Why am I made to feel ashamed for not owning a vibrator?

“Please don’t judge me for this, but as a progressive, independent and outspoken woman living in the year 2022, I’ve never bought a vibrator. Nor do I have any desire to.”

I like to think of myself as a fairly progressive person, particularly when it comes to women’s rights. Writing for a publication like Fashion Journal, it’s par for the course. I’m a firm believer in gender equality and women’s sexual liberation.

But my stance on these topics also means I harbour a secret shame. It’s a fact that I’m reluctant to reveal because it typically causes other women around me to reel in horror. Of course, they quickly compose themselves and proceed to grill me, with a veneer of curiosity. 

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Please don’t judge me for this, but as a progressive, independent and outspoken woman living in the year 2022, I’ve never bought a vibrator. Nor do I have any desire to. Am I sexually repressed? Possibly. I have certainly grappled with that question over time. I was raised in a Catholic family that didn’t talk much about sex. I never had The Talk with my mum, and we politely stayed quiet in sex scenes during movies. 

I do wonder if the conversation should have been more open growing up, but I also think that’s pretty standard in a household with younger siblings. It was never something to be ashamed of, just something we didn’t share. 

My upbringing could have led to some internalised shame around sex, but honestly, I don’t think that’s it. Unlike many Australian women, I regularly (though sporadically) practise self-pleasure and thoroughly enjoy it. I’ll watch, listen to and read porn and feel no shame or hesitation around doing so.

Likewise, I love having sex with my long-term partner and am always open to experimenting when the mood arises. But something about using a sex toy, whether alone or with my partner, just doesn’t appeal to me. 

Vanilla sex

For context (and I think this is important) I much prefer ‘vanilla sex’ to anything else. To me, it feels more intimate and allows me to connect with my partner (or my own body) on a more emotional level. I find I’m less in my head, and more present in my body, when the sex is simple and uncomplicated. Unsurprisingly, my favourite position is missionary. 

Again, I’m reluctant to admit this to most. Not only is it a deeply personal fact, but vanilla sex is largely regarded as ‘unsexy’. I would hate to be considered a starfish, sexually repressed or worst of all, ‘bad in bed’. All of these impressions are wrong, by the way.

I think those who are best in bed are those who listen to and observe their partner’s cues, so they can maximise the pleasure of the other person while ensuring they’re enjoying themselves at the same time. To push yourself to a space where you feel uncomfortable during sex isn’t going to make you better in bed – if your partner has any awareness of your pleasure and enjoyment during sex, it’s going to do the opposite. 

Sex and feminism

I’ve long grappled with how my love of vanilla sex intersects with my feminism. In decades past, it was ‘unladylike’ to be too sexy or too wild in bed. Sex was utilitarian, a means for the man to quell his desires and for humankind to procreate. A woman’s desire and pleasure were unimportant at best, and discouraged or prevented at worst. 

Sex toys for women, then, are undoubtedly a big ‘fuck you’ to the centuries of sexual repression we’ve had to face. They allow us to take control of and prioritise our own pleasure, not just cater to the needs of our partner. 

So yes, I’m a big advocate for the use of sex toys, regardless of gender. But personally, I just don’t like using them myself. You can see why this has made me feel somewhat anti-feminist.

If I dive a little deeper, I can easily call bullshit on these ‘anti-feminist’ feelings. The purpose of gender equality is to allow women to make their own decisions about what feels good for them. To have the freedom to choose whether to use a sex toy, without stigma on either end, is ultimately what we should be striving for. 

In this way, this admission is a way for me to take control of my own sexuality, not try and fit into a box for others. But it does feel like the pendulum has swung too far the other way. With the widespread acceptance (and even celebration) of sex toy use, it seems like there’s also a pressure to use (and thoroughly enjoy) them. 

I’ve been in many a room where someone has exclaimed to another woman in shock, “You don’t own a vibrator?”. Likewise, I’ve seen other women share their own secret shame of not owning a sex toy. It’s always presented as a caveat to the conversation they’re having, like they’re not entitled to weigh in on a sexual conversation because they aren’t as sexually advanced.

The feeling is a lot like what we felt in high school, for any sexual late bloomers out there. Our friends had lost their virginity but we weren’t quite there, and so we felt inadequate, for reasons we couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

The only difference between then and now is that in high school, I understood I’d one day most likely be ready for sex. When it comes to sex toys, however, I don’t think it’s so much a question of feeling ‘ready’, it’s just pure preference. 

Maybe you’d like it if you tried it?

This is a very valid point, and I encourage all women to try new things and experiment sexually in the bedroom, provided they’re comfortable, safe and have all necessary consent. 

Personally, I’ve tried using a sex toy a number of times. Partly because I wanted to see if I’d enjoy it, partly because I felt ashamed to be a woman in my thirties who had never used one and partly because I didn’t want to feel left out of conversations. 

The latter reasons are a terrible motivation, and should never have come into my decision-making. But as a flawed human being, they were weighty factors for me. And I wouldn’t be writing honestly if I didn’t share these. 

So did I like it? Not really. And I can’t say I didn’t give it a red hot crack. This particular sex toy offers clitoral or G-spot stimulation (or both) with a range of vibration rhythms and intensities. I’ve used it in a number of ways to find what works for me, and ultimately I’ve found it just doesn’t. 

Of course, all this isn’t to say never say never. The beauty of being a progressive, independent and outspoken woman is I’m free to change my mind whenever I feel like it. Our sexual preferences inevitably change with time – if they didn’t, we’d still be having the same terrible sex we had as teens. 

 For more on not liking vibrators, try this.