Jane the Virgin is a virgin no more.

The winky CW meta-telenovela about a virgin who was inseminated by mistake finally destroyed its premise in its 47th chapter this week. It did so with its trademark combination of G-rated fanfare and thoughtful, amusingly anticlimactic reversals. But underneath the humor was a pretty serious reckoning with the show's structuring conceit: "Chapter 47" finally released the show from the burden of its title.

The episode did a nice job of treating Jane's first time with its usual levity: Not once but twice, the camera cuts away from the actual sex to cartoons of Jane and her husband riding a rocket through a Jetsons-meets-Pinocchio fantasy world. This is more than your euphemistic train-through-a-tunnel footage of early film, though. The cartoons here are smashing you over the head with the fact that this event reframes, well, everything:

(Screenshot/CW/Jane the Virgin)

(Screenshot/CW/Jane the Virgin)

The cartoon, in other words, reinforces Jane's sense about sex: that it is somehow a loss. If Jane is no longer JANE THE VIRGIN, who is she?

The two strands of this show's DNA are absurd melodrama and psychological epiphanies. The former consists of massive plot twists — criminal subplots, face-swapping villains, accidental and intentional pregnancies, murders, and evil twins. The latter does careful character-work and dwells with loving specificity on Jane's memories, development, and current frame of mind. The results don't always meld well (Jane's hopes for her son's birthday party are treated as commensurate with another character's feelings about being blackmailed by his brother and birth mother, for instance). But the episodes tend to break down into Jane's sane small problem and everyone else's wackier, louder, crazier set of issues.

This episode's Jane problem was that the sex the series has been forever building toward turned out to be kind of lackluster. Here she is after she and Michael (Brett Dier) finally manage to consummate their marriage:

(Screenshot/CW/Jane the Virgin)

She's fine. Fine! The cartoon of Jane and Michael in a rocket, meant to indicate they had sex, suggests everything's basically okay. So does the narrator (Anthony Mendez).

What's interesting, though, is that neither the cartoon, nor the narrator, nor Michael capture that Jane's first time was less than perfect. There are hints: She's a little too eager to get a drink of water. She says to herself that she's different now that she's a person who's had sex. But she needs something: She brings a bottle of wine to the bedroom only to find Michael asleep, and her need to process, without knowing how to process, feels like a moment of startling realism in a show that tends to show crises sunny-side up. We see Jane consider texting her mother and deleting the text, twice.

(Screenshot/CW/Jane the Virgin)

When she finally does reach out, it's almost by accident: She confesses to her friend that she faked her orgasm.

This should be the beginning and end of the episode's Jane problem. But the issue turns out to be more than suboptimal sex. Jane feels fine about losing her virginity, or so she thinks, but in practice, her sense of herself is wavering. Jane, whose affinity for romance novels has created some unrealistic expectations the show gently but frequently disappoints, has to undo a lifetime of programming about what sex does to your identity. Jane's problem turns out to be a massive gender problem. The show is at long last reckoning with its pilot, which opened with a 10-year-old Jane getting lectured by her grandmother Alba about virginity. Jane is holding a flower in her hand. "Notice how perfect it is," Alba says, before telling Jane to crumple it. She does.

(Screenshot/Netflix/Jane the Virgin)

"Now try to make it look new again," Alba commands. "I can't," Jane says.

(Screenshot/Netflix/Jane the Virgin)

"And that's what happens when you lose your VIRGINITY," says Alba. It's a horrible little lesson, and it sticks: Jane frames the bruised flower and carries it with her everywhere she goes. Michael suggests throwing it out when he and Jane move into their new house. "It's me! My history, who I am!" Jane says. She's joking, but it's clear that this particular lesson took root.

One of the pleasures of this bubblegum series is Jane's function as an anchor amid the soap opera insanity. Alba's lesson, however intense it was, didn't affect Jane's view of others. She has no moral objection to her mother Xiomara's extramarital affairs, abortion, and other behaviors of which Alba might (and does) disapprove. But it turns out she's unable to extend that broad-minded approach to herself. She has a healthy sex drive, but it doesn't translate to actual sex. Here she is trying to enjoy married intimacy with Michael:

(Screenshot/CW/Jane the Virgin)

It is not going well. "I'm too in my head," Jane says, and the episode really carefully unpacks what that means: Jane has privately internalized her grandmother's messaging to an extent that's hard to measure. That framed virginity-flower isn't just another charming and innocuous relic of Jane's childhood. It isn't the joke the first cartoon sex sequence made it out to be.

No, it turns out that a metaphor that conflates virginity with perfection doesn't allow for an easy pivot after marriage. If your message is SEX RUINS YOU, adding EXCEPT AFTER YOU'RE MARRIED doesn't help.

In other words, the show's rollicking deflowering jokes — the JANE! exclamation point even contains the symbolic flower — don't match the weird stuff sex indoctrination does to people:

(Screenshot/CW/Jane the Virgin)

Other subplots mirror Jane's subconscious sense of loss, neatly layering anxieties in ways that invite Jane to see an identity crisis where none exists. When Xiomara is reconsidering whether she wants to change careers, Jane insists that she keep chasing her dream of being a singer. "I am a singer," Xo says, placidly. "It just feels like you're giving up on this huge thing that was so important to you for so long!" Jane says. Xo realizes that Jane is projecting.

"You gave up something pretty big lately," she says.

‘My virginity?" Jane says. "NO. I'm happy it's gone. I'm married. I have a kid. It's been like this weight. I've been dying to get rid of this for so long." But she starts to tear up. "This is so stupid. I'm married. I wanted it to be gone. I don't know. I just, I feel weird. Like I lost something, like part of my identity."

"Yeah. I get that," Xo says. "And I blame the flower. "It's perfect, untouched, now crumple it up, it's ruined. You feel like you lost something and you didn't. You just gained something, a whole new dimension of your life, your relationship."

That turns out to be the major breakthrough, and it's not a Jane plot, or a soap opera plot. It's an upheaval of the show's title so massive that Jennie Snyder Urman, the show's creator and showrunner, plans to make it literally true. Not by deleting "the Virgin," as the cartoon letters did above, but by adding a new identity for Jane that lasts a single episode instead of an entire series. Urman says future episodes of Jane the Virgin might be titled "Jane the Person Who Doesn't Like Her Mom's Boyfriend," or "Jane the Person Who Wants to Get a New Job."

It's a particularly nice touch that the episode links Jane's epiphany to the deeper layers of the family history she's trying to write (which suffered from some fairly flat caricatures). Alba's sister, who ruined her wedding, isn't just Cecilia the Wedding-Ruiner, or a Jane lookalike.

(Screenshot/CW/Jane the Virgin)

Jane dispatches her one-dimensional identity. The show has always called out its own cliches, but with this episode it really leveled up. As Cecilia says: "Now can we finally stop obsessing over that virgin/whore nonsense? Hay muchas otras cosas interesantes sobre me."

Editor's note: This article originally misidentified the actor who plays the narrator. It's been corrected. We regret the error.