“Best invention,second to the dishwasher”: Vibrators and sexual pleasure

Abstract

This study examines how people learn about vibrators, their attitudes toward them, fears or hesitations about acquiring and/or using one, and the significance of vibrators to participants’ sexualities. Based on 78–147 responses to an online open-ended survey, participants report: primarily learning about vibrators from media and peers; their interpretations of media representations of vibrators are juxtaposed as both a tool for great pleasure and a shameful taboo; that vibrators are often perceived as a “dick substitute” for women who are unsuccessful at satisfying partnered heterosex; their initial purchase of a vibrator was inhibited by cost, fears that others would discover that they owned one, and ignorance about the technology, how their body would respond, and what they knew about their body; the majority of participants use vibrators both alone and in partnered sex; and the vast majority of participants who do not own a vibrator report that they would like to and anticipate purchasing one in the future. These findings illustrate the increasing normativity of vibrators that is justified by post-feminist ideals, while also repeatedly illustrating the continued feelings of shame and embarrassment, and fears of stigmatization.

Keywords

Masturbation sexual pleasure technology vibrators women

In a probability-panel survey of 16–69 year olds in the United States, 66% of men and 47% of women reported they had masturbated in the past 90 days (Herbenick et al., 2010; Reece et al., 2010a; also see Robbins et al., 2011). In Britain, 66% of men and 33% of women aged 16–74 reported masturbating in the last four weeks (Mercer et al., 2013). Among Australians aged 16–69, 72% of men and 42% of women reported masturbating in the last year (Richters et al., 2014). Despite some differences in these findings, it is clear that “masturbation is common but not universal practice” (Richters et al., 2014: 466).

Moreover, recent scholarship shows that contemporary women not only commonly masturbate (although less frequently than men) they are also significantly more likely to own and use sex toys—both alone and with partners—and especially vibrators. Indeed, “sex toys are socially acceptable enough that they are an estimated $15 billion industry worldwide and a $9 billion industry in the United States” (Lieberman, 2017: 287). Herbenick et al. (2017) found that over half of US women reported having used a vibrator in their lifetime, and 20% reported having used one in the past month. There is evidence to suggest that US women report a higher rate of vibrator use than elsewhere in the world; for example, only 21% of Australian women report using a sex toy of any kind (Richters et al., 2014). Still, considering the contemporary widespread use, availability, and increasing acceptance of sex toys in general (see Comella, 2017; Lieberman, 2017; Storr, 2003), this study descriptively explores uses and perceptions of vibrators in particular.

History of the vibrator, perceptions, and uses

While some historians traced the emergence of the vibrator as a medical device innovated as treatment for women’s hysteria (see Maines, 1999), more recent historians have challenged this interpretation. Indeed, the history of the vibrator is complex but can be broadly conceived as marked by four specific junctures: vibrators as medical implement, vibrators as household appliance, vibrators as a liberating political object, and vibrators as a post-feminist toy.

The invention of the electro-mechanical vibrator by Joseph Granville Mortimer—which he originally coined a “percuteur”—was patented in the early 1880s in a Victorian England that was especially and uniquely fascinated by electricity (Morus, 2011). In this historical and cultural context, Victorians believed that electricity could be used to cure vast numbers of illnesses, revitalize sexual potency, and even reverse death. Moreover, electricity was seen as a tool, as a means to make sense of bodies and the environment in which they live; “with electricity it seemed that you could do almost anything” (Morus, 2011: 10). Hence, the vibrator was originally developed primarily as a medical implement that, although dubious, was marketed to treat a wide array of conditions including deafness, kidney conditions, headaches, sore throats, indigestion, constipation, diabetes, and even cancer (see Lieberman, 2017)—not specifically for the treatment of hysteria in women. In fact, Mortimer himself refused to use his invention on women, or “to be hoodwinked” into its use to treat “the vagaries of the hysterical state” (cited in Morus, 2011: 154).

This is not to say that the innovation of the vibrator did not entail use of the device for sexual purposes. Both Maines (1999) and Lieberman (2017) note early advertisements that tout the virtues of vibrators for “super pleasures” and other thinly veiled and suggestive references to their erotic potential. In other words, as Lynn Comella (2017: 24) concludes, “[a]lthough their erotic uses were known, advertisers in the early twentieth century were coy, using coded language to both hint at and mask the vibrator’s sexual capabilities.” Thus, “[v]ibrators were probably used for masturbation in the first two decades of the 20th century, but there’s no way to prove that they were” (Lieberman, 2017: 35).

The marketing of vibrators as a medical device was a hard sell among physicians who were mostly skeptical (see Morus, 2011). In fact, in 1915 the American Medical Association issued a statement that the “[v]ibrator business is a delusion and a snare. If it has any effect it is psychology” (cited in Lieberman, 2016: 401). Hence the industry shifted tactics and primarily marketed vibrators “within a domestic discourse” (Attwood, 2005: 396) as a household appliance. Lieberman (2016) argues that the marketing of vibrators as a multi-purpose household appliance was the primary reason for their pervasive presence in mainstream advertising, as well as their availability in department stores and mail-order catalogs, and their accepted use in the home. “Vibrator manufacturers targeted all manner of consumers: male and female, young and old, sick and healthy” (Lieberman, 2016: 395). Lieberman (2016: 395) identified two dominant messages about vibrators in the early 1900s: “labor-saving household appliances and electrotherapeutic devices.” Despite prolific advertising, media representations kept their sexual potential veiled. In the late 1920s, vibrators began to make an appearance in pornography, but otherwise explicit references to the sexual potential of vibrators were quite rare until the late 1960s (Lieberman, 2016).

In the 1960s, and especially the 1970s, pioneering sex-positive feminists—such as Betty Dodson, Dell Williams, and Joani Blank—embraced the vibrator as both a technology for orgasmic self-discovery, and an “indispensable tool of women’s liberation” (Comella, 2017: 25; also see Lieberman, 2017). Their workshops, public addresses, and, perhaps most enduringly, their innovative and inspiring feminist sex and education stores (especially Eve’s Garden and Good Vibrations) became successful models for other similar activist-oriented retailers. Amidst all this, the highly esteemed significance of the vibrator to these progressive feminists—within a feminist movement that, at the time, was sharply divided on the significance and meaning of sexual liberation—is, perhaps, most clearly seen in its antithesis: the contentious dildo of that particular political moment:

While vibrators symbolized liberation and a break with men, dildos did not have the same associations. … If you fought against the patriarchy during the day but came home at night and fucked yourself silly with a bulging, beveined artificial dick, then you were betraying the movement. … Using a dildo was an admission that women needed a phallus to be fully sexually satisfied. (Lieberman, 2017: 200)

Alas, dildos were slowly, if not reluctantly accepted—but through it all the vibrator never lost its coveted status as both a useful tool of sexual discovery but also a symbol of “emancipation from male-imposed sexual and gender norms” (Lieberman, 2017: 289).

