Lifting the Stigma on Sex Toys

From the man who told me he was “enough” to the one who warned toys would end intimacy, the fear is familiar. But the truth? A toy can’t ruin sex, but ignorance will.

Image of my Erotic Ceramic Collection. Learn more

In my early twenties, I made what I thought was a generous move. Halfway through sex, I reached for my vibrator… not as a replacement, but as an extension of the moment. The lighting was soft, the mood right. I assumed he’d be excited by the addition.

Instead, he froze.
“I thought I was enough,” he said.

It wasn’t the words themselves that lodged in me, but the logic beneath them. The belief that my pleasure should be an unmediated tribute to him, that any supplement was an act of betrayal.

Years later, a potential investor—mid-fifties, assured in his worldview—told me that sex toys are “the ruin of intimacy,” because “women no longer need men.”

If that’s the fear, the villain isn’t the vibrator—it’s the prevailing fragility of unchecked patriarchy.

Where the stigma breeds

Heterosexual scripts are still tethered to a hierarchy: his performance as proof of masculinity and her orgasm as its scorecard. In that economy, a toy is not a tool but a competitor, evidence of insufficiency.

This is more than anecdotal; studies show that when men (non users of toys) imagine their partner climaxing with a vibrator, they report lower feelings of sexual accomplishment and masculinity than if she climaxed through intercourse or manual touch. It’s a learned and perpetuated fragility, and like most learned fragilities, it can be unlearned.

And yet, when men actually use toys with their partners, the opposite tends to happen: sexual satisfaction increases for both, and the imagined “threat” dissolves into collaboration.

The problem is not exclusively male—and many men, of course, see toys in the bedroom as a positive (more on that in a moment). But women absorb this script, too.

In my late twenties, I told a partner I needed clitoral stimulation to orgasm—a physiological reality for most women. His response? “My last girlfriend came from penetration alone. You should try harder.”

This is what happens when we mistake anatomical variance for personal failure. Only around 18% of women climax from penetration alone; the majority require or prefer clitoral stimulation. That’s biology, not deficiency.

Still, research shows many women feel hesitant to request or introduce toys, fearing it will be read as a judgment or a signal of personal inadequacy. Shame is remarkably efficient at keeping us quiet and dissatisfied, but beyond that continues a patriarchal narrative of masculine sexual prowess being prioritised.

What toys actually do

Toys are not competitors; they’re amplifiers.
They can sustain sensation beyond the endurance of muscle, keep someone at the brink longer, introduce textures and frequencies no human body can replicate. When folded into partnered sex, they create opportunities for play, precision, and sensorial exploration under shared authorship.

Hosting play parties, I’ve seen the new erotic vanguard: men who take visible pride in their skill with toys. They treat them not as rivals, but as extensions of their own touch. Like any serious artist, they keep a well-curated kit—each tool chosen for its ability to translate desire into form.

And the women? I watch them move through the room with a kind of knowing. Some will scan our wide collection, testing the weight of a piece in their hand, gauging the hum against their palm. Others arrive with their own, a favourite that carries the familiarity of an old lover. That familiarity is power: it means their pleasure doesn’t wait for permission, doesn’t bend to someone else’s idea of what should work. It’s akin to (if not) peak women’s agency.

This is the new wave of sexual acceptance I want for everyone (play party attendees and monogamous subscribers alike): a cultural script in which pleasure takes the front seat and ego/shame takes a hike; not a story where we measure intimacy by how little we need, but by how boldly we can say yes to the things that make us feel most alive.

The real threat

If a device can topple your sense of worth, perhaps the problem isn’t the device. Intimacy is not defined by exclusivity of technique; it’s defined by presence, attunement, and the willingness to adapt.

The lovers worth remembering are not those who insist they are “enough,” but those who are devoted to discovering the infinite ways to be more—together.