5 Things Sex Toy Educators Should Never Do

Kate Sloan

I’ve been educating folks about sex toys for the better part of a decade, and as such, I’ve developed strong opinions about what people in my industry should and shouldn’t do. It’s a delicate line of work, one in which you constantly run the risk of fucking someone up (or fucking up their sex life, at the very least), so it’s important to be thoughtful about how you approach it. Here are 5 things I think sex toy educators should never, ever do…

Make assumptions

You might think you know the sexual orientation, genital configuration, or relationship style of someone who comes to you for advice, but unless they explicitly tell you, you don’t actually know any of that stuff. So don’t assume you do!

The best way to avoid making assumptions is to ask questions – though, of course, you have to “read the room” to figure out which questions are okay to ask. For example, if someone who appears to be a cis man asks me for help choosing a toy for masturbation, I might ask, “Do you mean a stroker, an anal toy, or something else?” Or if someone says they want a toy they can use with their partner, I might ask, “What kinds of toys does your partner like/want?” rather than assuming the person is straight or their partner is cis. I’ll also tend to avoid using gendered pronouns until the person I’m talking to does. You can really put someone off sex toys by making shitty assumptions, so how ’bout let’s not do that!

Recommend toys that will cause harm

We know that toys made of jelly, for example, leach phthalates and cause internal irritation for many people who use them, not to mention potentially worse side effects like endocrine disruption. It would be a bad move to suggest someone buy or use one of these toys, at least without heavily educating them on the risks they’d be taking on by doing so.

Of course, the reality of sex toy retail is that some people cannot afford or do not want to buy fancier toys that are body-safe, in which case our job as educators is to steer them in the right direction while also meeting them where they’re at. Hard plastic vibrators are usually body-safe and cheap, for example, and if someone wants a squishy toy without a silicone-level price tag, they might be content with a porous (not toxic) dildo that they use with a new condom every time to keep bacteria out. A partial solution is better than none at all.

Perpetuate oppressive beliefs

It’s bullshit that all men have higher sex drives than all women; that all women have vaginas and all men have penises; that there are only two genders; that buying a sex toy makes someone pathetic or lonely; that masturbation isn’t necessary or allowed if you’re in a relationship; that sex toys take your virginity; that penetrative sex toys stretch out your vagina; that your partner’s going to leave you for a sex toy; and that you’ll permanently lose sensation in your genitals if you use a vibrator. These are just some of the shitty myths that come up in sex toy education!

As an educator, it’s your job to be more neutral than dogmatic, and to put far more stock into science than myths. Teaching someone about sex is a powerful opportunity to untangle lots of damaging beliefs; it’s sacred and should be approached carefully!

Act inappropriately

While you might encounter lots of cute people in sex education work, it’s really not cool to hit on them, at least not in that teacher/student context. Later on, when you’re on more equal footing, an opportunity might arise to ask them out, etc. – but some educators won’t even do that! Wherever you draw your personal boundaries on this matter, I think it’s better they be too stringent than too loose.

I’ve had sex shop employees give me the flirty eyes, ask me overly personal questions, or even straight-up demand to know if I was single. Don’t be that guy!

Lay blame

A lot of people are really fucked up about sex. They might come to you knowing nothing or next-to-nothing about how sex toys work, the different types of toys, and what toys can and can’t do for their sexuality. It’s not their fault if their knowledge level is low; it’s the fault of our culture. That’s why educators’ work is so important.

In the movie High Fidelity, a record store employee, Barry (played by Jack Black), shames a customer for not owning a record Barry thinks he ought to own: “You don’t have it? That is perverse! Don’t tell anybody you don’t own fucking Blonde on Blonde!” Don’t be like Barry. Remember that everyone is just trying their best, and it’s not their fault they’re ill-informed about sex.

What other mistakes do you hate when sex toy educators make?

 

This post was sponsored by the folks at SexToyEducation.com. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

27 Great Things to Own Before You Turn 27

Kate Sloan

I’m turning 27 tomorrow. Weird. I’m decidedly entering my “late twenties,” which feels a little shocking – I still think of myself as essentially a baby, still figuring out how to “adult.” A lot of that is due to mental illness having held me back longer than I’d prefer from typical milestones, and some of it is due to the overall trend of millennials taking longer to move out, get “real” jobs, etc. because of the world’s economic situation right now. But it still feels strange to be turning an age that feels decidedly grown-up without indeed feeling that I’ve grown up.