By the mid-1990s the meaning of vibrators would subtly but significantly shift. The internet and highly successful forms of direct selling (in companies such as Ann Summers and Pure Romance)¹ made the acquisition of vibrators easier than ever, and representations of vibrators emerged in popular culture more abundantly, effectively bringing their sexual functions more fully into public view. However, the emergence of a post-feminism sexual motif was perhaps the most significant change of all, bringing about “a new address to and construction of the female sexual consumer … who confidently chooses, purchases, and uses sexual commodities designed and marketed explicitly for her sexual pleasure” (Wood, 2018: 40). In post-feminism, “sexual pleasure is treated as an object of consumerist entitlement, so sexual knowledge and sexual experience are valued for their own sake, as ends in themselves rather than as the means to achieving sexual equality or liberation” (Storr, 2003: 124-125, emphasis added; also see Wood, 2018). And, hence, the vibrator has come to be “understood in terms of recreation. They have become ‘toys’” (Attwood, 2005: 396, emphasis added)—a vastly different rendition of the 1970s “vibrators as political objects” (Lieberman, 2017: 143). That is, “[i]n selling sex products to women, sexual openness, individual empowerment, an entitlement to pleasure and ‘consumer choice’ have become the key terms used to delineate the post-feminist sexual ideal” (Attwood, 2005: 401–402; also see Storr, 2003; Wood, 2018). Our study seeks to shed some light on how this post-feminist sexual ideal literally and figuratively plays out in how people learn about, perceive, and choose (not) to purchase or use a vibrator.

Clearly, contemporary uses and perceptions of vibrators differ significantly from previous eras—and even since the technology was fully acknowledged as primarily intended and used for sexual pleasure. For example, Kaplan’s 1974 text on treatment of sexual dysfunctions recommends using a vibrator to treat orgasmic dysfunction only after a woman has been unable to manually stimulate herself to orgasm. While Kaplan (1974: 388–389) extolls the vibrator as “the only significant advance in sexual technique since the days of Pompeii,” she cautions women against becoming dependent on vibrators to achieve orgasm and recommends alternative means of sexual stimulation. Likewise, in the second edition of Human Sexuality, Masters, Johnson, and Kolodny (1985: 363) dedicate one page to “What’s good and bad about vibrators”, which includes one paragraph on the capacity of vibrators to help women achieve orgasm; the rest of the page cautions about potential downsides, including desensitization, difficulties reaching orgasm through partnered intercourse, and dependency.

Meanwhile, more contemporary studies of vibrator uses and perceptions find people are far more accepting and enthusiastic. Herbenick et al. (2017) found 51.2% of women (n = 1013) and 38.2% of men (n = 946) said that using a vibrator was very or somewhat appealing. Furthermore, in an earlier study, Herbenick et al. (2011: 341) found participants who held positive beliefs about vibrators and reported having used a vibrator in the past 30 days had “higher scores on the Female Sexual Function Index domains of sexual arousal, lubrication, orgasm, satisfaction, and pain (with higher scores indicating less pain) than their counterparts.”

Not only have perceptions of vibrators changed significantly, but so too their rate of use and reported experiences, and studies also indicate that vibrator users show important demographic differences from non-users. Clive Davis et al.’s (1996) exploratory study of vibrator use among women found that 58% of the 202 participants reported using a vibrator primarily on their clitoris, and 36% reported using it on various genital sites. A majority of participants in Davis’s study reported that they experienced more intense orgasms when using a vibrator, and 10 of 123 women reported that using a vibrator was the only manner in which they had experienced orgasm.

Herbenick et al.’s (2009) study using a nationally representative sample of 2,056 women found significant variances among those who had used a vibrator (52.5%) and those who had never used a vibrator (47.5%). Vibrator users were more likely than non-users to have had a gynecological exam in the past year, to have closely examined their own genitals in the past month, to cohabitate with an unmarried partner, to identify with a sexual orientation other than heterosexual, and also tended to identify as white and non-Hispanic more than never users. In contrast, never users were more likely to report lower education levels and higher attendance levels of religious services. Herbenick et al. (2009) found 46.3% of women reported using a vibrator during solo masturbation. Reports of women using a vibrator during partnered sex or as part of foreplay were slightly lower, at 37.3% and 40.9% respectively.

Herbenick et al.’s (2017) study, also from a nationally representative probability sample within the United States, found 50.2% of women and 32.9% of men reported having used a vibrator/dildo in their lifetime. While this difference is noteworthy, rates of use within the past month were more strikingly different, with 20% of women and only 5.5% of men reporting having used a vibrator/dildo. This gendered difference perhaps points to the possibility that while men may experiment with using a vibrator at some point in their lifetime, women use them on a more consistent basis. Moreover, Reece et al. (2010b) found that 93.6% of male vibrator users had used a vibrator as part of sexual play with a female partner, indicating that vibrators are predominantly interpreted and used as a tool for women’s sexual pleasure.

Clearly there is a rich body of literature on the history of vibrators, how they have been marketed over time, their political significance, and statistical data on who use them, in what ways, and how frequently. In contrast, this study explores the experiences people report with vibrators: how people learn about vibrators, their attitudes toward them, fears or hesitations in purchasing and/or using them, and the significance of vibrators to overall sexuality.

Methods, data, and sample

Data for this study was derived from an online Qualtrics open-ended survey. Our convenience sample was recruited through relevant email listservs and social media posts. Recruitment materials invited participants who had both used and not used a vibrator. The survey was open from November 21, 2017 to January 15, 2018. The Institutional Review Board at Minnesota State University, Mankato, approved all study protocols.

Participants opted into the survey by following an anonymous link in recruitment materials where, to continue with the study, each participant had to answer “yes” to the question “I have read the Waskul and Anklan Research Consent form. I agree to participate in this survey and confirm that I am 18 years of age or older.” An initial 263 participants agreed to participate. This study was originally designed to focus on women’s perspectives and experiences of (not) using vibrators. Consequently, if a participant selected “man” as the option most closely describing their gender identity, they were brought to the end of the survey. Two-hundred-and-eighteen initial participants identified themselves as “woman.” Additionally, our study also reflects responses from 19 participants who identify as gender non-binary/gender non-conforming, two transgender men, one transgender woman, two respondents who selected “other,” and two who preferred not to select a gender identity.²

The first three open ended questions queried impressions of vibrators and masturbation. After these general questions, the survey branched based on whether participants answered “yes,” “no,” or “prefer not to answer” to the question “Have you ever used a vibrator?” One-hundred-and-five participants answered that they have used a vibrator, 46 replied that they had not, and five preferred not to answer. Respondents on the “yes” track were asked what age they first acquired a vibrator, followed by six open-ended questions about their experiences acquiring and using a vibrator both alone and with a partner. Participants on the “no” and “prefer not to answer” track were asked six questions about their perceptions of vibrators, reasons for not using, and beliefs about why some women choose to use vibrators. Both tracks had a space to share any other relevant information, and the survey concluded with five demographic questions.

Once participants opted into this study they did not have to answer any further questions if they did not want to. Thus, our initial sample size is misleading since many participants who opted into the survey chose not to answer at least some of the survey questions. Between 145 and 147 participants answered the first three general open-ended questions. Between 78 and 88 of the respondents who reported that they have used a vibrator answered questions about their perspectives and experiences. Between 44 and 47 of the participants who reported that they had not used a vibrator answered questions about their perspectives and experiences. For these reasons, in our analysis we calculated basic descriptive statistics relative to the total number of responses for each question—not the overall sample that participated in the survey.

