You know what’s hotter than a slow jam by Air and a warm summer breeze through the Echobox studio? Sexual education. No, really. Just ask Belle Barbé — founder of the Seksualiteitschool, professional sex-ed disruptor, and the only person I know who can say “preventieve seksuele opvoeding” without flinching.
In this episode of Radio Pleasure Society, we talked all things sex-ed — and no, not the banana-condom demo from your high school biology class. Belle’s world is a juicy, real-world middle ground between biology book boredom and full-throttle porn — a place where curiosity, clitoris sculptures, and kids asking where babies come from are all totally normal.
Spoiler alert: her school isn’t just about sex, it’s about life. And it’s about time we started treating it that way.
Belle’s journey into sex-ed stardom began with Wipsite — a now-archival (but still visitable!) digital platform blending art and sexuality in a way that made sex-ed sexy. We’re talking orgasms scored to music, exhibitions in the Melkweg, and even school-friendly content that didn’t suck the life out of the subject.
And then came the Seksualiteitschool — part Hogwarts, part TED Talk, part “can we say vulva in front of the PTA?” It trains teachers, parents, and the occasional curious app developer to talk about sexuality like it’s just another part of being human. Because it is.
Forget dusty Dutch “voorlichting”, Belle prefers “seksuele opvoeding” — sexual upbringing. Because sex isn’t a one-off convo with a red-faced adult muttering something about “waiting until you’re in love.” It’s a lifelong, evolving conversation.
And yes, it starts early. Really early. Like, toddler-on-the-sofa-discovering-their-own-bits early. Belle’s not clutching pearls — she’s calmly renaming “peutermasturbatie” to “aanraken van de geslachtsdelen” so parents can stop freaking out and start engaging.
Of course, not everyone loves what Belle’s doing. When she started talking openly about early childhood sexual development, the trolls came out — some with pitchforks, others with DMs that were more disturbing than educational.
So she did what any self-aware sex educator would do: deleted Instagram, mixed herself a giant cocktail, and went off-grid for a few days.
But instead of going quiet, Belle got smarter. Adjusting her language, protecting her family’s privacy, and finding ways to speak to people, not just at them. She even gave up on using terms like “masturbation” with toddlers because, let’s face it, the adult brain short-circuits.
Amid the theory and training, there’s also joy. Real-life, sweaty, hilarious joy.
Belle’s daughter once sunbathed naked by a pool, casually explaining to her brother that her vagina is where babies come from. He responded by declaring his baby was “locked in his penis.” Honestly? Future sex-ed royalty.
Oh, and in case you thought her home life was all theory and worksheets: Belle has a designated foreplay song. The moment Sergio Mendes plays, it’s business time. Her husband’s trained like a Pavlovian dog — or, shall we say, a very enthusiastic participant in consensual adult bedtime rituals.
Belle’s books (Ik & Seks, 100 Antwoorden bij Seksuele Opvoeding, and Lijfklets) mirror her own life: curious 20-something, new parent, overwhelmed twin-mum. She writes them while on maternity leave — because that’s what Belle does for fun. Apparently sleep is optional when you’re fighting shame culture with prose.
Now, the Seksualiteitschool isn’t just for teachers — it’s for anyone raising, coaching, or surviving children. And it doesn’t stop there. Belle dreams of taking her model beyond schools and daycares, into elder care homes, sport clubs, universities, and — why not — the global stage.
Because, let’s face it, we never stop needing better sex-ed. Even when we’ve got grey hair and are catching chlamydia in the care home.
Because if we want kids — and adults — to grow up confident, safe, and shame-free in their bodies and relationships, someone has to teach them. And not just with facts and diagrams, but with real stories, emotional intelligence, and the kind of openness most adults weren’t lucky enough to grow up with.
So next time a kid asks where babies come from, maybe take them by the hand — and start telling the truth. With curiosity. Without shame. And with the voice of Belle Barbé somewhere in your head, reminding you that sexuality isn’t scary. It’s just part of being gloriously, messily human.