collar

12 Days of Girly Juice 2021: 12 Femme Essentials

Kate Sloan

December has begun, and so it’s time for my annual “12 Days of Girly Juice” series!

2021 was a weird year in similar ways to how 2020 was – full of unpredictable chaos, medical anxiety, and untold tribulations. But there were still things to enjoy this year, and this series will once again highlight some of them. To start us off, here are 12 fashion and beauty items that lit up my life in 2021…

 

Pink metallic Jeffrey Campbell cowboy boots

These were a gift from my love and I adore them. They immediately elevate otherwise-boring outfits to flashy works of art. They get compliments everywhere I wear them. They’re like the brightest, shiniest parts of my personality, distilled into a pair of boots.

I’ve loved cowboy boots since I was a teen, when I would wear them with all sorts of wild outfits. They add a certain air of rough-and-tumble-ness to otherwise feminine ensembles, which has always felt right to me as a queer femme who grew up as a tomboy. These Jeffrey Campbell ones are just the next step in my ~cowboy boots journey~!

 

Tarina Tarantino red heart necklace

I’ve written about these necklaces before, but this year I acquired a new one for my collection in a shade of rich, bright red, and I love it. It’s wild how many outfits it goes with. It instantly jazzes up more casual ensembles, while bringing a sense of whimsy to my fancier looks.

Most memorably, I wore this necklace to my book launch party, knowing that it would make a lovely pendulum for our hypnokink demo – and it did! It felt like a magic trick, turning a piece of jewelry into a kink implement right before the audience’s eyes. I hope to add at least a couple more of these heart necklaces to my collection eventually!

 

Yokoo extra-large Warmer cowl in blueberry

Yokoo Gibraan makes some of the cutest, coziest knitwear on the planet. I saved up and bought myself a small red cowl from this shop when I was in university, but more recently I was able to get a larger one in a gorgeous shade of navy blue.

Having suffered from seasonal depression and poor circulation my entire life, winter is usually a dreadful, saddening time for me; too often I spend my days indoors with soup and a heating pad, even if I’d like to venture outside, because the cold is so depressing and uncomfortable. So it makes a big difference in my life if I can actually feel warm enough when I go out. Putting on this cowl over a coat or sweater brings some instant cozy cheer into my day, and for that, it was well worth the price.

 

Coach Cashin Carry tote in pink

This was definitely one of my most-used bags of the year. I had Matt buy it for me as a findom present while I was staying in NYC in early 2021, but we had it sent to my home in Toronto and my travel got repeatedly delayed, so I wasn’t actually united with this bag until I got back to Canada at the end of April – but as soon as I saw it in person, I was delighted that it was mine.

Surprisingly roomy for its petite size, this raspberry-pink structured leather tote is based on a 1969 design by Bonnie Cashin, Coach’s first lead designer. I love bags that look like they could have been made in the ’50s or ’60s, so this is right up my alley. I love that it can be carried by the handles or by its crossbody strap, and that it’s small enough to be unobtrusive but large enough to carry my notebook, wallet, glasses, phone, lipstick, hand sanitizer, pill box, and more.

 

“101 Kinky Things” custom-stitched hat from Printful

Shortly before my book launched, I decided I wanted to own some kind of “merch” featuring its cover text, but I wasn’t sure exactly what I wanted. I experimented with mugs, tote bags, face masks, and other memorabilia on various custom-printing sites, but eventually I discovered that Printful.com will custom-stitch text or imagery onto the front of a snapback hat for you, and I was sold.

After working with me to finalize stitching color and placement, Printful sent me this beaut. I feel weirdly confident every time I wear it – and as a bonus, sporting it around town is basically free advertising for my book 😂

 

Kay Jewelers cultured pearl necklace

I wrote earlier this year about my love of pearl necklaces, and that love has endured. A simple string of pearls renders an outfit instantly classic and complete.

As someone who’s always loved “high-low” pairings, like wearing cowboy boots with a cocktail dress, I especially adore adding pearls to outfits that feel more 2021 than 1951. They feel like a link to my femme lineage, a timeless item that looks equally good on me as it would’ve on a mid-century housewife.

 

Black KN95 masks

Once again this year, face masks were an everyday necessity for many of us, and once again, I did my best to only wear ones that are comfortable, functional, and acceptably good-lookin’. They might not be the most glamorous item, but they were inescapably part of my “look” every time I went out this year, so I had to find ones I liked!

