Turned On: Science, Sex and Robots

August 13th, 2019

 

Writing about science, sex, and robots is a daunting task, but one that Dr. Kate Devlin, computer scientist and AI expert, proves she is up to in Turned On. Almost immediately, I found Turned On to be a delight, mostly because Kate Devlin is funny and uses her humor in this book. However, that specific brand of British humor that I became accustomed to when reading authors such as Douglas Adams is also present in this book, which made it all the more entertaining for me.

Rest assured that while Turned On is entertaining, it’s also incredibly educational. Whether Devlin is writing us about the current state of sex dolls and robots (hint: less advanced than some people would have us believe or fear) or examining the implications of sex dolls that might look like minors, Kate Devin did her homework. Devlin’s research took her around the world, and she brings the reader with her to attend English conferences, speak with sex doll connoisseurs in Michigan, meet the manufacturers in California, and more. In this way, the reader gets an overall picture that sex tech is truly a worldwide affair.

Before diving into where we are right now, Kate Devlin writes about the history of sex toys and erotic representations and breaks down the myth that vibrator was created to cure hysteria in women. Rather, its use as a sexual device was known but not discussed. This wasn’t news to me and wouldn’t be anyone who is familiar with the history of sex toys, but the myth is pervasive. I’ve read it in more than one book. Devlin doesn’t settle for pervasive myths, however.

Even if you are intimately familiar with sex toys and their sex toys, you may not really know the current state sex robots or what is on the horizon for teledildonics. This is where Devlin’s research sheds new light on the subject. She goes back to basics when she defines robots and discusses the reality and implication of them. In many ways, robots have improved our lives, and the reader gets the feeling that Kate Devlin thinks they can improve our sex lives as well. As she dives into computers and how machines can learn to think, and the relationship between man and machine, she illustrates the finer details and outlines the broad context that helps the reader understand the significance of sex robots.

While this book is ostensibly about science sex and robots, you can’t help it feel like it’s actually about what it means to be human and to interact with other people. I think that’s the crux of the sex robot debate. When Devlin delves into the more recent history of sex dolls and those who purchase them, she doesn’t fall into the trap of picking fun at the people who choose to use them. She approaches the subject with a kind of necessary sensitivity. Yes, these people are mostly men, but they’re still human, after all, even if their companions are robots.

Turned On isn’t the only book I’ve read recently that tackles how technological changes will affect us. However, it’s the only one that’s thought to broach the topic of sex let alone sex robots.  Devlin gives the subject its due respect. It’s not something that everyone can do well or would even be willing to do, yet Devlin does. Judging from the public’s obsession with sex robots, it’s difficult to understand why so many academics ignore the subject. Kate writes about how the 2016 Love and Sex with Robots conference she attended was moved twice before finding a home at Goldsmiths, University of London.

The questions that she attempts to answer and even those that she admits cannot be answered at this point in time are those that anyone who has given any thought to sex robots has entertained at one point or another:

Just what is sex, and is sex with a robot masturbation? Can sex robots mitigate violence, especially sexual violence, against humans or will it worsen objectification of women? If robots become sentient, will we need to protect them from violent offenders (the author busts the incorrectly reported myth that robot “Samantha” was “molested” at one con) or protect ourselves? How will sex robots affect sex work? What are the legal implications of sex robots or someone else using your likeness to create one? Will people want to marry robots and, if so, what will that mean? Is sex with a robot still sex? Do robot opponents have a point when they say that sex robots only contribute to further objectification of women? Will we see sex robot brothels like the doll brothels that already exist in Japan and Europe?

In Turned On, Devlin spends some time examining why sex robots so often look and sound like women (at least one misunderstood study has been cited by those who choose to use female sounding voices) and the implications of this. Again, she pulls back the curtain to reveal how the state of robots is a commentary on the state of humanity.

Fembots are designed to play to cultural stereotypes, generally taking an eroticized form: shapely, sexy and obedient. There’s an essence of the Femme Fatale about some of them – the perfect woman, but without an underlying potential for danger.