However, in thinking about it, I do have a whole lot of things that I believe I “ought to” have by this age. These absolutely aren’t prescriptive, and I think no less of you if you don’t have them. But they make me feel more assured in my adulthood, and they might be a useful checklist if you, too, are looking for ways to reassure yourself of your continual grown-upness.

1. A well-worn copy of your favorite book. Is it dog-eared? Have you underlined your favorite passages in pen and scrawled responses in the margins? Have you lent it out to at least three friends? Then it just might be your favorite book.

2. A good selfie mirror. Look, it’s 2019; we have to think about these things. A good full-length selfie mirror was one of the first items I bought for my new apartment when I moved out, and I’ve been glad every day since that I made that decision!

3. Several worthy role models. People who, when you’re stuck or scared, you can ask yourself, “What would ____ do?” Personally, I think my biggest one right now is Alexandra Franzen.

4. Playlists for getting pumped up and for winding down. Music is a major part of the texture of your life, and it can have a huge effect on your mood!

5. A place you can go when you need to be alone. I would tell you about mine, but that would be self-defeating…

6. A signature scent. This one’s tricky because of scent sensitivities and such – but even if you only put on your fave fragrance in the company of you and your beloved, or alone in your bedroom, it’s nice to have a comforting scent that really feels like You. Mine is Aimanté, the perfume my boyfriend had custom-made for me by Brooklyn perfumer Stephen Dirkes, and it still makes me swoon, more than a year into owning it and wearing it regularly.

7. A signature lipstick. For fans of wearing lipstick, there are fewer experiences more gratifying than finally finding one that suits you to a T. It makes your face light up (both for color theory reasons and for pure delight reasons), it coordinates with your fave outfits and accessories, its finish and formulation work for your lifestyle, and even the packaging sparks joy for you. Some of mine: “Violet” by Bite Beauty, “Lucky Red” by Armani, and “Midnight Rose” by Lancôme.

8. A few really good handbags. Okay, ignore me if you’re not a purse person – in which case, I salute you and your bulging pockets – but cute bags are one of the most fun parts of outfit assembly! I have a few I love by Coach, Kate Spade, and mid-century companies whose names have been lost to time, and they serve me very well.

9. A beautiful pen. For signing receipts with a flourish, writing thank-you notes on the fly, and scrawling your phone number on cute people’s arms, of course. My partner, a dyed-in-the-wool pen nerd, recommends JetPens – which is where I picked up my Retro 51 Tornado, the prettiest pen I’ve ever owned.

10. A distinctive and practiced signature. See above. I still haven’t perfected mine. I think there are few things classier than a lovely signature.

11. A job title that makes you feel important, even if you have to make it up and give it to yourself. Look, even if you’re a “sales associate” or a “customer service representative” at your dayjob, you can be the CEO, Editrix-in-Chief, or Creative Director of your side hustle!

12. Treasured nicknames/pet names. Both ones other people have given you and ones you’ve given to other people. This is a type of relational currency and is one of my favorite tiny ways to give and receive affection. (Three of the closest people in my life are “bean,” “bruddy,” and “beeb” – and some of my nearest and dearest call me “Sloany” and “little one.” Swoon!)

13. An idea of what you want to achieve in the next 5 years. You should have a list written down somewhere, even if the items on it seem outlandish and implausible. You’ll probably be amazed at your progress when you look back at it in a few years!

14. A manicurist, hairdresser, waxer, shoeshine, etc. who you would trust with your life. These professions are immensely honorable, in no small part because they have to carefully handle things which are either very susceptible to damage or very important to you or both. Having a service provider on speed-dial can give you so much peace of mind.

15. A go-to local bar or café, and a regular order there. These places are critical to my sanity (such as it is) – they are somewhere I can go when I don’t want to be alone but I can’t quite handle actual social plans. They can also be great settings for those social plans, if and when you’re so inclined. It’s such a comfort having a place where, as they say, “everybody knows your name.”

16. A list of qualities you require in every romantic partner, and one of qualities that would disqualify a person from consideration. (Replace with “friend” if you’re not looking for a romantic partner.) Personal boundaries are a crucial skill to learn as you grow older; good ones can transform your life. Somewhere around 27 is the age I figure I should stop wasting my time on fuckboys, brutes, and clods, and focus my energies exclusively on kind-hearted charmers.

17. Sexy-as-fuck pictures of yourself. Hire a pin-up photographer, enlist a partner, or just set up a tripod and a remote and take ’em yourself. You deserve to have a record of how gorgeous you are!