My everyday go-to masks this year were black KN95s, which my spouse introduced me to. They have a fantastic nose wire, are plain and relatively unobtrusive, and match every outfit. Sometimes, if I feel like wearing a more “fashion-y” mask that’s not as well-made, I’ll layer it over a KN95 to make sure I’m getting enough protection while still looking adorable. They’re an all-around great pick and I’m glad to have found them.

 

Calvin Klein modal slips

Calvin Klein makes some of my favorite sleepwear, and – as we’ve discussed – for me, there’s often a great deal of overlap between my sleepwear, loungewear, and casual outdoor outfits, so their stuff ends up playing a bigger role in my life than just being what I sleep in.

In particular, my short black modal slip and longer red modal slip from CK have gotten a ton of wear this year. I remember when I arrived at the hotel where I had to quarantine for 3 days alone after arriving home to Toronto in April, I felt so out of sorts from all the travel, COVID tests, etc., but as soon as I took a bath and slipped into my red CK clip, I felt so much better. It’s the type of clothing that makes life feel more beautiful and comfortable, and I really can’t ask for more than that.

 

Marissa Zappas “Paradise Edition” and Euphorium Brooklyn “Suédois” perfumes

I don’t really wear perfume often enough for these to warrant their own separate entries, but they were definitely the scents I wore most this year. The perfumer Marissa Zappas created a perfume to accompany a book of poetry written by Rachel Rabbit White, the poetess and former sex worker/sex journalist, who I’ve admired for many years. When I read that the scent was ’90s-inspired and contained breezy notes like jasmine and bergamot, my curiosity was piqued, so I ordered a sample… and I ended up loving it so much that I eventually ordered a full-size bottle! I’m glad I snapped it up; it was limited edition, and it’s so endlessly sexy, girly, and serene that I would’ve been sad to say goodbye to it when my sample ran dry.

There’s also Suédois by Euphorium Brooklyn, the same parfumerie that my partner collaborated with to make me a custom perfume for my birthday a few years back. I like Suédois because it’s a leather scent (very sexy) but not cold or harsh like some leather scents can be. It backs up the titular suede note with wildflower, sandalwood, raspberry, and Bavarian cream, which all combine to create a coziness seldom experienced in leathery fragrances. I’ve been wearing it a lot lately while lounging around the house and it makes me feel so good!

 

MeUndies rompers

Clothes from MeUndies have showed up on this list before, and for good reason: their modal fabric is some of the comfiest I’ve ever felt, and becomes more and more crucial to my life the more that chronic illness wracks my body.

Their rompers, in particular, were some of my fave items to wear around the house (and sometimes out of the house) this year. They’re so comfortable that I can barely feel them when they’re on (always a plus for someone who occasionally finds jeans and bras agonizing), and they have pockets! I wish I had one in every color.

 

Chrome-plated ash cane

My fibromyalgia symptoms were pretty rough this year, to the point that I decided to buy a cane for those days when my ankles and knees are screaming with pain. I wasn’t thrilled about having to get one, so I decided it had to be cute, so that I’d actually want to use it. I’m a femme; my accessories need to match my outfits!

I looked at lots of flashier ones, but eventually settled on this blue ash cane with a chrome T-shaped handle. It does what I hoped it would do in terms of helping me walk more easily, and its beauty makes me feel less depressed about being disabled, which is all I could really ask for.

 

Tiffany & Co. pet collar

When my now-spouse first collared me back in 2018, we knew that the collar itself was merely an object that symbolized something bigger and more abstract – our devotion to each other and to our D/s dynamic – and that, as such, we would likely need to upgrade to a new collar every once in a while. This is a normal thing in many long-term D/s dynamics, since most collars accumulate wear and tear over the years, or begin to feel less representative of the people who own it, so that an update may start to feel like the right choice.

At some point this year, I began seeing lots of targeted advertisements in my feeds for this Tiffany’s dog collar, because clearly the algorithms know me well. Tiffany’s made my engagement ring and our wedding rings, so Matt and I thought it would be romantic and fun if this was our next collar. They gave it to me for our first wedding anniversary in November, and I love it! It’s definitely not as comfortable or flexible as a collar made for people, but I’m pretty sure that it will soften with use over time. The blue and silver color scheme is perfect, matches much of my wardrobe, and reminds me every time I see it of our marriage and our love. 💙

 

What fashion and beauty items made you happiest this year?

