For years, people on the internet have been yelling at me about “vibrator addiction.” I guess that’s what happens when you unabashedly write about using (and loving) sex toys.
A favorite example of mine was the woman who wrote me an angry email accusing me of having a “dead clit,” and of pressuring other women to use vibrators even if they don’t want to (something I have never, to my knowledge, done in my life). In another instance, a right-wing misogynist wrote an entire blog post about me, and about how uncomfortable it made him that I like to use sex toys; he referred to the Magic Wand vibrator as “every feminist’s ideal boyfriend,” one of the best self-owns I’ve ever heard.
In a weird way, these instances remind me of the way monogamous people will sometimes react defensively when I mention that I’m polyamorous. “Oh, I could never do that,” they’ll say, as if I’ve suggested otherwise. Sometimes they’ll go so far as to say that I’m “shaming” them, when all I’ve actually done is mention that I’m not monogamous. If my very existence is enough to make them feel shamed, that suggests that they’re carrying around a chip on their shoulder about monogamy for whatever reason. And in the same way, when people fly into a rage about my vibrator usage, I always try to keep in mind that their reaction is about them. It’s not about me, and often it’s not even really about vibrators.
That being said, I can see why someone might have misgivings about vibrator usage, especially if they haven’t given much deliberate thought to the subject. We live in a world that still demonizes sexuality, especially female sexuality, and especially the expressions of female sexuality that don’t require a man’s input or assistance. Accordingly, many cultural depictions of vibrators make them out to be dangerous, immoral, unhealthy, and/or addictive. For example, in the iconic Sex and the City episode that popularized rabbit vibrators, Charlotte falls so deeply in love with her new sex toy that her friends have to stage an “intervention” to stop her from staying in bed with her vibrator day in and day out. Surely no woman should ever focus on her own pleasure, right? Surely she should go out and find a man instead!
I find this framing morally abhorrent, because it implies that pleasure is inherently bad, and that women don’t deserve pleasure (unless that pleasure is accessed via, and shared with, a man) – both teachings that our culture has absorbed primarily from the puritanical values of Christianity. I don’t think religious dogma has any place in sex education, and I don’t think pleasure is something we have to “earn” or eschew. We deserve pleasure, just by virtue of being human and being capable of experiencing it. I find it odd and worrying that anyone would sincerely argue to the contrary. Like – you okay, bro? Who hurt you?
Despite my strong feelings on the subject, though, sometimes even I start to internalize these anti-pleasure and anti-feminist arguments without meaning to. It’s hard not to, when they’re being hurled at me regularly in many different mediums, repeated like well-worn prayers. I use vibrators in the majority of my solo sex sessions, and in the vast majority of my partnered sex sessions, and sometimes, a sneaky voice in my head will criticize me for that. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to use vibrators so often?” it seems to say. “Couldn’t you and your partner(s) experience more pleasure if you stopped using them, because your sensitivity level would get higher, and you’d be more responsive?”
The reason I know this is bullshit propaganda is that the science doesn’t actually back it up. Numerous studies have shown that vibrators improve sexual satisfaction, increase genital sensitivity, and can even treat sexual dysfunctions. Of the research that criticizes vibrators, a lot of it focuses on how men don’t always love it when their partner gets off with a vibrator, but this research is mixed, with some studies finding that a partner’s vibrator usage increases men’s satisfaction, pleasure, and excitement during sex. (A lot of this research is very cis-het and assumes vibrator usage is a predominantly or exclusively female thing, by the way, which is obviously a limited view of sexuality, but points out some interesting cultural norms nonetheless.)
As encouraging as this research is, though, doing your own experiments can be more convincing in some cases. So, I recently embarked on a two-week-long break from using vibrators, just to see what would happen. I still used non-vibrating toys like dildos and butt plugs some of the time, but vibrators were verboten, and all the clitoral stimulation I got for those two weeks was from either my own hand, my partner’s hand, or their mouth.
I was inspired in part by my friend Lilly, a big vibrator fan (and erstwhile sex toy reviewer) who took a month-long break from vibes in 2016. Vibrators initially helped her learn to reach orgasm, and when she stopped using them, predictably she also stopped being able to orgasm. Her conclusion was that some people’s bodies, including her own, simply need a higher level of stimulation to trigger a climax, in the same way that some people need glasses or contacts in order to see better. Denying yourself the usage of a vibrator, if you need one in order to have a good time, is like refusing to wear glasses or contacts if you need them to see: it’s stubborn, it’s scientifically unsupported, and you’ll mostly just inconvenience yourself by doing it, although other people may experience collateral damage. (In the glasses example, you could run someone over with your car by accident if you refuse to wear glasses. In the case of vibrators, “collateral damage” is likelier to be something like: your partner, who finds it hot to see you come, doesn’t get to see you come. Not the end of the world, and certainly not as bad as a car crash, but still a disappointing outcome that could’ve been avoided.)
The lessons I learned from taking two weeks off of vibrators were pretty predictable. I almost wish they were more interesting. More than anything else, I learned that my non-vibrator orgasms are just not as intense as those I get from vibration. They’re still orgasms, and they still feel good, but it’s more like “Oh!” and less like “OHHHHH!!!!” I’d say that when I reach orgasm with a vibrator, it’s typically at least twice as intense and three times as long-lasting as it would be if I’d just used my hand. I’m also in a better mood after a vibrator-induced orgasm, presumably because the greater intensity causes a bigger release of fun neurotransmitters like oxytocin and dopamine.
It makes me think about all the other areas in my life where one small change can make a big difference to my happiness. Putting music on before I clean my room, so the cleaning feels less like trudging and more like dancing. Using a body wash whose scent I love, instead of an unscented one or one that just smells like soap. Putting extra salt on my dinner if it tastes too bland. All of these changes are no-brainers, easy to implement and even easier to enjoy. Why wouldn’t I want to make my life better if I can? Why wouldn’t I want to experience more pleasure? Moreover: why would I ever tolerate a partner who found these small tweaks insulting, immoral, or weird? When you compare vibrator usage to these other instances where modern technology helps us live more enjoyable lives, it becomes overwhelmingly clear how strange it is when people take an anti-vibrator stance.
I figured that when I started using vibrators again, they might feel overstimulating at first, due to the break I’d taken – and/or I might come more quickly than usual, since my sensitivity level would have shifted. But that actually wasn’t the case. It took me roughly the same amount of time it usually takes me to get off, whether or not I’m using a vibrator. The only major differences were that orgasming was a little easier, and a lot more pleasurable. That’s it.
After my experiment, I have to say that I agree with Lilly. While vibrators can cause temporary desensitization, this typically goes away after a few minutes, hours, or days. After that, I think you more-or-less return to your body’s natural sensitivity setpoint, whatever that may be. Factors like depression medication and cardiological functioning can affect how easy or difficult it is to reach orgasm, or to become aroused at all, but vibrators can help make up for these struggles (which is why, for instance, powerful wand vibes are a major recommendation given in my friend JoEllen Notte’s book on sex and depression, The Monster Under the Bed). I haven’t seen any compelling evidence, either in my own life or in the scientific literature, that vibrators make sex less enjoyable or less “healthy.” They’re just a technological tool to make our lives better, and broadly speaking, they achieve that goal.
So, while I nonetheless appreciate being able to get myself off without a vibe when I’m in that kind of mood, I don’t think I’ll be permanently quitting vibrators any time soon. I wear glasses when I want to see farther. I use a calculator when I want to do math faster. And I use a vibrator when I want to come harder. Technology is a beautiful thing.