18. A chequing account, a savings account, and perhaps a credit card. Boring but true.

19. Good glassware. This is a small thing which can feel huge. I feel so much more settled in my home life now that I have a few decent old-fashioned glasses and big water glasses. A set of 4 cost me about $10 at a dollar store. Brilliant.

20. A nice set of towels. These are a fairly recent acquisition for me; previously I was rotating between a couple of cheap beach towels, but my boyfriend (rightfully) insisted I upgrade to something more adult. I was not prepared for how much more luxurious my life would feel once it had big fluffy towels in it!

21. Bedding that makes you happy. Unless you’re a significant outlier in terms of your lifestyle, you likely spend a lot of time in or around your bed. It might as well look and feel like a nice place to be!

22. At least a handful of excellent sex toys (provided, of course, that sex and/or masturbation are things you desire and enjoy). You don’t need to have a zillion like I do, but you should at least have enough to suit your needs. I tend to think almost everybody needs, at the very least, a vibrator, an insertable, and some kind of fun kink tool (e.g. nipple clamps, a paddle, some under-the-bed restraints).

23. Lube that works well for your body. If you have no idea where to begin, just buy a bottle of Sliquid Sassy (best for vaginas and butts) or Uberlube (best for vulvas, vaginas, and penises) and put it on your nightstand. Trust me, if you’ve never used lube regularly but you make yourself start, you’ll be amazed at what a difference it makes.

24. Exquisite loungewear/pajamas. Another thing that seems small but makes a huge difference. I’m ride-or-die for MeUndies lounge pants.

25. An archive of love letters. If you’ve never received any, then offer to exchange some with your friends!

26. A well-stocked medicine cabinet. A practical (a.k.a. boring) suggestion, but there you go. You probably need, at minimum, painkillers, nausea meds, cold and flu meds, Band-Aids, rubbing alcohol, Pepto-Bismol, and perhaps some vitamins.

27. A stress management toolbox. I don’t mean a literal box, although you could go that route. No, I mean a series of functional coping strategies you can call upon when times are tough. A journaling habit, a CBT workbook, an exercise routine, good friends to talk to, a soothing self-care ritual… All of these could be useful to have in place when stress comes a-knockin’.

 

What did you consider important to acquire or achieve before age 27?

Do I Want Kids? Part 3: The World & The Future

Kate Sloan

I have to admit: this instalment of my “Do I Want Kids?” series has been the hardest one to write, and the one I’ve been putting off the longest. Why? Well, it’s not exactly fun to talk about the demise of the planet.

I’ve had a number of conversations over the past few years with friends and partners about whether I think parenthood is in the cards for me, and one consideration that always comes up is: is it even ethical to create more people at a time like this in human history?

Overpopulation is rampant. There are countless kids around the globe waiting to be adopted already; why bring more into the world when that’s the case? I’ve been thinking about adoption a lot more lately since reading Elsie Larson’s blog with her husband Jeremy, TheLarsonHouse.com, about their experiences adopting two little girls with albinism from China. Obviously this is no less legitimate than biological parentage; no DNA test can disprove that they are these girls’ parents, emotionally, logistically, legally. As much as the ideas of pregnancy, giving birth, and passing on my genes and the genes of a partner all tug at my heartstrings, to me it seems apparent that adoption is the more ethical route, from a utilitarian philosophy perspective, if you have a choice between the two. (Not all of us do. Adoption is ridiculously expensive, and sometimes pregnancy strikes unexpectedly.)

But beyond that: what kind of a world is this to raise a child in? I’m terrified of climate change, the current political landscape, and what could happen over the next few decades. It’s a critical moment for humanity, one that’ll either be written up in history books or will just vanish, as we do, into the baked-in history of this crumbling planet. Having a kid at this particular moment sort of feels like renovating a house you know is about to be hit by a meteor. Why even try? All good parents want to spare their children from pain, and what worse pain could there be than trying to survive on a dying planet descending into fascist chaos?

That said, I’m admittedly not as much of a pessimist as this is making me sound. Time is tight, but awareness is growing, and it seems there’s a small chance we could save our planet and ourselves. Environmentally conscious leaders like Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and Elizabeth May are mocked by right-wingers, but they have the right idea, and there will be more like them in the coming years. My inner state-smashing socialist wants us to overthrow capitalism and overhaul global energy systems in one fell swoop, but my inner realist knows democratic process and slow change are the likelier routes to real shifts in how we do things. I see some glimmers of hope on the horizon in that regard; it’s just a question whether there are enough of those glimmers and if they can summon change fast enough to save us.