Participants in this study ranged in age from 18 to 67, with an average age of 25.2 and a median age of 22. Of the 156 respondents who identified a sexual orientation, 86 (55.1%) selected “heterosexual/straight,” 19 (12.2%) “queer,” 18 (11.5%) “bisexual,” 13 (8.3%) “pansexual,” and 12 (7.7%) “lesbian/gay.” Of the 164 respondents who identified a relationship status, 79 (48.2%) selected “married,” “monogamous,” or “long-term dating;” 57 (34.8%) selected either “single” or “short-term dating;” and the remaining 28 (17.1%) selected “open relationship,” “polyamorous,” “prefer not to say,” or “other.” Of the 148 respondents who identified a race or ethnicity, 100 (67.6%) selected “white/Caucasian;” most of the remaining participants (23.6%) are evenly distributed between “Asian or Asian American,” “Black or African American,” and “Hispanic or Latino/a/x.” Of the 141 participants who identified a religious affiliation, 57 (40.4%) selected “Christian,” 41 (29.1%) selected either “agnosticism” or “atheism,” 24 (17%) answered “none,” and 15 (10.6%) identified their religious affiliation as “other.”

Our use of an online survey had both benefits and shortcomings. On one hand, the online survey was especially well-suited to providing maximum privacy and anonymity. Furthermore, because the Qualtrics link was easily shared—particularly through face-to-face and online social networks—the number of participants in this study greatly exceeded our expectations. On the other hand, because it was an online survey some respondents misunderstood some questions and provided information that was not relevant. Moreover, and much more crippling, participants often provided greatly truncated responses that frequently omitted important details and we were unable to follow-up with probes. Thus, in the end, the sample size is relatively large, but the overall richness of the data is compromised.

Vibrators and sexual pleasure

Bless the universe for creating vibrators! Best invention, second to the dishwasher.

—Anonymous participant in this study

We begin by detailing responses to general questions asked of all participants—questions concerning how, when, and from where they learned about vibrators, their perceptions, as well as conversations participants have had about them. We then detail findings from the 105 participants who replied “yes” to the question “Have you ever used a vibrator?”, followed by an overview of the 51 participants who replied “no” or “prefer not to answer.” We conclude with general observations on vibrators and sexual pleasure.

Learning about vibrators

One-hundred-and-forty-seven participants replied to the question, “When and how did you first learn about vibrators?” Twelve (8%) bluntly answered, “I don’t remember”, or “I’m not sure”. Yet the vast majority (92%) recalled and identified at least one concrete source of early information. Forty-nine of the 147 responses (33%) identified media sources as a primary means by which they first learned about vibrators: “I first heard the term [vibrator] in comedy YouTube videos at a very young age (around 11), then was curious and looked up what the term was;” “I think [I learned about vibrators] online through social media sites, specifically Imgur. I can’t remember a specific age, although I believe it was probably around 14;” “[I learned about vibrators] through Tumblr, honestly. I followed a few blogs that opened the doorway for me.” Given the contemporary ease of access to internet pornography, it is noteworthy that only seven participants (4.7%) reported learning about vibrators from sexually explicit media of any kind.

Since the majority of participants in this research grew up in a highly digital, streaming, and/or online social and cultural mediascape, it is surprising that participants in this study reported they were almost equally likely to learn about vibrators from online sources (20 reports) as from the sum of all other media such as television (eight reports), movies (nine reports), and print media (books and magazines; five reports). For example, one participant wrote “I learned about vibrators through TV infomercials late at night at age 10.” Others replied similarly: “The earliest informal exposure or knowledge of vibrators for me would be through teen movies and other forms of media such as magazines;”

I think my first memory of a vibrator was from the Sex and the City episode where they all get the rabbit. I must have been 10. I had seen them and known what they were for before that (I used to read erotica from about age seven, vibrators were featured sometimes) but I think that was the first time I understood what they were all about. [Emphasis in original]

Peers proved an almost equally important source of early information. Forty-two of the 147 responses (28.6%) identified peers—and especially friends—as a primary source of initial vibrator information, and most of them (27, 64%) specifically identified peer relationships in middle or high school as the key source. One respondent wrote: “I learned about vibrators in middle school through friends.” Another learned about vibrators when “one of my friend’s boyfriend got her one and told me about it when I was around 15.” An additional respondent “first learned about vibrators in high school after a group of older girls on my volleyball team were talking about them.” Only three participants reported learning about vibrators in formal middle or high school health curriculum. As our data clearly indicate, young women commonly learn about vibrators through conversations within friendship and informal peer relations during these formative middle and high school years.

Twenty participants (13.6%) reported learning about vibrators from family members. In some instances, these sources of information were older siblings or extended family members. One respondent reported learning about vibrators from “cousins talking about them,” and several reported gaining this information from older siblings—especially older sisters. As one respondent wrote, “My sister gave me one [a vibrator] when she went off to college and I entered ninth grade.” Yet, for women who first learn about vibrators from family members, the majority (13 of the 20 reports) describe finding their mother’s vibrator as their initial source of information. One respondent wrote, “I was 12 and I found one in my mom’s room.” Another reported that she “accidentally found my mother’s [vibrator] and asked her what it was.” Others recount similar discoveries: “I first learned about vibrators from my mother. I can’t recall her ever talking to me about masturbation or vibrators, I just discovered her box of ‘massagers;’” “I was snooping in my mom’s room when I was 13 and found a drawer full of sex toys including a few vibrators.” And, if not their own parent, respondents sometimes reported discovering the vibrator of a friend’s mother. As one respondent recalled, “I first learned about vibrators when I was in middle school. One of my friends told me she found one of her mom’s and told me about what they were.” Another wrote that she learned about vibrators from a “friend of mine in elementary school showing me one that she had found in her mother’s bedside drawer.”

When young girls find their mother’s vibrator, only rarely do they report the discovery as an unsettling experience. As one respondent wrote: “My mother had a bag of sex toys in her closet that I stumbled upon when looking for something in her closet. I did not know what it was. I then seen [sic] an off and on switch and turned it to on and scared myself half to death.” Instead, most of these women vividly remember finding their mother’s vibrator but not thinking much about it because, as one respondent wrote, “I didn’t know what it was at the time.” And in some instances these young girls discovered not only a vibrator, but also a mother that was open, supportive, and willing to talk. As one respondent wrote, “My mom had a vibrator that I found in her room when I was in middle school (probably 12 or 13). I asked her what it was and she was very open with me about it. For my 20th birthday, she got me my first vibrator.”

Like any other learning experience, women gain knowledge of vibrators from multiple sources and incrementally over time. Thus, while 111 of the 147 (75.5%) participants identified media, peers, or family as the primary source of information about vibrators, it is not surprising that many reported a combination of these main sources. That is, respondents commonly reported learning about the existence of vibrators from one source (e.g. finding mom’s sex toy), but only later learned what it was used for (e.g. from conversations with friends and peers), and even later learned from personal experience. This incremental acquisition of increasingly sophisticated knowledge is evident in numerous reported experiences:

I think my general perception came from media, movies, or shows referring to it. I don’t recall anything specific. I also knew my mom had sex toy cleaning solution so I think I also assumed she had one. My friends bought me my first vibrator when I was 15 or 16, a little slim line type. They seemed to think it was very necessary that I have one.

I first learned of them [vibrators] through peers and people in school but I didn’t really know that much about them and how they were used/why people would want to use them. Eventually I began to learn more through the media but didn’t really learn about them in depth/how to use them correctly (etc.) until college at Pure Romance Parties.

Obviously, initial sources of information are important for understanding from where and how women learn about vibrators, but in a broader sense it is this developmental acquisition of perceptions and knowledge that is most significant.