The author’s background in technology is never more apparent than when she considers the privacy risks that sex robots present. She points to the vulnerabilities of one of We-Vibe’s smart toys that were revealed by hackers in 2016 who were able to access information collected from toys. There are so many implications of sex robotics, and Devlin leaves out none.

Perhaps the most important question of all and the one that Devlin ends the book with is where we go from here. After reading Turned On, I found myself curious and hopeful but also with a side of trepidation. Like any technological breakthrough, sex robots have the potential to change the world. But if humanity misuses that power, those changes could be awful instead of awesome. Kate makes a plea at the end of her book for designers to think abstract and fantastic — outside of the box — when creating sex robots. She implores the world to focus on how a robot can give pleasure and why they don’t have to imitate women to do so. It might surprise some that Devlin believes the current fembot style robots will remain a niche market and that true innovation can go much further when those limitations are lifted.

And those changes are happening. In fact, Kate added an epilogue after she wrote the initial bulk of the book about how technology had already changed so much. Turned On may not be accurate for long if changes keep occurring at this pace. Yet it’s still a good resource for anyone who wants to know how we got to where we are. Kate Devlin makes you laugh along the way, which helps balance any worries you may have about sex robots and the influence of technology on our sex lives. Her writing similarly balances education and entertainment, and I’m glad to recommend Turned On to anyone who has an interest in the subject.

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It’s 2019, When Will Sex Toys Deliver on Their High-Tech Promises?

January 8th, 2019

It’s 2019. We’ve reached the age of Back to the Future and Blade Runner. But if you take a look outside, it looks nothing like those dystopian movies have promised. And while we don’t know what the sex toys of the fictional future are supposed to look like, I can’t help but wonder if it would measure up. I know that I personally am a bit disappointed at how sex toys have failed to reach their potential by now.

Why?

I’m glad you asked.

Bluetooth Isn’t Body Compatible

As long as we rely on wireless technology that radiates through the air to connect devices, using them on and in our bodies is going to present a challenge. I’ve had Bluetooth toys that barely connected before I even inserted them let alone remaining connected while inside me, and I’m not holding my phone anywhere near 10 meters away from my vagina (the Bluetooth limit for most mobile devices). It’s enough to make me balk at the idea ever again, and yet, I find myself trying smart toys in hopes they won’t frustrate me.

And remote-controlled vibrators? They’re still ridiculously inconsistent. Every time some poor Redditor asks which remote-controlled vibe is the best because they’re too naive to realize that none of them deserves the title, I feel so bad for them. I shake my head and move along. Everyone has to make their own mistakes, learn their own lessons.

I Don’t Want to Use an App When I’m Fucking Myself — Or Anyone Else

I’ve said it before and I expect to have to reiterate: I don’t want to use an app with my vibrator. I don’t want my germ-covered phone in my lube-covered hand when I’m trying to get off. I don’t want to to have to unlock my phone when it becomes inactive because I was focusing on my clit.

But even if I wasn’t a germophobe, there are plenty of times when masturbating requires two hands. So how will I use the damn toy then?

God forbid the day when the only way you can use a vibrator is to with an app. The buttons will be removed, and I will have no use for the toy other than as a projectile.

Now, if anyone else wants to use an app-controlled toy on me, I might be inclined to let them… as long as the toy is functionally pleasurable. Of course…

Innovation Doesn’t Replace the Need for Quality Vibrations

Does a vibrator have a nice shape? Does it twist or bend into place? That’s great, but don’t forget about the main function: vibration. If a toy has barely-there vibrations or vibrations high-pitched enough that dogs would object (as would I!), there’s no reason for those innovative features. Because I’ll never use it.

Another high-priced paperweight? Sigh. If I must.

Imitation Might Be Flattery, But It’s Also Frustrating

Any time a sex toy manufacturer comes up with anything even remotely innovative, a slew of other companies follow suit, often with lower-priced or inferior products. I wouldn’t expect it any other way, and competition can certainly work for consumers. But when markets become flooded with all of these duplicates, I cannot help but wait for the ties to go back down to a point when I can see anything — anything — else when I log on to my favorite retailers or step into a sex toy store.

