Personal

Why I Love the Ukulele

Kate Sloan

Ukulele, small and fierceful
Ukulele, brave and peaceful
You can play the ukulele too –
It is painfully simple
-Amanda Palmer, “Ukulele Anthem“

I’ve been writing songs since before I knew how to play any instruments; it’s baked into me how yeast is baked into bread. But instruments are a big part of how you bring music into the world, and convey to listeners the way you’re hearing your songs inside your head, and so I always wanted to learn to play an instrument, long before I ever did.

A year or more into piano lessons (which I enjoyed, though I begrudged having to practice my Bach and Chopin), I started listening obsessively to indie folk artists on a website called PureVolume (it was sort of like the MySpace of the music industry at the time) and, in particular, found myself drawn to songs written on acoustic guitars. I had an old violin, inherited from a relative and missing a string, and I would sit in front of the family computer plucking out simple chords on this creaky old instrument and sing over them into a USB microphone. Once, my dad walked by while I was doing this, and he remarked aloud, “We gotta get this girl a guitar.”

Playing my first guitar, circa 2008

He did, and it’s still one of the most meaningful acts of love I can recall in my life. He took me to Long & McQuade, arguably the best music shop in Toronto, and I told the salesman I wanted an acoustic guitar. (Electric guitars weren’t really on my radar; the artists I cared about then were all writing on acoustics.) The salesman asked me if I wanted a steel-stringed guitar or a nylon-stringed one, and I didn’t know, so he grabbed one of each. “Nylon-stringed guitars are usually used for classical music,” he explained, playing a bit of fingerpicked flamenco on the one he’d chosen, “whereas steel-stringed guitars are used in folk music.” He played a few bars of music that sounded like folk-rock to me – like the music I’d been listening to on PureVolume – and I said, “That one, please.” My fate was sealed.

I loved my guitar, and took lessons for a few years from a chill-as-hell Irish hipster named Eoghan (pronounced like “Owen”) who was getting a degree in jazz guitar. One December, my mom sent along a box of cookies for me to give him as a Christmas gift, and he was so surprised and flustered by this that he gave me a huge book of jazz standards he happened to have in his guitar case that day. I treasured that book, and still have it.

No matter how many guitar lessons I took, though, it just never felt as natural to me as singing or playing the piano. My fingers weren’t strong enough to play barre chords, or nimble enough to swap quickly between different chords. True, I could have (and should have) practiced more than I did, but it felt like I was hitting an insurmountable wall, limited by my level of physical ability.

My guitar teacher worked out of a music school on top of a music store, and so I would walk through their rows of instruments every time I went to a lesson. And sometime around age 16, I began to notice the ukuleles hanging adorably in a back corner. One fateful day in 2008, I took a couple friends with me to the shop and picked out a bright green Beaver Creek ukulele, paid approximately $40 for it, and walked out holding my musical future in my hands.

It was just so clear to me, so quickly, that I was meant to play the ukulele. I fell in love with it the way I fall in love with human beings: quickly, obsessively, and all-consumingly.

See what happens when you muzzle a person’s creativity
And do not let them sing and scream
And nowadays, it’s worse, ’cause kids have automatic handguns
It takes about an hour to teach someone to play the ukulele
About the same to teach someone to build a standard pipe bomb
You do the math!
-Amanda Palmer, “Ukulele Anthem“

If you’re not familiar, the ukulele differs from the guitar in a few key ways. It’s smaller, and tuned higher; it’s cheaper, and has a thinner but more playful sound. And, crucially, it has only four strings instead of six, so chord shapes are simpler, requiring less nimbleness and coordination of the player’s fingers. Its strings tend to be made of nylon or similar materials, so it doesn’t require as much strength as pressing down on steel guitar strings, which can bite into your fingertips like knives if you haven’t formed callouses there yet.

I wasn’t diagnosed with fibromyalgia yet at that time, and who knows when I actually developed that illness – but the struggles which led me to prefer ukulele over guitar have only deepened over the years, in large part due to my fibro. My hands are weaker than I’d prefer, and often sore. I’m clumsy and prone to dropping things, stumbling, hitting wrong notes on the fretboard. I’m frequently frustrated by an inability to translate the songs I hear in my head into an audible, tangible result that I can share with others. The ukulele, therefore, is perfect for me.

With the barrier of insufficient hand strength removed from the equation, I’ve gotten much better at ukulele than I ever got at guitar, even though I took guitar lessons for years and am mostly self-taught on the ukulele. I can play complicated chord changes from jazz or musical theatre, and never (okay, almost never) get so frustrated that I want to throw my instrument across the room. I can strum chords or finger-pick, write songs or learn other people’s songs. It feels easy and natural to me in a way that guitar never did.