Media and perceptions of vibrators

Considering that 33% of our respondents identify media as an initial source of information about vibrators, how women perceive those media representations is important. The 92 responses we received from a question asking about perceptions of vibrators based on media representations strongly suggest that these perceptions are highly juxtaposed. On one hand, 26 respondents (28.2%) claim that media representations of vibrators emphasize that the technology is pleasurable, functional, and exciting; an expected finding within a contemporary post-feminist culture in which “women are increasingly targeted as sexual consumers” with advertisements that represent “women’s sexual pleasure as fashionable, safe, aesthetically pleasing and feminine” (Attwood, 2005: 392, 393). One respondent wrote, “I’ve seen them portrayed as a good and useful thing.” Another claims that the media portrays vibrators as “something women use to get pleasure and it’s completely normal to use one.” Numerous respondents use strikingly similar language in their response to how they perceive media representations, including “fun and exciting”, “amazing”, “an excellent tool for self-loving!”, and, echoing a frosted cereal commercial, “They’re great!” One respondent summarized these perceptions of media representations especially well when she wrote, “My perception of vibrators based on what I have seen in the media is that they are these fantastic things that bring loads of pleasure.” As these respondents affirm, the vibrator’s “clearest value for women has lain in its ability to legitimize active, female, clitoral sexuality as normal and healthy” (Attwood, 2005: 396).

On the other hand, an almost equal number of participants—22 of the 91 respondents (23.9%)—perceive media representations of vibrators as shameful and embarrassing. One respondent wrote that media depicts vibrators as “something secretive and seen as somewhat shameful or dirty.” Another adds, “That they are something to be ashamed about or to hide in drawers.” Indeed, the “dirty secret” is a common theme among respondents: “Based off of movies and shows they seem widely used yet women try to keep them hidden and unspoken of;” “I feel like a lot of people are curious about vibrators, but they’re always such a taboo topic or they’re talked about in secret. The media makes it seem like an embarrassing thing to own.” Moreover, 17 of the 91 respondents (18.4%) specifically identify the source of that shame and embarrassment: they perceive these media representations as implying that women who use them are naughty, slutty, or otherwise taboo.³ As various respondents wrote, “Based on media they’re naughty;” media “makes them look trashy;” “I feel the media makes vibrators out to be a bad or ‘dirty’ thing;” “That only over-sexed people use them.” Others elaborated even more:

Based on media, they are risqué, something used by people who are “out there.” Often I see them in media as a way to poke fun at the character owning them; such as a person trying to find something in a person’s room, and stumbling across their vibrator collection. If the character is a man, this is played up even more as something that is gross and that the character that owns them should be ashamed of.

My perspective based on popular culture and media representation is that vibrators are still taboo and often a part of jokes. It has also been represented that a female that uses a vibrator has sexual prowess and a strong sexual urge.

Thus the juxtaposition: nearly a third of our respondents (28.2%) perceive the media as representing vibrators as a technology that is highly functional in achieving sexual pleasure, yet a total of 39 respondents (42%) also add that these representations portray vibrators as a shameful dirty secret that imply that women who use them are sexually deviant—a juxtaposition that mirrors Herbenick et al.’s (2011) findings of equally contradictory attitudes toward vibrators as both exciting and embarrassing. These kinds of mixed messages were frequently mentioned by our respondents:

Sex in [and] the City, Girls, and many other shows aimed towards women seem to depict vibrators as a natural part of a women’s sexuality that it is not anything dirty or weird. However it seems many shows aimed toward men or co-ed viewers do not depict vibrators in such a non-nonchalant way but more as something weird, freaky, or emasculating.

Based upon media representation, I think there were several conflicting messages that shaped my perception of vibrators. On one hand I [was] exposed to vibrators being this amazing instrument for women to take control of their sexuality to pleasure themselves. And on the other, I saw the shame because sex is only supposed to be for procreation and not pleasure. Although vibrators are not sex, obviously, the connections are always implied.

The “dick substitute”

Based on media representations, a vibrator is portrayed as a dick substitute. Like in movies if a woman is lonely and doesn't have a partner (a male partner, 99% of the time) then she has a vibrator or a type of sex toy because she doesn't have a man to fulfill her needs. So, I think, vibrators are typically portrayed as a last resort option for sexual gratification.

—Anonymous participant in this study

More than just sexually deviant, a commonly cited media representation is that women who use vibrators are unable to get the “real thing.” Eighteen respondents (19.5%) indicate that a common trope in media representations is that vibrators are a “dick substitute” for women who are either unsuccessful in heterosexual coupling or have unsatisfying sex with male partners. Although only one of these 18 women specifically used the words “dick substitute,” the phrase is apt and evocative of a shared general sentiment that the use of vibrators is a masturbatory “second best practice that ‘ought not’ to be necessary if a partner is available” (Richters et al., 2014: 469)—and specifically a partner with a “dick.” Or, as Rachel Wood (2018: 129) phrased these sentiments, “sex toys as ‘a substitute man.’” Numerous respondents wrote, “Based on media they [vibrators] are only for single desperate women who can’t find a man,” or vibrators are portrayed as “miracle workers and do the job when a man can’t.” In this respect, as various respondents wrote, vibrators are portrayed as “the running joke of being single,” and they function as a “stand in for a penis,” primarily used by “Women who are single or sex deprived [and] need to pleasure themselves in one way or another.” One respondent summarized these sentiments when she wrote, “If you use a vibrator that implies that you ‘can’t get a man.’ Or will offend your man (hyper-masculine truthfully) because he should be able to get you off solely through PIV [penis in vagina].” Or, in other words, “vibrators are inferior to sex with men, reinforcing the idea that masturbation is subordinate to regular sex and that a ‘natural’ penis is superior to an ‘artificial’ one” (Lieberman, 2017: 272).

This same theme also reemerged in the conversations about vibrators that participants recall having with other women. These expressed sentiments are especially post-feminist in character in that they “combine an emphasis on individual empowerment (rather than collective power) with a sense of entitlement to pleasure; and further that this pleasure is regarded not as a right by social struggle or feminist argument, but simply as a consumer good” to be purchased (Storr, 2003: 32, emphasis in original):

We kind of see it as awesome that vibrators are available and I know that many of my girl friends and I have joked about not needing a man because we have them. We see it as a way of still being able to satisfy our sexual needs and not having to worry about the stress of dealing with a man/relationship.

Talks [among my friends] usually consist of being able to “take care of ourselves” when talking about unfulfilling sex. Such as “why take part in meaningless sex with another person and deal with all the risks and consequences, when I know I will have that type of gratification, probably better, on my own?”

Acquiring a first vibrator

Eighty-eight participants responded to an open-ended question about their experience acquiring their first vibrator. Twenty-five (28.4%) reported feeling discomfort, shame, embarrassment, fear, or thoughts that buying a vibrator was “wrong.” As one wrote, “I was scared that the mailman would know he was shipping my toy to my house and that my bank would see my purchase on my account.” To overcome these anxieties, many respondents took calculated measures in order to hide their purchase:

I ordered one on Amazon. I’d always wanted one, and since it was my first time without a roommate or living at home, I felt I could have one and use it comfortably. I did a lot of research before purchasing my first one. I was worried because I was living in a residential community, and somewhat worried it would be obvious what I had ordered.

My cousin hosted a Pure Romance party specifically with me in mind, to “broaden my horizons” … In order to avoid ordering and having my parents find it in the mail as I lived at home, I just asked to see the selection she had in stock and picked from there.

