Brooke Shields Got a ‘Bonus' Labia Rejuvenation Without Her Consent: 'Why Can’t Everybody Just Leave My Vagina Alone’ (Exclusive)

After a lifetime in the spotlight, Brooke Shields’ new book, Brooke Shields Is Not Allowed to Get Old, (out Jan. 14) is her most provocative yet.

At 59, the star is remarkably candid, about everything from sex to motherhood to claiming agency over her body — including at the doctor’s office.

She writes about an irregular pap smear that led to a “cone biopsy,” a procedure to remove abnormal tissue from the cervix. The pre-cancerous cells were removed — but it was only years later that she learned (from a female doctor) that the aggressive biopsy would make it difficult to conceive due to the scar tissue left behind. That was only the precursor to another medical procedure she underwent that carried unexpected consequences.

Below, read an exclusive excerpt shared with PEOPLE from the chapter titled "No Longer The Punching Bag: A Plea for Self-Advocacy" about the moment she discovered a medical procedure she didn't consent to.

About eight years after I’d had both my girls, I found myself in another — and in retrospect, much more egregious — situation where it felt like my medical care was taken out of my hands. I was at an appointment with my gynecologist, and after my exam she asked if I ever felt discomfort because of my labia.

“Only in tight jeans and spin classes and every romantic moment ever,” I said.

(I do apologize if this is too graphic or simply TMI, as some generations still call it. I’d be lying if I said I’m not embarrassed to share this very intimate information. But, if we are to change the way we approach and talk about women’s health, then we need to bring up the uncomfortable but very real issues. Shame is no longer an option).

My labia (you’ve got to admit this is a funny word) had been an issue for me since I was in high school, and one I’d been ashamed of forever. My best friend Lisa had the same situation, and at least together we could laugh about it. It’s like you’re in a boxing gym and you have two little speed bags between your legs, we’d joke. It hurt and it was in the way, and when I told my gynecologist as much, she said it was very common and that I was surely a candidate for a labial reduction procedure.

Technically it would be considered a cosmetic procedure — even that still pisses me off because we’re talking about pain — but it was one that would significantly decrease my discomfort. Why should that be reduced to a cosmetic choice, as if I wanted a more photogenic labia so I could be in adult films (nothing against those in the profession!). It also meant that, like many other important procedures for women, it would not be covered by insurance. In any case, my doctor made me feel less ashamed and relieved that there was a solution. She recommended a doctor in L.A.

I had one consultation with this (yes, male) doctor and wondered why I hadn’t heard about this surgery earlier — years of discomfort, potentially fixed! I went in to have the procedure. When it was over, the doctor gave me the rundown of how it went. “I was very detailed,” he said, to my relief and excitement. And then: “I was in there for four hours, and you know what I did? I tightened you up a little bit! Gave you a little rejuvenation!”

Wait, what?? I was shocked, speechless. I can’t remember how I responded, or even if I said anything. Was I supposed to say thank you?

“After two kids, everything is looser,” he said. But I had C-sections, and a scarred, more restricted cervix, I responded. “Still...” he said, staring, as if waiting for some further reaction from the lady whose feet were glamorously in the metal stirrups. He acted as if he’d done me a favor, and that I should, in fact, be grateful. There was a real “I threw this in for free, little lady” vibe to his delivery. But I had never asked to be “tightened” or “rejuvenated” (translation: given a younger vagina). I felt numb.

I was horrified, but also at a loss. I didn’t want to sue this man — or maybe I did want to, but I didn’t feel I could — because I didn’t particularly want talk of my lady parts, once again, on the front page of every paper. This man surgically altered my body without my consent. And he thought he had done me a favor by throwing in a “bonus procedure”? The sheer gall of it enraged me. The fact that the most intimate parts of my body had been a public focal point for so long ... it was enough already. All I could think was, Why can’t everybody just leave my vagina alone? (Even now, as I write this, I know this will be the bit that makes headlines. Whatever. Women deserve all the information.)

Had I been happy with the results of the procedure, I still would have been angry that he did it without my consent. But as it turns out, I wasn’t happy with the results, and haven’t been since. I can’t be bothered to change anything now, but once I was healed, I definitely noticed a difference in my body, and not a good one. Maybe if I was someone who was obsessed with sex I’d have been happy for the “freebie,” but I’d say my sex drive is pretty typical for a woman my age. I like intimacy, but I don’t need it every day. And the truth is, the procedure did not enhance my pleasure.

I never took action against this doctor. I never even spoke to him about it again, in part because I had started to question myself, to wonder if he was right, that I should feel lucky. Or maybe, I thought, this was a needed improvement for my man, who was secretly dissatisfied but would have never dared address the subject of my “loose down-theres?” It’s crazy to me that these ideas even popped into my head. What’s even crazier is that I didn’t even discuss it with my husband until later. I can’t remember why I eventually told him, but he was nearly as angry as I was.

Because if the same thing happened today, my reaction wouldn’t be so generous. My sentiment is basically a giant middle finger. F--- that guy! He had no right to do what he did, and if it happened to me now, I would make my own blaring headline and blast it everywhere. That’s what this age feels like to me, and I like it so much better.

Adapted from Brooke Shields is Not Allowed to Get Old: Thoughts on Aging as a Woman, out January 14 from Flatiron Books. Copyright © 2025 by Brooke Shields. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

Brooke Shields is Not Allowed to Get Old: Thoughts on Aging as a Woman comes out Jan. 14 and is available now for preorder, wherever books are sold.

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