There’s a term I love, “access intimacy,” which I learned from some kink workshop at a conference long ago. (I can’t recall who introduced me to this concept, or I would credit them.) It refers to the intimacy you can have with people who recognize and meet your access needs – whether those needs are related to physical disabilities, such as requiring ramps and access to handicapped bathrooms, or mental-emotional issues, such as needing to avoid certain PTSD triggers or needing a slow approach to task-switching due to ADHD.

I genuinely feel that I have “access intimacy” with the ukulele. It meets me where I’m at. It enables me to make music, write music, and feel like I’m a part of the music-making community, even though virtuosic guitar-playing is beyond my grasp.

The cheapness and accessibility of ukuleles is also highly democratizing. As singer-songwriter Amanda Palmer points out in her “Ukulele Anthem,” beginner ukuleles are usually pretty affordable (you can find ’em for $20-50, although I’d recommend spending at least $40 if you want a decent-sounding uke), and the chords are simple enough that you can pick up many of them in just an hour or two of practicing, especially if you have some music knowledge under your belt already. I love knowing that even if I suddenly needed to spend a lot of time away from home – as Amanda Palmer did when she got stuck in New Zealand toward the beginning of the pandemic – I could walk to a local music shop and be reunited with my favorite instrument for less money than a meal at a mid-tier restaurant. It makes me feel safe and secure, knowing I can take my music with me anywhere I go. One of the deepest and truest ways I know my spouse really loves me is that they keep a ukulele in the corner of their living room, even though they don’t play any instruments, simply because they know I’m calmer and happier when there’s a ukulele nearby that I can pick up whenever the whim strikes.

Nowadays, even as I’m mired in seasonal depression and fibro pain and general 21st-century millennial malaise, I keep a soprano ukulele on my bed so it’s always there when I feel like reaching for it. Not next to my bed, not near my bed, but on my bed. It’s small enough that I can do that. And many days, having it there is the difference between feeling sad and listless, and playing songs until I find my smile again.

I’ve taught ukulele lessons, I’ve bought ukuleles for friends, I’ve evangelized about ukuleles to all who would listen – and the reason for all this is simple. The ukulele has changed my life, made it brighter and bolder and easier and more fun. It has made music feel delightful instead of soul-sucking and painful. Every time I hold this little instrument in my arms, I feel grateful to be able to pluck its four strings.

So play your favorite Beatles’ song
And make the subway fall in love
They’re only $19.95; that isn’t lots of money
Play until the sun comes up
And play until your fingers suffer
Play LCD Soundsystem songs on your ukulele
Quit the bitching on your blog
And stop pretending art is hard
Just limit yourself to three chords
And do not practice daily
You’ll minimize some stranger’s sadness
With a piece of wood and plastic
Holy fuck, it’s so fantastic, playing ukulele!
-Amanda Palmer, “Ukulele Anthem“

I Got a Tattoo of an Iconic Sex Toy!

Kate Sloan

This year, more than any other year of my career so far, my work has focused almost exclusively on sex toys. Whether I was writing for GQ, MEL, SELF, smaller clients, or this blog, most of the articles I’ve cranked out this year have been about vibrators, dildos, butt plugs, cock rings, and the like.

As such, when my nearly-annual craving for a new tattoo hit me, I began to wonder why I hadn’t yet gotten a sex toy tattoo. I think there were a few main reasons for this:

  1. I am always worried about incorporating actual brands or products into my tattoos incase their creators do something egregious in the future. Like, imagine if I got a dildo tattooed on me and then its maker was outed years later as a misogynist, homophobe or transphobe. If you think that sounds unlikely, that’s sadly probably because you haven’t been in this industry for as long as I have. I’ve seen some shit, man. ☹️
  2. Since they’re gonna remain on my skin for the rest of my life, I’ve been relatively careful about only getting tattoos that were “appropriate” enough that I wouldn’t be embarrassed if, say, a member of my extended family was to see them on me during a beach day. Sex toy tattoos don’t quite fall into that category, although I’m nowhere near as embarrassed about them now as I would’ve been a few years ago, because of the success I’ve attained writing about them and the internal work I’ve done in therapy on confidence and agency. (And also, I can’t say that I do beach days with my extended family very often.)
  3. I didn’t know which sex toy I wanted to get tattooed on me. Many have been meaningful to me in different ways.