One respondent preemptively constructed a story to tell her parents in case they inquired about her receipt of a package in the mail:

I wanted to get a vibrator to try it out because I was becoming more hornier and rubbing against a pillow was starting to do nothing for me and take too long to get me off. I didn’t have a fear of purchasing one, because it was online, but did have a fear that my parents would see my mail. So I prayed the package would come discreetly. When my parents would inquire about my mail, I would say that it was cute underwear I bought online so they should stop inquiring more specifically on what I purchased.

Given that the median age of respondents in this study is 22, it is not surprising that many expressed concerns that their parents would find out and thus waited to purchase a vibrator until they had acquired sufficient financial independence:

I looked to Amazon for more options, reading the reviews on many different vibrators. I was glad to see that it came in discrete packaging. I was worried it was illegal to buy vibrators if you were under the age of 18 (I’m still not sure on this) so that's why I waited for my birthday. I made sure I had my own account and card number for the purchase so my mom wouldn’t find out, and I was very flustered and evasive about the package I was getting. I was overall very excited to finally get a vibrator and couldn’t wait to use it, I just wish I had felt more comfortable going through the process and not felt like I had to be so secretive. It still feels kind of weird to talk about buying them, even with my closest friends.

Sixty-three respondents identified the specific means by which they acquired their vibrator. Twenty-three (36.5%) of these respondents purchased their first vibrator at a sex shop, which many reported being an uncomfortable experience: “I felt like there were only men in the store and they were undressing us with their eyes the whole time;” “The shop I went to had male clerks that seemed ‘seedy’ rather than helpful, had creeper sneers and asked questions that felt prying versus offering recommendations based on what had good reviews among customers;”

Overall the experience was awkward because even with a friend you fear judgement on purchasing one or what it looks like. Also, the cashier was an older guy who asked if I needed batteries and if I wanted him to show me how to use it. In the future I think it would be more comfortable ordering online.

Thus, it is not surprising that 14 (22%) participants in this study ordered their vibrator online—primarily through Amazon, but also from a variety of sex-specific online retailers.

Another 14 (22%) purchased their first vibrator from a sex toy party— commonly mentioning Pure Romance parties hosted by friends or family—with most reporting a comfortable and positive experience, albeit slightly awkward. As one respondent explains in detail:

I never in my life thought I’d ever own a vibrator but I had always been a little curious because I’ve heard talk about how great they can be from other girl friends I’ve met in college and my coworkers. I had always feared being judged by other friends and especially the guys that I date. I feared what people would say or think about it. I got my first vibrator at a Pure Romance party when all of my girl friends and I were sitting in our living room looking through the catalog. Our host had brought demo vibrators and explained what each one did and how to use them. She would pass them around and every single girl would have the opportunity to look/check them out. After chatting with a few friends about how curious we all were to actually have our own and use them we all talked each other in to purchasing them. We all had a few glasses of wine so we weren’t really as nervous or overwhelmed about the experience. The host pulled each of us individually into a separate room when it came time to making your purchase so if you didn’t want anyone to know about it you wouldn’t have to tell anyone what you got! So it was overall, a cool experience.

Twelve respondents purchased their first vibrator at a conventional, non-sex specific retail store—nine specifically bought their vibrator at a Spencer’s store, a common novelty store in shopping malls across the United States. Given repeated findings of embarrassment and shame, it is somewhat surprising that respondents would purchase a vibrator in the highly public space of a shopping mall. Nonetheless, all nine of these respondents reported neutral or positive experiences at Spencer’s, frequently utilizing a self-affirming inner dialogue to overcome their fear or embarrassment while making their purchase:

I was horny and wanted one so I went to Spencer’s to buy one alone. It was nerve racking because I felt like they were going to ask for an ID or something because I wasn’t old enough and that would be embarrassing. However, it was no problem and I ended up going back for another one shortly after.

I was curious about them. I knew what they were, but I never experienced one—so I thought, “why not?” At first, I was sort of embarrassed to buy one and kept telling myself that this is natural, people use them all the time which means that they have to buy them. I was alone when I purchased my first vibrator at Spencer’s, and I remember “stalling” in [the] section of vibrators because I was nervous about checking out, but then I decided [to imagine] that the vibrator I selected was now a microphone for karaoke, which made my anxiety go down a bit and was much easier to check out. It was definitely easier than I expected it to be and also made it easier for future personal purchases. [Emphasis in original]

Eleven respondents (12.5%) received their first vibrator as a gift from a partner, a friend, or a family member. Fitting the frequently reported sentiment that buying a vibrator is shameful or embarrassing, a common theme in responses is the suggestion that buying a vibrator started as a joke, prank, or dare among friends: “The first vibrator I got was a gift as a joke in high school. It was a cheap one from Spencer’s that I never used. I was horrified and embarrassed that my guy friend got it for me;” “I was drunk with a few friends and we went to a local sex toy store as a joke. While there, I was dared to buy one and spent $80 on a vibrator;”

I went to a sex shop with some friends. It was kind of more of a joke/fun thing to do at the time. We giggled a lot and since [we] were out of town, I remember playfully chasing my friend around with my new red vibrator. It was hysterical. I didn’t think much of it at the time but I ended up using that thing for years!

Another mechanism of avoiding ownership of their desires is to attribute the inspiration or motivation of the purchase to another person. Fourteen respondents (15.9%) explicitly stated it was someone else’s idea to purchase a vibrator, or that it was a joint decision to which they agreed but did not initiate:

I first got a vibrator because my boyfriend at the time thought it would be a fun thing to try … At first I was unsure if I actually wanted to use one, but I thought I would try it because my boyfriend wanted to try one.

My partner goaded me into/coerced me into getting one. He was 8 years older than me and very experienced in sexual matters. I was nervous about it … I bought it online from a link he sent me. It was nice, but I eventually got rid of it because it would never get clean.

Thirty-two respondents specified whether they were alone or accompanied when purchasing their first vibrator. Seventeen respondents (53.13%) went with at least one friend, and nearly all of these respondents described the experience as encouraging, helpful, and supportive:

I was sitting around with a group of girls one day when all of a sudden one of the girls sort of pulled it out of her bag (a small bullet looking one). We all got excited as she was very pleased with hers and decided to go to the sex shop [in] downtown [big city] that night. We all went home with new toys.

My roommates and friends were talking about vibrators and how some of them had one. One of my friends said they needed a new one, and my roommate and I decided we should get one too. 4 of us went to 2 different sex shops and browsed … 3 of us, myself included, ending up buying vibrators, and my other friend bought other items. Overall, it was fun and a good way for us to bond.

Respondents who purchased a vibrator with friends reported positive experiences that led to group bonding both at the store and afterwards. One respondent even described her supportive experience of going to a sex store with her mother:

I had asked my mum (awkwardly) and asked if I could ever go to a sex store and if she could go with me because sometimes they can be creepy and full of weird people. We made a trip out of it the next day.

In contrast, among the eight respondents (25%) who purchased their first vibrator alone, most expressed feelings of embarrassment and awkwardness. Six respondents (18.75%) made the purchase with their partner, offering mixed responses. Some felt reassured and supported having their partner with them: “There was some uncomfortableness when at the store, but I felt a little better about it because my boyfriend was there with me.” While others felt like having their partner with them added to their discomfort: “Felt awkward to look at vibrators with a partner, didn’t get to take time to pick one out. Felt rushed.” Another respondent wrote:

I honestly would have rather gotten my own and with a friend rather than the person [a partner] I was with, and I probably would have gotten a different one had I done some research/wasn’t so nervous about being in the store.