There’s a quote from Angels in America I think about all the time in relation to climate change and global collapse: “Before life on Earth becomes finally merely impossible,” prophesies the titular angel, “it will, for a long time before, have become completely unbearable.” Would my children blame me for birthing them into a world where they have to live under staggeringly awful conditions? Or would they merely fight for change, and do their best, and make the most of the cards they were dealt?

All I know is that I don’t know. Maybe that’s enough for now.

 

Thanks so much to TestMeDNA.com for sponsoring this series. Check them out for all your legal paternity test needs!

Do I Want Kids? Part 2: Birth & Bodies

Kate Sloan

I’ve had the nightmare dozens of times: I’m in a fluorescently-lit room at the hospital, legs in stirrups, and everyone is yelling at me. Doctors, nurses, my assumed co-parent (though, better get a paternity test, girl, ’cause let’s hope your baby isn’t faceless and amorphic like this dude is). They all want me to PUSH, but what they don’t understand is that I am trying! My muscles barely obey me, and I slump and cry and try to do what I am told. And then, inevitably, I wake up – before I even get to see my baby.

What this recurrent dream shows me is that I’m terrified of giving birth. I think it’s hard not to feel this way if you have a vagina and a uterus, and maybe even if you don’t. The process is depicted in the media as one of the most physically painful experiences you’ll ever endure: I’ve seen soon-to-be-mothers in movies and TV shows screaming at their husbands, weeping in agony, praying for relief from gods they barely believe in. The pain scares me, yes, but in almost equal measure, I’m scared of who that pain could make me become.

There’s also the horror stories you hear about birth’s effect on the body. Parts can rip and swell and puncture and pop. You can pass out, bleed out, or shit yourself on the birthing bed. Having been relatively healthy for most of my life, I haven’t seen my body stretched to its extremes – and I’m not sure I want to. Why can cis fathers confirm their biological parenthood with a simple home paternity test while I have to endure hours of body- and soul-transforming labor to be eligible for mine?

It doesn’t help that my mom has told me all my life about how painful it was to give birth to me, since her epidural didn’t kick in quite right. But then, she does also say that giving birth to my little brother was comparatively painless, so maybe medical advances will be such by the time I’m pushin’ out a baby that I won’t have to break my brain with pain.

On the plus side, I am well accustomed to processing pain. Being a submissive masochist, I’ve written articles and done interviews on cognitive strategies for dealing with pain, and I struggle with chronic pain on a regular basis – so I’m better equipped than the average person for handling an excruciating situation.

I’ve also long been curious about vaginal fisting as a potential birth training activity during pregnancy, ever since I heard it discussed on some sex podcast long ago. Equivalent to the perineal massage recommended by many obstetricians, but a whole lot more intense, fisting could be a worthwhile practice for helping vaginal muscles learn to relax, stretch, and open up. Assuming the person fisting me would also be present at the birth (which may not be a fair assumption, what with my polyamorous sluttiness, but let’s pretend), they could even use similar communication strategies on The Big Day as they used in our fist-heavy “practice sessions” to guide me through the sensations. I am a big advocate for the idea that practicing difficult tasks makes them easier, and since you can’t exactly practice giving birth before it actually happens, fisting might be the next best thing.

The birth process seems less scary when I think of it that way: as an intense series of sensations, a rigorous task I’m putting my body through, not unlike a kink scene or a sexual feat. And if it seems weird to you to compare “the miracle of life” to a sex act, I would invite you to read Your Child’s Right to Sex, watch Orgasmic Birth, and remember that babies mostly occur because of sex!

Speaking of orgasmic birth… I am definitely the type of person to bring a Magic Wand vibrator to the hospital on that fateful day, assuming I had enough presence of mind to remember it at the time. (Let’s face it, that might be a job for my dutiful co-parent, whoever they may be.) Hey, if huge things are gonna be moving through my vagina, I want some clitoral vibrations to at least soften the blow! Sex educator Susie Bright famously used her wand to lessen discomfort during the birth of her first child. “I had no thought of climaxing,” she wrote in a 2006 blog post, “but the pleasure of the rhythm on my clit was like sweet icing on top of the deep, thick contractions in my womb.”

So, do I want to give birth? Part of me remains aghast at the thought. But another, bigger part of me is curious – curious how my pain tolerance would hold up, curious about what those “deep, thick contractions” feel like, curious about the extent to which pleasure can mitigate that level of pain. Pregnancy and birth are two magical things my body can (presumably) do that I haven’t yet experienced, and I’m always curious about bodily states I have yet to achieve. Maybe one day I’ll be swearing and sweating in a delivery room, cursing the day I ever claimed to want this – but if common accounts of the post-birth experience are true, the memory of that pain will soon melt away in favor of oxytocin bliss, endorphin nirvana, and the joy of meeting the new little person I’ve just brought into the world.