12 Days of Girly Juice 2018: 1 Fantastic Toy Company

Kate Sloan

Every December, I choose and highlight one company whose products tangibly improved my year, and that I think all my readers need to know about. Usually it’s a tricky decision, but the astute among you could probably already guess what company I chose, because I’ve been harping on about them all year long: Weal & Breech and L’Amour-Propre.

“But Kate!” you might be saying. “That’s two companies!” Yes, technically. But they’re run by the same duo, Josh and Tal, both excellent humans who make kinky trinkets here in my hometown of Toronto. And frankly, I couldn’t pick just one!

L’Amour-Propre deals primarily in acrylic pins and suede collars, each of which I have several of. My first item from them was a turquoise suede collar, bought basically as a fashion accessory late last year. However, as my relationship with my then-new partner developed, more and more products by this delightful little company became important in the story of our ~looove~. My darlin’ bought me a “Pun Slut” pin, for example, because he understands my soul. And when we decided we both wanted him to collar me, this royal blue suede collar was the only option we ever seriously considered. I still vividly remember the way he stared at me in the NoMad dining room as we discussed our collaring plans – like he couldn’t wait to wrap that suede around my neck and own me.

That collar was beautiful and served us well. But we were even more thrilled when, a few months later, we inquired about a custom upgrade because the suede wasn’t quite holding up to the sweaty wear-and-tear we’d put it through. Tal sought out a gorgeous blue leather at our request, and made a new collar for me that has thus far proved much hardier. We greatly appreciated Tal’s willingness to make our dream collar a reality.

Another fave kinky accessory of mine comes from L’Amour-Propre too: a heart-shaped lock we had engraved with the word “Daddy’s.” I wear mine on a chain around my neck to occasions where my regular collar might look out of place or not quite fancy enough. I adore it.

As a side note: Tal also does custom-engraved pins, which are ideal if you’re going to an event and want to clearly telegraph your name, Twitter handle, pronouns, or any other crucial information. And their new leather bookmarks are a kinky bookworm’s dream.

Weal & Breech, meanwhile, makes impact toys more gorgeous than any I have ever seen. I’ve collected several of their products over the two years they’ve been in business: a sturdy and stingy paddle, a sensually smooth truncheon, and a terrifying pair of nipple clamps. All of mine are made of purpleheart wood, because I enjoy the matchy-ness of that, and because it’s visually stunning.

Most recently, though, my partner reached out to W&B’s founder Josh to inquire about an anniversary gift for me. The company had recently Instagrammed prototypes of a hefty new mallet they had in the works, and both my BF and I had drooled over ’em and wanted one real bad. My partner asked if Josh could make one for me, and Josh – who I think of as the Ollivander of impact toys – knew, of course, that it should be made of purpleheart to match my other pieces. The final, perfect touch is a wrist strap made of the same blue leather as my collar – another thing my partner didn’t even have to request. Josh and Tal are sweetheart-geniuses. My mallet is unimaginably beautiful, and easily the thuddiest impact toy I own. Swoooon!

What was your favorite sex toy company of the year?

Blue Suede; He Stayed

Kate Sloan

I’m a sucker for physical objects that represent relationships. I still occasionally wear an ex-boyfriend’s boxers, clutch a stuffed bunny that a beau bought me when I can’t sleep, sigh contentedly at an emerald ring gifted by an ex-girlfriend on our first Valentine’s Day. These things mean something to me, even when the relationships from which they surfaced no longer do. What they mean is this: I loved and was loved. It happened. There is physical proof.

But these are all objects which outlasted relationships. It’s rare, in my life, for a relationship to outlast an object it contains.

When my Sir bought me my first collar – not my first-ever collar, you understand, but the first collar I’d worn as an agreed-upon, mutually meaningful symbol of a D/s dynamic folded into a romance – no discussion was had about how long we foresaw the object lasting, and what we would do if and when it needed replacing. The closest we got was a conversation about what we would do if I accidentally lost my collar: dropped it down a subway grate, forgot it at a restaurant, lost sight of it in a TSA tussle. We agreed that we would be sad in such a case, but that we would soldier on and get another one, because it was the symbolism of the item, not the item itself, that ultimately mattered.