Hesitations and fears

Eighty-six participants who had used a vibrator responded to the question “did you have any hesitation or fear about using a vibrator?” Forty-one (47.67%) replied that they had no fears or hesitations at all. Of the 45 who identified a hesitation or fear, 15 (33.33%) reported that they were inhibited by their own ignorance about the technology, how their body would respond, or what they knew about their body in the first place: “I had no idea how to use it. The only thing I knew about a vagina I learned from an illustrated diagram in a book published by the American Girl doll people;”

I was a little hesitant because I didn’t really know what to expect because it was really big!!! I just was nervous about it hurting and/or not doing anything for me at all (being a waste of money and not being able to orgasm—which that was really the main reason I wanted to purchase one. I wanted to learn how to truly explore myself/achieve orgasms).

Indeed, just as Marcus (2010: 3402) found in her study of 19 participants using a vibrator for the first time over a four-week period, the majority of “women spoke of needing to learn to use a vibrator, that it was not obvious or natural initially.”

It is understandable that some women report that they are, in the words of one of our respondents, “not sure how and what to do.” The participants in this study grew up in a social and cultural world where women commonly report ignorance of their genitals—especially of their clitoris—and, as documented elsewhere, when some women experiment with self-pleasure without a vibrator they are often uncertain how to effectively pleasure themselves (see Waskul et al., 2007). Thus, when adding a technology to those acts of self-pleasure—a technology that one participant in our study appraised as “foreign and unnatural”—it is entirely reasonable, as another respondent wrote, that “[I] didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know how my body would react.” Indeed, as a respondent wrote, “I have only used [my vibrator] twice and I don’t know how to use it correctly.” Another respondent equally reported, that she “was a little scared” because “I didn’t know what I was doing.” Yet, as most participants also report, this initial ignorance is easily remedied through the acquisition of knowledge via trial-and-error experimentation:

But I figured it out. The first few times, I didn’t have much luck with it. But then I took it home and tried it with my partner who helped me figure out what felt good with the vibrator. After that, it was really easy to use.

I wasn’t really sure if it would work. I had never orgasmed before and convinced my good college friend to keep a watch while I used it for the first time in the shower. I had my first orgasm because of it!

Thus, as the participants in this study illustrate, not only is purchasing a vibrator an act of post-feminist sexual consumption, but also the use of that vibrator is a post-feminist form of labor that:

is primarily about gaining knowledge—not only technical knowledge regarding the best skills, positions, and sex toys, but about her sexual self, her desires, potential hang-ups or inhibitions in need of work, and her body’s ability to be sexually desirable and to have the appropriate quality and quantity of pleasure. (Wood, 2018: 4–5)

As data in this study show repeatedly, privacy concerns are a second major source of initial hesitation or fear of using a vibrator. Ten of the 45 participants (22.22%) who identified a hesitation or fear expressed specific concerns that parents or roommates would discover their vibrator and, more specifically, hear them using it. As one wrote, “The only thing I could say was that I was worried the toy would be loud, since I had lived in my parent’s home.” Another participant understandably expressed that her only initial concern was “the sound. I’d rather keep information about when I masturbate to myself.” And, as data in this study also repeatedly show, this fear of “being caught”—as one participant in this study phrased it—is closely connected with a fear of the presumed judgement and stigma that would result: “[I was] mainly [hesitant] due to the stigma I feel that I would of received if people found out I used it and the guilt I may feel due to the way I was raised;”

I was afraid of being judged. As a society women do not often hear about the use of vibrators being a good thing, or female masturbation in general. Although I know it is okay and no one would know if I used a vibrator or masturbated, I still feel a little weird at times because it feels so stigmatized for females to enjoy those things.

Finally, women presumably purchase a vibrator not only for the purposes of experimenting with new pleasurable sensations but, specifically, to achieve orgasm. Thus, it is at least somewhat ironic that eight respondents who expressed an initial hesitation or fear (17.78%) worried that the technology would work too well—that they would either become dependent on the vibrator to achieve orgasm, or that the vibrator would compromise partnered sexual experiences. These respondents wrote in similar words that they were “worried that using a vibrator would make it more difficult to orgasm with just fingers.” Another was concerned because she had heard “things about using a vibrator that say if you use it too often it can desensitize you or make it really difficult to orgasm during sex.” And, as we will discuss in more detail later, another participant “didn’t want my partner and I to become reliant on needing the vibrator to satisfy one another.” These respondents illustrate that the fear, in this case, is closely “linked to the idea that women should avoid needing vibration to orgasm because it is a sensation that ‘real’ sex does not offer” (Wood, 2018: 129).

Changes to orgasmic experiences and capacity

Eighty-eight participants responded to the question “has using a vibrator changed your capacity for orgasm?” Twenty-one (23.86%) claimed that their use of a vibrator resulted in no noticeable difference in their capacity for orgasm, compared to 67 (76.14%) who indicated that vibrators profoundly changed their sexual experiences and capacity for orgasm. Consistent with findings in Marcus’ (2010) study, 23 of these 67 participants (34.43%) replied that vibrators allow for easier and quicker orgasms: “Using a vibrator to masturbate allows for a quicker pleasure, I find when I only use my vibrator for a long period of time its more mental work to orgasm other ways;” “It’s a lot easier and a lot faster to orgasm with one… I can orgasm without one, but it usually takes a long time;”

With a vibrator, I can definitely achieve an orgasm much quicker than without one. I like the variety of settings that it offers so I can vibe with stronger ones and softer ones depending on the mood. Before, I would masturbate by watching porn and using my fingers. With a vibrator, I don’t have to watch porn to be able to orgasm.

Part of the reason respondents reported that vibrators allow for more efficient orgasms is obviously the sensations of the technology—but there is more. As one respondent wrote, “using a vibrator has helped me know more about what I like.” In fact, 11 participants (16.42%) reported that the vibrator was instrumental in understanding their body, sexual responsivity, and/or orgasmic capacity, and that this functional knowledge was as important as the physical sensations. One wrote, “I thought I was ‘broken’ but [after using a vibrator I] realized I just needed more clitoral stimulation” and she is not alone: “Before using a vibrator I had never had a clitoral orgasm and didn’t even realize my own anatomy and what this means for pleasure;” “I believe using the vibrator taught me what an orgasm feels like and what kinds of stimulation it requires for me to achieve an orgasm;” “I feel like it [the vibrator] helps women be more comfortable with themselves … Knowing what you like, and learning about yourself on your own, also makes it easier to tell men what you want.”

Several participants replied that vibrators allow for a different kind of orgasmic experience. As one wrote, “I do find that I have different types of orgasms when it’s from manual stimulation vs. mechanical stimulation from a vibrator.” More specifically, 22 (32.84%), replied that vibrators result in a more powerful orgasmic experience. In fact, 10 specifically used the word “intense” to describe the difference:

When I orgasm from oral or manual sex, the orgasm feels different than when I orgasm from using my vibrator (whether I am with my partner or not). Vibrator orgasms are less of a full body experience and more localized. They are more intense, especially in my vaginal wall. I can feel the pulses more intensely during a vibrator orgasm.