You know what I’m talking about. Dozens of companies copied Lelo’s early designs, including various toys for men, but even Lelo has resorted to duplicating the clitoral pulsation/suction toys that were all the rage last year.

Of course, I may sound ungrateful or hopelessly picky. I realize that there are people working incredibly hard behind the scenes, that innovation isn’t easy (otherwise, it would be much more commonplace), and that technology is tricky. Yet, I struggle to think of instances of technology or innovation that has won me over. 

The most recent technological improvement in sex toys that I really enjoyed was Lelo’s oral sex simulator, and I may be in the minority there.

I know that smart toys will change the landscape of Kegel exercisers by providing valuable feedback, but I also know there’s still a lot of ground to cover. I’ve enjoyed pressure-responsive vibrators. Internal batteries have been revolutionary. Yet for every toy that provides pleasure, there are myriad underwhelming vibrators, glitching motors, defective models, and confusing designs to contend with.

When I try something that’s new and unusual, I always wind up saying something like

It’s different, but that’s certainly not a selling point in this case.

The novelty is interesting, but the followthrough is lacking. I wonder what I’ll do with a toy that fails to provide on the very premise that sold us all on it.

The bigger the promise, the harder the reality hits.

And that brings us back around to the reality of sex toy tech in 2019. It’s getting there, sure. I just wish it was moving faster than a snail’s pace.

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Female Sexuality: Redacted and Undefined?

June 3rd, 2015

There is a process I go through, a process with which most of us are familiar, every time I get a new device. Even reformatting my Android phone or switching between keyboard apps makes this process a necessary one. It’s the act of adding words, whether slang, inside jokes or simply those left out for some reason or another by the keyboard developer.

I’ve posted screenshots of my personal dictionary to my friends because I was amused at the content. As you’d expect if you’d ever had a conversation with me in person, there are four-letter words in all their versions. If it can be used a noun, an adjective and a verb, I will love it all the more as a practical tool. Perhaps this is why “Fuck” truly is one of my favorite words. I can construct sentences from “Fuck” using only different tenses and word forms, and those all appear in my personal dictionaries.

personal dictionary

Swype isn’t down with sexting

Now, you can certainly write me off as a pervert with a dirty mouth, and I wouldn’t argue with that descriptor. It’s certainly not untrue. But it’s not painting the whole picture. You see, when my dictionary consists almost solely of words such as “cock” or “cunt,” it paints an even picture of the type of words that are withheld — and sometimes even suppressed — by the creators of these apps.

At best, it portrays them as prudes who are overly concerned with protecting their users from inappropriate conduct. And I don’t think “cunt” necessarily needs to be a suggestion as I hastily swipe away on my phone’s screen. This particular slang isn’t so common that it need pop up in our everyday communications, but what about “Sex?” Regardless of keyboard or how frequently I use that word — and you can bet it’s often! — no keyboard I’ve ever used has wanted to make it easier for me to easily add one of my most favorite words to a communique.

At worst, it highlights how ingrained misogyny is in our society. Yes, you’ve read that correctly. When I first picked up my Kindle Fire, I couldn’t imagine a specific time that I would send a message or post a tweet discussing vulvas and clits, especially given the awkwardness of the default — and only — keyboard. But I knew that time would come one day. It was a matter of when and not if.

I was utterly taken aback when the medical words, the correct terminology for female body parts, the very phrases that some people refuse to use erotically because they’re too cold and clinical sounding, were completely missing from my keyboard’s default dictionary. I couldn’t talk about my — or any — clitoris or vulva, even in a nonsexual sense, without first adding those words to a dictionary.

And, yes, I checked to see whether my Kindle was already aware of “penis.” It would appear that Amazon had truly developed a dick-tionary, a collection of vocabulary that acknowledged and suggested the rightful terms for a man’s reproductive organs but not those belonging to women. You can talk about the perineum, the anus and even testicles, but you’ll have to add “vagina.” It’s like this potential space in the human body has been obscured by the retail giant, like the non-sexual organs possessed by Alan Rickman’s angel character in the movie “Dogma.”