The more that I thought about it, though, the more that the Magic Wand made sense to me as a potential tattoo. It’s a truly iconic sex toy, one that is deeply entangled with the history of sex-positive feminism. From its popularization at Betty Dodson’s Bodysex workshops in the ’70s and beyond, to its prevalence in queer and straight porn alike, to the dramatic takeover of its distribution by Vibratex in 2014-2015 when Hitachi wanted to stop making it, this vibrator has a story that is so much bigger than just the toy itself – which is part of why I felt like it’d still be okay for me to have it on my skin even if its makers fucked up in some major way. (Having interviewed the lovely Shay Martin, owner of Vibratex, though, I doubt that would ever happen.)

So I emailed my go-to tattoo artist, Laura Blaney, who’d previously done the pink bows on the backs of my thighs, the flowers on my right arm, and the pen and pencil on my left arm. I told her I wanted to get the Magic Wand with some flowers I associate with love and joy, roses and daffodils. (Flowers are one of Laura’s specialties as an artist.) We had to put off the appointment for a few months because she was on maternity leave, which just gave me more time to sit with the tattoo idea and decide that I did indeed really want it on me.

Immediately after finishing the final session. And yes, of course I wore underwear that matches the tattoo. Who do you think I am?!

As it turned out, this tattoo is the largest and most involved one I’ve ever gotten. It takes up most of my thigh, but is positioned such that I can easily hide it with a skirt or shorts if need be.

Process shots: stenciled, outlined, and what it looked like at the end of the first session

Because it’s so large, it took two sessions to complete: three and a half hours were spent on outlining all the shapes, doing the daffodils and the shading on the wand, while another five-hour session was devoted to the roses and filling in color on the wand. I had initially wanted the wand itself to be light pink, because I thought white seemed a little boring for my tastes, but in talking to my spouse about it, eventually I decided it made more sense to leave it white; it made it more instantly recognizable as the iconic sex toy that it is, and also contrasted nicely with the brightness of the flowers.

As per always, the tattooing process with Laura was smooth and easy. There were definitely times when it was painful but those were few and far between; for the most part I was able to just breathe through any discomfort and focus on various distractions instead. (I was reading a Nick Drake biography during our first session and Leslie Jamison’s addiction recovery memoir during our second session; the other tattoo artist also put Back to the Future and then Seinfeld on the TV while we were working and those were enjoyable too.)

I’m absolutely in love with this tattoo, as I’ve been enamored with every other tattoo Laura has given me. Her work is just beautiful, and she’s extremely detail-oriented and focused on clients’ comfort.

What it looked like before and after removing the Saniderm (you can see that there’s some dried excess ink under there, which is normal)

She used Saniderm on my freshly-done tattoo, which I’ve had used on me a few other times before; it’s a clear bandage that goes over the tattoo and keeps bacteria out while still letting the skin breathe, so that it’s protected during the first few crucial days of healing. I would highly recommend Saniderm if your artist offers it as an option; it’s always amazing to me how close the tattoo is to looking healed by the time I gently and carefully peel off the bandage with the help of some Dove soap on the third or fourth day after getting inked.

I’m thrilled to have a permanent reminder on my skin of the importance of self-love, self-care and self-pleasure, as well as the history of the sex-positive feminist movement which is so close to my heart (and, now, my junk). Thank you to Laura and also to everyone involved in the Magic Wand’s storied ascent to being one of the most popular and iconic sex toys of all time!

 

Previous posts about my tattoos:

What My Objectification Kink Taught Me About Relationships

Kate Sloan

There are many forms of “objectification play” that I’ve experimented with, and the older I get, the more I seem to enjoy this kink.

There’s the version where I’m a literal object, usually a piece of furniture like a footstool or drink-holder, performing a functional service that may not appear outwardly sexual but can feel very sexual on the inside.

There’s the version where I pretend to be a doll – either a literal, porcelain doll, or a full-grown adult who’s been transformed via hypnosis or drugs into a “human sex doll” – and then get to be “used” by my “owner.”

There’s the form of objectification that most non-kinky people are familiar with, the kind that shows up in fashion magazines and in plenty of porn, wherein I’m viewed as a sexual object without agency or personhood, just a series of willing and fuckable holes.

And there are lots more ways this kink can play out that I haven’t even tried yet.

 

As with many kinks of mine, a lot of what appeals to me about objectification is the way it helps me reclaim and subvert shitty nonconsensual experiences I’ve had in the past. All the Tinder bros who text shit like “u up?” and “ready to be my fuk machine tonight?” All the hookups who cared more about getting off than giving pleasure. All the times I thought I meant something to my date on an emotional level – even one as simple as “I like her and like having conversations with her” – but it turns out that apparently I didn’t.