It’s definitely more intense because of the fact that while you are using it there is a focus on stimulating the clitoris (which I think lots of men forget how important it is during sex!!). Also, the fact you can change the speeds is really beneficial because it allows you to go at your own pace and what your body can handle.

[With a vibrator] I've been able to have multiple orgasms in one sitting, and the level of sensitivity—almost painful—that I can feel after orgasm while continuing to place the vibrator on my clit is crazy and somewhat addictive. I do find now that I depend on vibes to orgasm, whereas I used to do just fine with my hand alone. I find I can’t get the same powerful stimulation that I can with high settings on a vibrator, and without a vibrator it’s very difficult for me to orgasm unless I'm very, very aroused.

Of the 67 respondents who report that vibrators changed their capacity for orgasm, the majority (67%) state that the difference is easier, quicker, more intense, or some combination thereof. Thus, as the previous data quote hints at, it is not surprising that some of these respondents report feeling at least somewhat dependent on their vibrator to achieve orgasm—although we must be cautious with this finding. First, only 10 (10.45%) reported feeling less able to achieve orgasm, alone or with a partner, without the aid of a vibrator. More importantly, this perceived dependency is primarily a result of efficiency: vibrators allow for a quicker and more convenient means of reaching climax and, as our respondents indicate, this is especially the case when women are having partnered sex with men: “I sometimes feel like it has disabled me to not being so easily able to climax through penetration, but some orgasms are harder than others and I believe it just has to do with my mindset at the time;” “I think that my constant use of them [vibrators] while growing up has made reaching an orgasm [without one] take more time and not nearly as intense as I think it should be;”

Sometimes I feel like it makes it harder for me to enjoy sex with a partner because I just want to cum as quickly as possible and move on to my next task. That being said, that has been my experience with when my partner was male. Since I’ve been dating women I haven’t found that it has affected my ability to orgasm.

Alone, with a partner, or both?

Seventy-eight participants who have used a vibrator responded to the prompt “Describe experiences you have had discussing and/or using a vibrator with a partner.” Three of these have not had a sex partner since acquiring their vibrator, and another 13 (16.66%) replied that they have never discussed using a vibrator with their partner. Among the 62 (79.48%) who have discussed using a vibrator with a partner, 48 (77.42%) report a positive, supportive, and encouraging response. One wrote, “My partner has encouraged me to masturbate whenever I want to and to use whatever helps me orgasm during sex. He has been totally comfortable with whatever I need to do.” Most of those who have used a vibrator during partnered sex report similar experiences with supportive and encouraging partners:

I use my vibrator a lot with my partner. I don’t orgasm from vaginal intercourse so we often use the vibrator during sex so we both orgasm … I will use the vibrator while he gives attention to my breasts or neck and mouth. Sometimes he will enter me and we will have intercourse while I use the vibrator so we can both orgasm around the same time. But usually it makes me take longer to orgasm when we have intercourse.

My current partner and I use vibrators all the time … He likes the feel of the vibrations when I use one on myself during penetrative sex, and he doesn’t mind waiting and watching while I use a vibrator to get myself to orgasm before sex.

However, these pleasurable and supportive experiences are often reported in contrast to past relationships in which partners felt threatened by vibrators, and in all of these reports those partners were men: “My ex-boyfriend would get really upset if I used my vibrator. He thought I liked the vibrator more than him;” “My [ex]partner claimed ‘he wasn’t good enough,’ ‘he can’t get me off,’ etc. This was all very annoying because that was not at all the case;”

My first boyfriend was very opposed to the idea. He didn’t even like it when I touched myself in front of him, because he felt like he wasn’t needed. This made me angry, because he wasn’t allowing me to have as much pleasure as he got from sex.

Or, in a similar narrative, some respondents report a current lover that needed help to overcome these perceived threatening, emasculating sentiments. One participant made it clear that she had to let her “partner know that it is not a tool to compensate for a lack of pleasure from them.” Another replied that her partner was:

a little intimidated by the vibrator at first. He would say things like “my penis can’t vibrate, so that’s not fair.” But after explaining why and how a vibrator can be fun for both of us, he has become less intimidated by the toy.

Although sometimes developing relationships with partners who are supportive of the use of vibrators is hard-won, data in this study clearly show that the majority of those who own a vibrator eventually develop such relationships. The process of developing relationships that entail an open, supportive, and encouraging use of vibrators—both alone and with a partner—is developmental as our participants report becoming more confident and empowered by their sexualities, more trusting of their partners, and better able to communicate sexual needs and interests. One respondent was especially articulate in describing this process:

I am a cis, heterosexual woman that has only had sexual experiences with cis, heterosexual men. I had never discussed or used vibrators with my first few sexual partners mostly because I was not sexually empowered at the time, and I did not have more than a few sexual experiences with each partner. When I started dating my current boyfriend of two years, I slowly became much more sexually empowered. This came from having an emotional connection with him, trusting him 100%, and very open communication about sex and sexual satisfaction with our experiences. At one point after a few months of dating I told him I was going to a Pure Romance party and he asked me if I had any vibrators, and I answered honestly that I did. He has since asked me if I want him to use a vibrator while we have sex, but I haven’t wanted to. I’m definitely open to it in the future if that’s something we both want to do.

Among those who have not used a vibrator

Of the 46 respondents who report that they have not experimented with a vibrator, the majority, 34 of them (73.9%), indicate that they are interested. Several respondents enthusiastically replied, “I am actually very interested in using a vibrator” or “Yes, I want to use and own a vibrator.” In fact, 37 of these participants who have not experimented with a vibrator (80.4%) feel it is normative for contemporary women to own and use a vibrator—all of whom indicate that they believe at least half of all adult women own one, with some believing that vibrators are nearly ubiquitous: “I think that over 90% of sexually active women use vibrators.” Of course, these findings beg a question: if the majority of these women would like to experiment with a vibrator—and they overwhelmingly believe that it is common for women to do so—what is preventing them?

Among the 34 respondents who would like to own and use a vibrator, 15 (44%) cite financial reasons that prevent them. As one wrote, “I don’t have the money for one. Other things demand my financial attention,” and several expressed nearly identical sentiments: “I definitely want to get a safe quality product which means forking over money I can’t spend right now.” And, for some young adults who are not wholly financially independent, the cost of the vibrator is less significant than the fact that the purchase is traceable: “I still live with my parents and have a bank account connected to theirs so fear of them finding out is probably the main reason I have yet to purchase my own;”

… there’s just one problem, and this is the main thing that’s holding me back: my parents have access to my bank account for the sole purpose of making sure that I don’t have any weird purchases on my card in case someone stole my information. … if I buy a sex toy from the Adam and Eve website, for example, my parents are going to see that purchase. Now, my parents know that I’m a sexual being …. However, I just don’t really want them to know about my sexual purchases.

Twelve of the 34 respondents (35.3%) who would like to experiment with a vibrator report that embarrassment is their main hindrance. This embarrassment is a combination of both expected feelings of discomfiture in the actual purchase, as well as the possibility that, having acquired one, others might discover that they own a vibrator: “I’m too nervous to go in a store and buy one and too nervous about packaging in the mail. I would also be nervous that someone would find it;” “I am discouraged simply because I don’t want to go out and have someone see me purchase one, or for anyone to find it in my house;” “[T]he idea of ordering one and having it arrive labeled as such or purchasing from a sex shop stops me. I do not want to be judged.” Indeed, among those who report that they have not used a vibrator, when asked “Do you have any concerns or fears about purchasing and/or using a vibrator?” 21 of the 45 (46.67%) repeated these reoccurring themes of judgement and embarrassment: “There are obviously thoughts about how others would perceive you if they saw you buying a vibrator because you don’t want to feel judged;” “My fear would be that my apartment has very thin walls and I wouldn’t want my roommates to hear me use it. I also have younger sisters who love to go through my things” (emphasis in original);

I would feel judged by others for buying or using one. I wouldn’t want anyone else to know I had one or used one because I’m afraid of people judging me for not being able to find a sexual partner and resorting to “having sex” with an object.

