Intimate pleasure in the form of a mascara wand.
Not that it’s new, but hearing about it on The Shopping Channel – TSC, was certainly a different experience.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m not here to preach about sex toys on late night television. In fact, I watched in awe as a plasticized sex therapist delivered a most 1950’s-housewife-narrative regarding the ‘pleasure objects’ up for grabs.
I actually learned something new. Apparently there are products to tone your vagina. And they have a very buttery texture.
Had I not been four glasses of wine into mourning my uni roommate’s death, I may have had a different reaction. I may have been indignant that the beauty industry had weaselled their way into my vagina. I may have ranted unabashedly about saggy testicles that hang out in the open exposing us all to their hairy, wrinkled homeliness. Tone the surface my vagina? Seriously. Like I’ve got time for that. Besides, at this age, the men of my vintage need reading glasses to see anything that close-up.
As it were, the sound of my friend’s hysterical giggles filled my imagination, and I became glued to the late-night sex-toy drive.
Where I grew up, The Shopping Channel was akin to Amazon. It was the first sit-in-your-flannel-in-the-middle-of-the-night-and-order-shit-you-don’t-need home-delivery service. I know many a country-bumpkin with simulated gemstone finds. Now I have to wonder if they were all the most sexually satisfied, oppressed women in South-Western Ontario. Maybe I’ve been wrong all this time.
As the women on the show (host, sales rep and sex therapist), discussed the very buttery texture of the vag cream, not, incidentally to be confused or used as a lubricant, I began to admire their command of very precise language.
These women were trying to sell a 2020 audience less phallic pleasure objects so that we didn’t intimidate our partners. Less threatening, as in; it seemed like they assumed everyone was heterosexual, and women who used sex toys had to hide them from their men in order that said men’s masculinity could be unrealistically held above all else, as sacred.
There was just so much wrong with this.
I laughed, thinking how my friend and I would have laughed until we cried. I could hear her beautiful giggle, and her gasping, “What the actual f@*k?!” between laughing fits.
I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t recommend the sex therapist who hosted. I don’t think anyone needs to be encouraged to feel any more self conscious about their sexuality than they already are, especially when it comes to being less threatening to the phallic brutality that has dominated the lives of women since the dawn of time.
I might however recommend what I’m going to call the mascara wand vibrator to slip into your make-up bag for weekend getaways.