 

Thanks to TestMeDNA for sponsoring this series! Browse their website for answers to big questions like “What does a paternity test cost?” and “What the hell is a buccal swab?”

Do I Want Kids? Part 1: Mental Health

Kate Sloan

Am I too crazy to have kids?

This question haunts me. I’m embarrassed at how often it flits through my head. When I get sucked down into the whirlpool of depression or anxiety, those moods pose a question which only serves to perpetuate them: Are you too fucked-up to ever get the things you want? And of course, in the throes of sadness and fear, “yes” is the only answer I can fathom.

There are times when my mental health is so bad that I can barely take care of myself – food, sleep, hygiene – so it’s scary to imagine trying to take care of someone else at those times. How can you be responsible for another human being if you’re crying too hard to get up off the floor, or if the world beyond your bed feels too scary to contemplate?

I’ve heard many a horror story from people whose parents raised them in a maelstrom of mental illness. Children of the severely depressed can be neglected; children of the deeply anxious can absorb compulsive fears; children of people with personality disorders can grow up hurt and confused, unable to truly trust anyone. Of course, these stories aren’t universal, and I probably know just as many people whose parents struggled with mental illness and who nonetheless turned out fine, but it’s hard to tune out these narratives when you’re scared they could come true for you.

I’d like to think my co-parent would be a relatively sane, grounded person, to help balance me out. (As much as I admire folks who raise kids solo, that doesn’t seem emotionally or financially tenable for me.) But then you risk creating an off-kilter family dynamic where one person is over-relied upon to prop up everyone else, psychologically and logistically, and that’s not fair at all. Maybe this is an area where polyamory could be an advantage: a solid support network of de facto other parents could take some pressure off. They do say it takes a village to raise a child, after all. The results of a legal paternity test can tell you a lot, but they’re not the whole picture, and a parent or guardian obviously doesn’t have to be genetically or legally related to a kid to assist in raising that kid.

Even supposing that I could overcome my own craziness enough to take care of a child – and/or rely on the help of other, steadier humans – I would still worry about transmitting that craziness to my kid. Some varieties of DNA test can predict whether a person might develop certain mental illnesses, but even if I went the adoption route, I’d still be concerned my negative thought patterns and tendency to overreact to emotional stimuli would get passed on to my little one through sheer osmosis. I would have to be careful and deliberate in the ways I chose to behave around them, and the values and habits I let them pick up – though I suppose that’s true for any parent. You probably want to clean up your act around someone you’re raising, to some extent, whether by quitting smoking or cutting back on profane language or, yes, consciously dialling back your “crazy” behaviors if you can. Hell, doing this might even help me feel less crazy, too.

That said, I don’t think it’s all bad for a mentally ill person to raise a child. Hell, both my parents struggle with depression and anxiety, and if anything, it just made them more empathetic when I started to notice my own psychological symptoms. I’ve also learned about cognitive-behavioral therapy and dialectical behavior therapy while getting treated for my mental illnesses, and these are useful frameworks for anyone seeking to moderate and process their feelings. I could teach these systems to my kid(s), and maybe then they would have an easier time with childhood’s classically outsized emotions, like sadness, rage, and restlessness. Increased emotional literacy is one of the major silver linings I’ve found in my struggles with depression and anxiety, so I may as well try to impart it on my spawn.

It’s also worth noting that depression and anxiety don’t necessarily preclude you from being loving and supportive; you may just show your love and support in different ways than a neurotypical person, depending on how your symptoms manifest. I can still be there for loved ones when I’m having a rough time. It definitely looks different than my emotional support does when I’m feeling better – there’s fewer words of wisdom and more sitting in silence and solidarity – but it’s still a form of love. As the brilliant Carly Boyce pointed out in a suicide intervention workshop of hers that I attended, sometimes a person in distress doesn’t need you to pull them out of that distress – they just need you to keep them company until the feeling passes. As someone well-versed in distress, I could certainly do that for my kid.

So, am I too crazy to have kids? I don’t know. I don’t think it’s off the table entirely. I think, in order to feel comfortable taking that step, I would first have to feel stable in my medication regimen, brush up on my CBT and DBT skills, and have a relatively settled, dependable social support structure. But once those things were in place, I might just become a hyper-empathetic – if chronically frazzled – mom.

 

This 3-part series on parenthood was generously sponsored by the folks at TestMeDNA.com. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.