Ironically, my tablet recognize “kegels.” But I have to wonder if this is only because this is the name of a man, a doctor, who developed them. Without the vagina with which to do these exercises, that word certainly loses its usefulness! At least my Kindle produces this suggestion after having added the word to my user dictionary, rather than keeping it hidden away because it knows damned well why it was hidden in the first place!

There is some part of me that admits we live in a society both appalled by and obsessed with sex, and she is not overly surprised by these omissions of the suppression of sexually suggestive, well, suggestions when it comes to smartphone keyboards. It may be 2015, but I’m still forward thinking when compared to some. But there is no part of me that think this is an acceptable policy when only applied to female sexual organs in their most basic variations that are easily found in a traditional dictionary.

Are we still so uncomfortable with sex as a whole that we must police technology to discourage the use of clinical vernacular? Are we so obsessed with not talking about sex that nothing other than unhelpful, cutesy slang for our body parts, our orgasms and our sexual activity must be used, much to the chagrin of reviewers, sex educators and others like myself who talk about sex on a daily basis?

What does it say about a society when we obscure a woman’s body parts with black bars on TV screens and lines of code on our devices? A woman may have those parts — indeed, a trans-woman must have those parts to be considered as such — and there’s no negotiation that she must make them available to men. But she musn’t display or talk about them

Perhaps what it says about society is less important than what it does to society. It leads to woman in 50-year marriages without not a single orgasm to show for it. Women spend decades not receiving oral sex from partners who routinely accept blowjobs from their partners. They don’t discuss sex with their partners or even view talking about one of the most important elements of their relationship as a priority. It starts when we’re children, and it never ends for some people. Thanks to the Internet, more people are discussing sex than ever, discovering what their bodies can do, expanding their sexual satisfaction and improving their lives.

But the wrong messages — or no messages at all — are still being spread in other places. Teen girls aren’t even aware that masturbation is something they can do because sex ed only mentions boys jacking off. As a teenager, I once had to explain to my friend that her urethra and vagina weren’t the same body part. I’m constantly shocked about the number of women who can’t name their own reproductive organs or give even a brief overview of how their birth control works!

Women are afraid to discuss sexual function and dysfunction to the point of accidental but completely preventable pregnancy. A shockingly-large portion of women are afraid to discuss these things with doctors, medical professionals who should be at the front line, helping to combat sexually-transmitted infections and raise awareness about cancers other than break cancer one month out of a year.

The implications are worrying and far more vast than I could articular in these paragraphs. Indeed, it seems like I could write an entire book about the ramifications of dusting female sexuality under the rug.

This is why so-called scientists are still publishing articles debunking female ejaculation as a myth and British lawmakers have banned essentially any pornography focusing on a woman’s pleasure. Are we only allowed to discuss female sexuality inasmuch as it pertains to a man? Is it only okay to speak of it in hushed whispers but not in any manner where another person or computer can bear witness to the conversation having taken place to begin with?

Whether in print or on the screen, every effort is made to ban us from discussing, discovering and divulging what is one of the most important aspects of humanity — and certainly the most important aspect of myself as a person and a woman — and so few people seem to notice, let alone care.

But I cannot help but care. Because I am a woman. I have a vagina, a vulva and a clitoris. They don’t always make me happy, but they are mine. And I want to help others feel the same about their own parts.

I care because I want to send messages to my lovers about my cunt. I want to continue writing articles and sex toy reviews on this blog. I want to encourage my peers to seek medical advice when something seems amiss with their vaginas, and I don’t want to hear another living soul refer to the entire vulva as a pussy. I don’t want anyone to think they must call their vaginal canal a “vajayjay.”

And I certainly can’t stand that idea that anyone would subconsciously internalize, even for a second, the idea that discussion any of these things — and so many more — is taboo because their so-called smartphones don’t offer the terms as suggestions.

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