“I don’t think we would get the same one; I would want to get one that was a better reflection of our relationship at that time,” my Sir told me, and those words stuck in my head. He, with his history of fewer but much longer relationships than I had had, believed in our future – in our ability to persevere and grow as a couple. It had been so long since I had done such a thing that I hardly believed it was still possible for me.

Our first collar was suede with a silver heart at the front. We chose it after multiple long slogs through the kinky corners of the internet, fixating on it for its bright cobalt color and its simple, versatile aesthetic. Weirdly, although I knew from past experience the kinds of things that can happen to suede when it gets wet and well-worn, it didn’t occur to me that such things would happen to this collar, too. It seemed as though the symbolic importance of the item would permeate its pores and prevent any harm from befalling it. The night he gave it to me, I wore it to a crowded concert in chilly New York, double-dousing it in sweat, snow, and maybe some stray droplets of bourbon as we moshed and kissed and laughed.

It didn’t take long for the royal blue suede to darken to a formidable navy, especially given that I tended to wear the collar in sweaty situations: sex with my Sir when he was nearby, or nervewracking days when he was far away and I needed some encouragement to get through my work. The collar’s color changed so much that one of its makers remarked on it with alarm when he saw it on me at an industry event. I just laughed; I liked owning such a tangible sign of my relationship’s cozy comfort, its establishedness. But part of me missed that bright blue.

At some point, my Sir and I began discussing the possibility of replacing my collar. We were both, at once, sad and excited about it; the beginning of a new chapter inevitably also brings the end of another. Much like trading in the irrational distractibility of New Relationship Energy for something warmer and sturdier, it felt bittersweet but like a definite step forward, one we wanted to take.

We once again combed the internet for collars. We looked at fancy ones, cutesy ones, over-the-top ones. There were a few criteria: it had to be blue, it had to have a heart on it, and it had to be comfortable enough for all-day wear but easy to take off quickly, because I don’t wear it on a 24/7 or even everyday basis. It was surprisingly hard to find collars that fit these parameters and weren’t ugly as fuck, so once again, we gravitated to that L’Amour-Propre collar we’d chosen in the first place.

I thought it would work better for our purposes if it was regular leather – as opposed to suede – so my Sir reached out to the company to see if they could make that happen for us. They had to visit their leather supplier and pick out a piece for us, which they were happy to do. We pored over the one photo they sent us of the leather, trying to discern whether it was perfect or not quite right. We trusted the process. We started getting excited.

It was easier than I expected to transfer the psychic energy of one collar into another. It helped that we stuck to traditions from last time (we earth signs love our rituals and routines). Like our first collaring, the second one happened on the night of a Hippo Campus concert; my Sir pulled the beautiful piece of blue leather out of an elegant watch case he’d stored it in; he stood behind me as I knelt, and slid it around my neck. We went and looked at in together in the mirror. Tears may have been shed.

My new collar hasn’t had time yet to absorb the scent of my skin, my sweat, and my perfume. It hasn’t yet molded to the shape of my neck, tarnished from use, or rippled on the inside. But it still carries with it the weight of my relationship, my D/s dynamic, my love, so it’s more valuable to me than many objects I’ve had for years.

Monthly Faves: Boy Bands & Black Leather

Kate Sloan

Wow, what a month! Here are some sexy things that kept me smiling in September.

Sex toys

• My pals at Peepshow Toys sent me a new silicone dildo, the Uberrime Night King. They thought I’d like it for A-spot stimulation, and they were right! Full review to come once I’ve tested it some more.

• While I love being collared, I’ve never really had an interest in collaring anyone else. However, my boyf wanted to play with that in a scene this month, so I put my black Aslan Leather collar on him and enjoyed tugging on the O-ring from time to time while I did all kinds of evil dommy shit to him. I think I’m getting more comfortable being dominant!

• Shout-out to my leather bat for being menacing enough to leave wicked bruises but not so menacing as to be disallowed on planes by the TSA.

Fantasy fodder

• I’ve been having some feelings about interrogation scenes lately. I saw a Kink Academy video where Danarama was explaining interrogation tactics, and then I saw a truly excellent episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine that centered around an intense interrogation, shortly after my Sir and I had played with some mild interrogation in a hypno scene over the phone. Definitely pondering how to incorporate this kink into my sex life without tipping over into upsetting unpleasantness!