The sting of these mistreatments has eased a bit after several years, but I can still bring those feelings vibrantly to mind if I focus on those memories. Because I’ve paired that type of objectification with consent and pleasure in roleplays with trusted partners, the idea of being sexually objectified in this way is no longer quite as abhorrent to me – because I know it can be done in consensual ways.

Granted, none of the people with whom I’ve play-acted objectification actually saw me as objects; that was what allowed the play-acting to indeed feel like play and not like senseless cruelty.

 

As someone who writes about sex toys professionally (including, occasionally, sex dolls), I find it oddly gratifying to pretend to be a sex toy of sorts from time to time. There’s something subversive and relaxing to me about setting aside the sexual machines I’ve been writing about all day and then getting to morph into a sexual machine myself.

See, when I’m being objectified in a deeply consensual and intentional way, my mind gets to shut off. And I value that a lot, as someone whose mind is always racing with anxiety and deadlines.

But also, in my career as a sex scribe, I’ve encountered countless people who thought that my career choice was an invitation for harassment and nonconsensual sexualization. They thought that my creative interest in topics like sexual psychology and the history of the porn industry was reason enough to see me as a walking, talking sex doll who exists to spice up their boring lives.

I understand the desire to have your life overtaken by someone interesting and magical – it’s the reason “manic pixie dream girl” stories continue to get cranked out year after year. It’s also something I’ve felt myself, during long hours of swiping on Tinder late into the night, always hoping that the next swipe would conjure a life-altering force, someone so cute and charming and kind and loving that my entire daily existence would take on a different tenor just from having them around.

But as I’ve been learning in therapy, viewing other people as potential “redeemers” or “saviors” gives your power away. It strips you of the knowledge that you have the ability to make yourself happy more readily and more profoundly than any external person can. It makes you feel dependent on people you never actually needed and maybe never even really wanted.

 

So I’ve been on both sides of the objectification equation: I’ve been objectified (a lot), and in some ways I’ve objectified other people too, seen them as heroes or saviors or props in my life story.

This is no doubt why it feels so good to me now when I play with objectification, from either side of the D/s slash. Because it shows me the difference between the consensual and nonconsensual versions of these dynamics – and even equips me with the communication tools I need to say, “No. Stop. You’re putting me in a role I didn’t consent to, and I will not stand for that.”

 

This post was sponsored. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

Where I’ve Been Lately…

Kate Sloan
Photo by my spouse

Hello, friends! If you read this blog regularly, maybe you’ve noticed I haven’t been posting at my usual clip lately. I thought I’d update you on why that is, and what I’ve been up to.

The main thing is that I recently got a new gig reporting on sex for MEL Magazine, one of my all-time favorite publications. I’ve been reading and loving their stuff for at least 6-7 years, so it’s delightful that I get to write for them now! Here’s a highlight reel of some of my favorite pieces I’ve written for them over the past few months (you can peruse my full archives by clicking here):

I’ve also been cohosting The Dildorks podcast as per usual; here are some of my favorite recent episodes we’ve done:

In addition to that, I’m still writing my weekly newsletter containing intimate essays and thoughts on sex and love, Sub Missives, for premium subscribers (it’s 5 bucks a month or 50 bucks a year). Some recent faves:

I’m also still doing my “A Song A Week” challenge, writing and recording one new song every week for the duration of 2022. Here are some of my favorites lately:

  • Dear Professor (a kinky sad love song)
  • The One (a romantic song about my spouse)
  • Difficult Woman (inspired by the hardships faced by Marilyn Monroe and Judy Garland)
  • Doll (a song from the perspective of a sex doll hidden in a closet)
  • Bodily Autonomy (an unapologetically pro-abortion rights song)

Finally, I’ve still been doing promotion for my two books, 101 Kinky Things Even You Can Do and 200 Words to Help You Talk About Sexuality & Gender, both of which you can get at local bookstores or online.

I’ll still be posting on this blog once in a while – I’m definitely not shutting it down or anything! But with all these projects on my plate, the blog is no longer my top priority, so I thought I’d let you know what else I’m up to so you can check out my other work if you’re so inclined.

Love always, and thank you for the support! 💖 -Kate

Sometimes a Tarot Reading is Exactly What I Need…

Kate Sloan
All images in this post are courtesy of Tazia from Higher Self Tarot

When people ask me whether I “believe in tarot,” I don’t really know what to say. I’ve gotten tarot readings at some of the most critical times in my life, times that felt like a crossroads toward different potential versions of my future, and the cards – or, more accurately, the people reading the cards – have given me advice that shaped how I moved through my life’s next chapter.

