I Ran a Nipple Workshop and It Was Way More Than I Expected
Ignition Festival Workshop Reflection, January 2026
In the days leading up my workshop at Ignition Festival, a familiar loop played in my head: What if no one comes? And if they do… what if they don’t like it?
I felt somewhat confident, I’d researched, planned, and shaped the workshop carefully. I knew the content and had a script in front of me, but that didn’t stop the nerves from showing up once it was time to stand in front of everyone. As the day approached, that quiet self-doubt crept in: What if my mind goes blank? What if I forget something important?
Ignition Festival had a college theme this year, inviting camps to host lessons for participants. My original idea was to run a general sex education class, but when I saw how many others were already offering something similar, I stepped back and followed my curiosity instead. Drawing on the research I’d done for my Free the nipples art series, I decided to focus on nipples, something almost everyone has, yet very few of us have been properly taught about.
On the day, the nerves were still there. Rather than trying to hide them, I named them. At the beginning of the workshop, I told the group I was feeling nervous, and that simple honesty shifted the room immediately. The pressure eased, the energy softened, and it became clear we were all just humans showing up together. Saying it out loud helped me settle into the space and invited the group to meet me with warmth rather than expectation.
I didn’t need to worry.
The room filled with open, curious people ready to learn, laugh, and engage. We explored nipple anatomy, nerve endings, smooth muscle, ducts, and the areola’s oil-producing glands. Learnt that most nipples have between five and nine ducts, that nipples contain smooth muscle which causes automatic reactions, and that one nipple can be a completely different type or sensitivity to the other.
We talked about the wide diversity of nipples protruding, flat, inverted, puffy, doubled, extra and many more and how all of them are normal. One of my favourite facts to share was about the “milk line,” explaining why some people have extra nipples anywhere from the armpit down to the groin. These moments of learning were met with curiosity, and plenty of laughter.
To keep things playful, I included nipple-themed games and group activities throughout the session. We finished with a nipple song dance-off, a joyful, slightly ridiculous way to close the class and release the energy in the room. I also adapted a guided meditation from a previous workshop, shifting the focus to chest awareness, breath, and gentle body connection.
What stayed with me most was how engaged everyone was. And of course, it wouldn’t be one of my talks if herpes didn’t come up. While it’s not directly related to nipples, the conversation flowed naturally from discussions about nipple pleasure, intimacy, and safer ways to explore connection. We talked about how nipple play can be a great way to connect with others while carrying very little risk of transmitting or sharing STIs.
That part of the workshop felt especially smooth for me. I know this information deeply, and it felt really good to share clear, factual, stigma-free knowledge. I was just about to move on when someone stopped me and said they weren’t ready to leave the topic yet. What followed was an open, thoughtful discussion about herpes, questions, reflections, and genuine curiosity filling the room. Someone even commented that I should run a herpes-focused workshop on its own, which definitely planted a seed. Maybe for the next festival.
Moments like this, when a group wants to pause and stay with a conversation, felt quietly powerful. It confirmed, once again, what I’ve come to believe again and again: when learning spaces are inclusive, shame-free, and playful, people show up fully, even for the conversations we’re often taught to avoid.
To finish, I gave away small illustrated nipple zines and original artwork as take-home pieces, something tangible to carry the learning beyond the workshop.
Walking away, I felt proud. Not just because the workshop “worked,” but because I trusted myself enough to follow an idea that felt playful, slightly risky, and deeply aligned with my practice. This experience reminded me that nervousness often sits right beside meaningful work, and that naming it can be the very thing that helps us move through it.
Bodies are fascinating.
Education doesn’t have to be awkward.
And nipples, it turns out, were exactly the right place to start.