• Sometimes a new kink just hits you out of nowhere… This month I thought a lot about being kicked, stood on, and stepped on. My Sir, ever a sex nerd, wanted to understand my motivations for this before we did it, and I’m glad we discussed it, because I didn’t want it for humiliation-y reasons like I think a lot of people would assume. I was more interested in the meditative, subspacey, powerless feeling I thought I could access through these acts. They were lots of fun and I want to try ’em more!

Sexcetera

• I was asked to fill in as co-host of Tell Me Something Good this month, and it was so much fun! The people who tell stories at this event are overwhelmingly open-hearted, kind, and sex-positive. It was a pleasure to share the stage with Samantha Fraser and help hold space for all these wonderful stories.

• The lovely Cy of Super Smash Cache invited me, my boyfriend, and my friends Rae and Epiphora to dinner while we were at Woodhull, and she wrote a blog post about the evening. Read this if you’re voyeuristically curious about any of us (or all of us), ’cause, uh, it gets juicy.

• Two exciting honors this month: the podcast I cohost with my friend Bex, The Dildorks, was named one of Uproxx’s 18 favorite sex podcasts, and I was nominated as Best Blogger in the NOW Readers’ Choice Awards. Thanks, babes!

Femme stuff

• My favorite jewelry designer, Tarina Tarantino, a.k.a. Our Lady of Extremely Extra Sparkly Hearts, restocked some colors of the big-ass heart necklaces I love so much, so I snapped up what may have been the last blue one. It is, to say the least, eyecatching as hell.

• Today in “strange and exciting femme news”: remember that custom perfume my boyfriend commissioned Stephen Dirkes to make me for my birthday? Well, Stephen loved it so much that he used it as a starting point for his latest fragrance, Flocked & Gilded. So, if you’ve ever wondered what I smell like 80% of the time, go get thee a sample! The initial reviewers have called it “velvety and delicious” and “a rich velvet and hypnotic dream,” which… yes.

• My brother’s band, Goodbye Honolulu, came out with some new merch recently, and my bro set aside a “Typical” T-shirt for me. It might be my fave song of theirs, so I love this tee and have been wearing it a lot!

Media

• I went to the Toronto launch of Clementine Morrigan’s new book, You Can’t Own the Fucking Stars, and loved what I heard from Clementine, as per usual. Their writing on mental illness, polyamory, kink, and femmeness always feels particularly salient to me. There is so much packed into this book and I think you will find it comforting if you are poly, femme, mentally ill, a recovering addict, spiritual-but-not-religious, and/or (to borrow Clementine’s terminology) a “trauma bb.”

• My fave band, Hippo Campus, has a new album out. It’s quite different from their usual style but I love it: the music is, by turns, lush, jarring, and eminently danceable, and the lyrics are much more personal and emotional than their previous works, touching on topics like mental illness (“I haven’t been much myself, and I feel like my friends are being put through this hell I’m feeling”) and what it means to be committed to a partner (“Love? Is it love? Who can say you’re the one and never doubt?”). I love these boys so much and I’m so excited to see their show in New York in a couple weeks!

• I’m not quite sure if theatre counts as media, and my cursory Google search on the subject turned up unclear results, but let’s talk about it anyway. I’ve been a Soulpepper subscriber for many years running, and this month they staged one of my favorite productions I’ve ever seen there, Bed and Breakfast. Real-life couple Gregory Prest and Paolo Santalucia played a gay couple navigating homophobia and family secrets in small-town Ontario – and they also played all of the other characters in the story, from an awkward closeted teen to an Irish butch lesbian to a gruff contractor. I took my Sir to see this show and giggled and wept all the way through it. I wish I’d had the time and funds to take all my queer friends (and some of my straight ones) to see this!

• I loved Cameron Esposito’s new special, Rape Jokes, which is “about sexual assault from a survivor’s perspective.” If you’re hurting right now from all the sexual violence in the news, a) I don’t fucking blame you and b) maybe this will help you laugh through the pain a little bit. It’s pay-what-you-want and all donations go to RAINN.