For instance, in 2016, I sought counsel from a tarot-reading acquaintance of mine because I had gone through multiple romantic disappointments in a row: unrequited love, rejection, revelations of a partner’s abusive tendencies. I felt off-kilter and like I was attracting these terrible experiences into my life through something I was doing, or not doing. The reading told me pretty decisively that I needed to speak up more assertively about my boundaries and expectations in relationships going forward, and to be more guarded rather than letting people in right away. That advice has served me well ever since.

A year later, I sought another reading from the same person because I wanted some guidance with regards to my sex life. The cards declared that I should pay more attention to the wisdom of my body when making sexual decisions – i.e. if someone gives you a bad feeling, it’s probably for a reason – and that I should be more intentional in the way I approached dating. Again, this advice was exactly what I needed to hear and helped me turn my life around. I met my now-spouse later that year, by which time I had gotten much better at trusting my gut feelings about people and pursuing the people I liked with deliberate intention.

Obviously, tarot has been pretty transformative for me in how it’s allowed me to reflect on my own patterns – regardless of whether or not the cards actually have mystical properties like some people say (I really don’t know!). So I was delighted to get a reading earlier this week from Tazia Kuhani of Higher Self Tarot, and I wanted to write about it here.

I’m going through kind of a tough time lately, both personally and professionally. On a personal level, my mental health has been really tumultuous as I’ve been working through my traumas in therapy and getting actively confronted by triggers on a regular basis. Professionally speaking, I started a new gig recently that is taking up most of my time, so I’m struggling to balance my energy levels appropriately – and I’m having a lot of impostor syndrome about whether I “deserve” such prestigious bylines, even though I’ve worked for over ten years to get here. Needless to say, it felt like a good time to ask for some wisdom from a tarot pro!

I explained these issues to Tazia when she asked me what I wanted our reading to focus on, and we decided we’d do one short reading for my work life and one for my personal life.

The work-focused reading validated some things I already knew but hadn’t quite articulated to myself: that the expectations my editors have of me are high, but that I am skilled enough to meet or exceed them; that there might be an annoying adjustment period while I get used to a different work schedule and workload; and that doing my work with integrity and passion is my best route forward.

I found this astonishing because I hadn’t actually told Tazia anything about my new job or the things about it that I’ve been struggling with, but her interpretations of the cards she pulled were spot-on nonetheless. Tarot is wild!

As for the personal reading – Tazia pulled 3 cards that identified problems I’m dealing with, and 3 more cards that contained some advice for those problems. The actual issues I wanted advice on are too vulnerable and fresh for me to feel comfy sharing them here, but again, I was blown away by how accurate and specific the reading was. As someone who’s pulled tarot cards for myself as well as gotten professional readings, I can say that paying a professional has always been worthwhile for me. The cards alone can give me some information, or at least help me reflect more clearly and deliberately on the struggles I’m facing – but when an experienced pro can interpret the cards for you, especially a pro who knows a bit about you and your life, it’s a game-changer.

At the end of the reading, Tazia asked if there was anything I wanted clarification on. We had touched on my work in trauma therapy at one point in the personal reading, and I asked for some additional advice on how to move forward in the therapeutic process without feeling stuck or stalled out.

Tazia pulled two additional cards for me, both of which were meant to be advice on my trauma therapy process. The first one was The Fool, which she said meant that I should approach therapy as if I know nothing and am learning it all afresh. The Fool encourages us to listen and open up to what we don’t know, even if it seems foreign or strange. This card was telling me to become a student of my own trauma rather than trying to beat it into submission or speed through the process.

The second card she pulled was the Queen of Cups. Tazia said this card spoke to the role of creativity in my healing process – that I should lean into art-making, whether that be music, writing, or anything else, as a route through which to unpack my trauma.

Both of these cards felt super resonant and relevant to me, and gave me the little push I needed to feel like working through this stuff is still worthwhile. As my therapist told me when we began trauma therapy together two years ago, typically it gets harder before it gets easier, because you’re uncovering some old, raw stuff and it can be painful and destabilizing. But the important thing is to be patient with yourself and to keep going – which, of course, is easier said than done. This tarot reading helped me feel, more than ever, like that’s the right thing to do, even when it feels incredibly challenging.

If you want to book a reading with Tazia for yourself – and I would highly recommend you do so if there’s any situation in your life right now that you could use some guidance on – you can click this link to learn more. Tazia’s offering 5% off her already wildly reasonable prices for Girly Juice readers when you use the code “GIRLY” – go go go!