lolita multiple times in middle school. The film, flawed as it is, showed me firsthand what abuse looks like. It was because of this, that I never fell victim to an older man when I was underage. For most of my tweens, I yearned for a handsome older man to come save me from myself, and after watching the film I realized that adult men who are looking to “save” a young girl are likely predators. I’m glad I watched it. Do I think every girl who saw themselves as a nymphet understood Nabokov’s intentions? No. But I do think teen girls are capable of holding two ideas in their heads at once. I think it’s possible to understand that media can depict evil things and still be comforting to those who need it, for whatever reason. 

Part of me believes that I can return to the safe space I had when I was a tween. That I can nestle myself into that world when I start feeling lonely again. Rationally, I know that the community is long gone. It’s been split into so many contradictions that I think it’s finally time to let go. If you were there, know that I was glad to have your comfort at a time when I felt the rest of the world thought me to be strange. I’m 22 now, and sometimes I still feel like that 12-year-old girl. I try to give her the kindness you all gave me. If nothing else, I’m glad that I got to be a part of something.