Little things

A waiter telling Sir his cocktail order was “very sensible.” Making photoshoot plans. Dorkily premature anniversary-planning. Karaoke and drinks with Dan, Lav, Sarah, and Jason. Big juicy writing assignments. Whiskey on the rocks. Stealing hotel pens. Trinity Bellwoods hangtime with my love. Glennon Doyle. Sir having access to my to-do list so he can keep an eye on me and keep me on task. The Black Walnut cocktail at Northwood (OMG, new fave). Trading tips with other submissives. Celebrating our nine-monthiversary with a thorough spanking. Writing drunk poems on the subway. Thoughtful and compassionate editors. New bedding. Commiserating about long-distance relationships with my cousins at Rosh Hashanah. The underground walkway to the Island airport (and getting excited about small things, like a little girl would). Limoncello and oysters. Being told I am safe, and knowing it’s true.

Long-Time Listener, First-Time Collar

Kate Sloan

I didn’t want to buy my own collar. I was a single submissive, unowned, unneeded, and unmoored. As much as I might want a band of evocative leather around my throat, buying one seemed as gauche as buying one’s own engagement ring before even meeting a person one would like to marry. But I wanted one nonetheless. (A collar, that is; not an engagement ring. Although, for some kinksters, that’s a distinction without a difference.)

My best friend Bex bought me my first collar. They presented it to me on my 24th birthday, in the front seat of their car, while we zoomed from Pennsylvania to Wisconsin on the middle leg of a road trip. It was exactly perfect: the Aslan Leather Nicki collar, made of berry-pink leather banded with black.

I gasped. I cried. “I can be my own daddy,” I mused, clutching the leather to my chest.

“Exactly,” Bex said, and I knew they understood me more deeply than any best friend I’d ever had.

Later that day, somewhere in Cleveland, we pulled over on a side street and got out to go scavenge for lunch. “Do I have to take my collar off because we’re going to be around vanilla people?” I asked, tugging self-consciously on the metal ring at my throat.

“No,” Bex said.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive, little one.”

We strolled along that sunny side street and our glamorous friend C. added, “If anybody catcalls you or says anything about your collar, I’ll hit them with my parasol.” Thankfully, they didn’t have to.

Sometimes you don’t know how badly you want something until you almost-but-don’t-quite get it.

My first daddy dom told me five days after we met that he was available to be the primary partner I wanted, then told me weeks later, by which time he was juggling three partners, “I don’t remember saying that, and I don’t think I would have said that.” He promised to turn an old telephone table into a spanking bench painted my favorite colors, but only got as far as sanding before giving up on the project and on me. His idea of love and care was “I thought about bringing you chocolate, but I ran out of time.” “I almost texted you, but then I got distracted.” “Really? Did I say that? That doesn’t sound like something I would say.”

So I shouldn’t have been surprised when he promised to make me a collar and that never happened either.

I was so excited when he made this offhand vow. I went home and started Googling collar pictures: collars with chainmail, collars with filigree, collars with hearts. I wanted one with a heart, I knew. There was never any question in my mind.

There was never any question, either, about whether he was the right person to put my first capital-C Collar on me, the first person to have that degree of power over me. “Fuuuck,” I wrote in my journal. “How have I known this person less than two weeks and already I want him to own me?” He wasn’t even “boyfriend” yet and already I wanted him to be Daddy, Sir, owner. How like me, to give my heart away with the force and velocity of a six-year-old playing a game of Hot Potato.

One hot July night, he cancelled our plans to go to Tell Me Something Good together at the last minute, playing the “tired” card – another broken promise – so I went with a gaggle of pals instead. I got up and told the crowd a story about a spanking gone awry, and garnered scores high enough to win a prize at the end of the night. My eyes swept across the prize table, trying to select my reward, when I saw it: a silver heart-shaped padlock, glittering with rhinestones. I seized it in my eager paws, daydreaming already of the chain he would thread it onto, the words he would say as he clasped it around my neck.

The next time I saw him, I intoned modestly, “I’ve got something to show you,” and produced the lock from a drawer. I thought he’d know immediately what it was for, but instead he just looked at me quizzically. “It’s pretty,” I think he said, unsure what I was getting at.

“I thought you could use it when you make my collar!” I finally explained – and even then, his eyes did not light up. I wonder now if he’d changed his mind about wanting to own me; if perhaps I had already lost my lustre, the way shiny new possessions inevitably, eventually do.

He ended our relationship two weeks later. For months, I couldn’t look at that heart-shaped lock without comparing it to my own heart: given unreservedly but unwanted; relegated to a sad, dusty drawer.