Thus, 27 of the 34 respondents who would like to experiment with a vibrator (79.4%) have not done so for financial reasons and presumed feelings of embarrassment in either purchasing or being outed as owning a vibrator. Presumably, most of these respondents will eventually purchase and experiment with a vibrator—a majority of them readily admitting that they will—as they get older, more independent, and financially secure. In fact, this finding precisely explains why we found no difference between participants who report having used a vibrator and those who had not on any demographic variable we surveyed except age: the average age of those who have used a vibrator is 26.75 and the average age of those who have not is 22.21.

Finally, as hinted at in the data quoted above and consistent with previous findings in which some respondents regard vibrators as a “dick substitute,” six participants reported that they have not experimented with a vibrator because they have sexual partners from which they can get the “real thing.” “I am in a sexual relationship so it is not needed,” one stated. Another participant even more bluntly replied, “No, I won’t use one if I have the real thing.” An additional respondent summarized these sentiments best when she wrote, “I have thought about using one but I have never needed to use one because why use a toy when you have a dick to give you the same amount of pleasure.” These respondents clearly illustrate a discourse of “sex toy use as something women would only resort to if they weren’t having regular sex with a partner” (Wood, 2018: 129).

Discussion

The majority of participants in this study own and use a vibrator, and those who do not strongly indicate that they would like to and will likely experiment with them when they are more independent and financially secure. This finding is not surprising considering our data is derived from a convenience sample and undoubtedly reflects a selection bias toward women who are more willing to participate because they have experience using a vibrator, or would like to. Still, nationally representative samples find that vibrator use among women is extremely common—at least 50 percent (Herbenick et al., 2009, 2017)—and thus some of our key findings have important implications.

More than three-fourths of the participants in the study report initially learning about vibrators primarily in their teen years from media, peers, and family members. Yet that reported knowledge is merely the awareness of what vibrators are and what they are used for. It is imperative that young people also have easy access to important health and safety information about vibrators and other sex toys. Since they are already discussing vibrators, or at least finding out about them through media sources, young people deserve to know that vibrators are not only effective in achieving orgasm but pose no significant health risks assuming they make a wise commercial choice and abide by good hygiene practices. We can expect neither if people are ignorant of products made from potentially unsafe materials, nor if they are unaware of how to properly sanitize them. Ideally this kind of information should be included in formal sexual health curriculum and available through targeted informational media sources—especially online and in social media.

The repeated themes of shame and embarrassment are concerning. As we found repeatedly, participants report considerable angst about their desire for sexual pleasure, feelings of shame, and fears that others will know. Ironically, these negative sentiments persist even as nearly all participants in this study also report that they believe it is normative for women to own and use vibrators. We believe that this irony is attributable to something else we discovered: participants reported an empowering, supportive, and positive experience when purchasing a vibrator with friends or at Pure Romance sex toy parties (which are restricted to women, in private locations, and typically hosted among friend and peer networks). Perhaps women are alone in their feelings of shame and embarrassment because they are denied (or avoid) opportunities to openly discuss things like vibrators and masturbation among other women and hence discover that they are not alone at all.

Finally, while our sample is not representative, the participants in this study affirm the contemporary “near compulsory ownership of sex toys” (Evans et al., 2010: 115). Furthermore, despite continued themes of shame and embarrassment, participants in this study also variously narrate their experiences with vibrators as a means for empowerment, but in a decidedly post-feminist nature that is conspicuously absent of motives of sexual equity and liberation. We do not deny that vibrators are effective and empowering. But empowering in what way, for whom, and how?

Central to the ideals of post-feminism is that the goals of equity and liberation have already been achieved and, in this case, sexual pleasure is seen merely as a choice in consumer products—“an object of consumerist entitlement”—that is valued for its own sake “as an end in themselves” not as a means for achieving a higher agenda (Storr, 2003: 124, 125). Or, more specifically, post-feminist “sexual pleasure, orgasm, and knowledge about one’s body and desires are promoted by contemporary culture as an individual consumer good and not as a basis for collective political liberation” (Wood, 2018: 43, emphasis in original). As a result, in this post-feminist narrative, “empowerment seems to be cast as an individualized phenomenon” and “the notion has become commodified” (Gill, 2012: 741, 743). Moreover, this contemporary narrative of empowerment, as Attwood (2005) points out, has also been woven into other “post” ideals including stylishness, fashion, self-fulfillment, recreation, and play (in this case, with a “toy” no less). Thus, while many participants in this study reported direct experiences with sexual inequality, social change is nowhere in their narrative—nor apparently their motives—which appears to be replaced by “the sense of consumerism (you have a right to buy the product)” and an “individualized freedom from embarrassment” that manifests itself in “a consumerist kind of choice” (Storr, 2003: 32, 33). Clearly, vibrators are a potential means for both play and empowerment, but “feeling empowered is not the same as being powerful” (Storr, 2003: 31, emphasis in original).

Indeed, it may be true that, as one participant in this study claimed, vibrators are the “[b]est invention, second to the dishwasher.” And perhaps in the end this is a good analogy. Just as dishwashers are incredibly efficient in accomplishing the task of cleaning dishes, vibrators are incredibly efficient in accomplishing orgasm. But the commodification of sexual pleasure is not a pathway to liberation or empowerment any more than the purchase of a dishwasher solves, or even challenges, the structures of gender inequality that unequally assign gendered responsibilities for doing those dishes in the first place, with or without that appliance—or, in this case, a “toy.”

Footnotes

Notes

Dennis Waskul is a Professor of Sociology and Distinguished Faculty Scholar at Minnesota State University, Mankato. He has authored or co-authored numerous books including The Supernatural in Society, Culture, and History (Temple University Press, 2018), Ghostly Encounters (Temple University Press, 2016), Popular Culture as Everyday Life (Routledge, 2016), The Senses in Self, Culture, and Society (Routledge, 2011), Body/Embodiment (Ashgate, 2006), net.seXXX (Peter Lang, 2004), and Self-Games and Body-Play (Peter Lang, 2003). He has published many empirical studies including various investigations of the use of new media technologies for sexual purposes, sociology of the body, sensual sociology, and the intersections of fantasy and lived experience.

Michelle Anklan completed her Master of Social Work and earned a Graduate Certificate in Gender and Women’s Studies at Minnesota State University, Mankato. She currently works as a wilderness therapist in Salt Lake City, Utah. Her research focuses on gender, sexuality, and mindfulness, and she has presented her research at the Gender, Women, and Sexualities Conference at the University of South Dakota, the Positive Sexuality Conference in Los Angeles, CA, the Intersex Social Sciences Conference in Bologna, Italy, and the National Association of Social Work Minnesota State Conference. Michelle and two of her MSW colleagues were awarded the Bruce S. Janson Influencing Social Policy Award for their work on intersex advocacy.

References

Attwood

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