In December of that year, I met a boy in New York. Nine days later, I was calling him “Sir” and asking him which collar I should wear to the theatre. What can I say; when I fall, I fall fast. It’s a character flaw. Or maybe a superpower.

I texted him a selfie from my seat in the Young Centre, my hair tumbling over the turquoise suede he’d told me to wear. “Hiding your collar!” he replied immediately, to which I retorted – drunk on one beer and new-relationship adrenaline – “It’s there, I promise. Reminding me of whose I am.”

Alarm bells sounded in my head even as I typed the words. Too fast too soon too much. Remember last time? But I wanted the risk, the rush. I wanted to believe.

“Fuckkkk. That ownership language makes me feel very fucking special,” he thumbed back in a blur, and I felt the internal stirring and whirring of a hope blossoming into a wish.

He asked me to wear the turquoise choker again the following day. I did, to a nearby café, pulling nervously at it the whole block-long walk. “Maybe next time I see you in person, we should go buy a collar together,” I suggested. A test. A dare. I didn’t want us to keep using collars I already owned as symbols of our burgeoning power dynamic; they made me feel dirty with past associations, like going on a first date wearing an ex’s sweater that still smells of heartbreak.

“What makes you think I won’t have one in my hand?” he replied. I nearly dropped my phone on the icy sidewalk. Too fast too soon too much, I thought again. And also: I want more.

Sex nerds, kink nerds, and psychology nerds all like to talk about their intentions and motivations. Both of us are all three. We talked a lot.

“What does a collar mean to you?” one of us asked the other, and we each threw out phrase after phrase, “yes” after “yes,” ascending a tower of assent. It’s an intensifier. A motivator. Ownership. Affection. Pride. A solidification, a sign of safety, of commitment. (We weren’t even ready to call each other “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” – and yet. Love is absurd.)

I listened to him over the phone while he made the purchase: a royal blue suede collar we’d chosen together. We giggled resolutely, and then I heard nervousness creep into his voice. “I want to make explicit,” he began, wavering, “that I don’t want you to wear it with anyone else.”

It had never occurred to me to wear it with anyone else. It was his collar. His gift to me, and mine to him. His symbolic hand wrapped around my throat. I’m staunchly non-monogamous, so there are times when my lips and my cunt and my submission are for other people. But that collar was not for other people. Only for him.

We wrote the rules of the collar together, in our shared note of protocols entitled “Sir and little one.” There are only a few rules, but each is important.

  1. Whenever Sir and little one are together, he will collar her. She will not use their collar with anyone else, put it on without being ordered to by Sir, or allow anyone else to touch it.
  2. When ordered to wear her collar, little one must continue wearing it until she completes any assigned tasks or work and receives permission to remove it.
  3. Little one may temporarily remove her collar without permission if necessary to protect herself or the collar.

I swooned as he drafted the phrasing for each decree. The care and love he poured into this exercise – even before we were calling this thing between us “love” – was so evident, so huge. No romantic symbol can really mean anything unless you’re certain it means the same thing to both of you – and I knew that this one did. It was as clear as the words in our respective Notes apps, black text on a backlit screen.

He put it around my neck on a February night – the same night he kissed me in the lineup outside Brooklyn Steel, and danced with me to my favorite band, and told me he loved me for the first time. Every time he looked at me, all night, his eyes dipped to the collar around my neck, then narrowed as his expression hardened into what I can only call “the dom face.” Every dom has one. His makes me shiver and bite my lip.

He would get distracted and trail off mid-sentence when his eyes caught on the collar. “Sorry, it just… looks really good on you,” he attempted to explain each time. He meant, I knew, not so much that the collar looked good on me but that submission did. Being small and compliant looked good on me. Being his looked good on me.

We’ve talked a lot about our collar since before we even picked it out, and we still talk about it. What it means. When I should and shouldn’t wear it. What we would do if I dropped it down a subway grate by accident. What we would do if we broke up.

There’s a lot in this world of which I’m uncertain, and a lot that frightens me in its uncertainty. But this collar – for all the time I spent hoping for it and wishing for it – feels certain to me, fixed, decided. I know what it means; my love and I swing this shared meaning between us like a tether.

If I can’t know anything else for sure in this world, at least I can know that I’m owned by someone who loves me; that he loves me enough to have put a piece of sacred suede around my neck; that he loves me enough to go all dark-eyed and dom-faced whenever he looks at the collar that means I’m his.