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JOPEN Pavé Grace
$48
from Amazon
I’ve been at this a long time, but sometimes something happens that reminds me just how long. Like sitting down to write this review of a Jopen toy and realizing that I’ve reviewed a vibrator from what I considered to be a new brand 11 years ago. 11 years ago. 11. years. ago. Eleven.
So I guess it’s time to give props to CalExotics for keeping their more premium line/sister brand going. It’s also time to go through my past reviews to fix some images and links, but that’s neither here nor there.
Jopen’s current offerings are more varied than the purple duel stimulators they started with. You can not buy a variety of clitoral, internal, and anal vibes from the line, although they have dropped the Comet vibrators and dildos, which many people (not me) loved.
The company is attempting to differentiate this line with touches of glam, which has resulted in the four current lines: Pavé, Amour, Starstruck, and Callie. Each line comes in its own color variations, and I have no complaints about the Pavé Grace’s light mint/teal color. I wasn’t swayed by the faux crystals; I just wanted to try another clit stimulator.
The faux crystals don’t necessarily look great in photos, and they’re not better in person. There’s also the potential for them to collect fluids. You might think that the top of the vibrator is less likely to come into contact with those, but the gem is actually a button that cycles through functions and powers on the toy, so you don’t want a lube or cum-covered finger sliding around that.
The placement of the gems forced CalExotics to get creative because this is where many toy makers would have placed the intensity controls. The result is something that is accidentally genius. I’ve raved about it before, and I’ll say it again: the controls on the side edge of Grace are intuitive to use, and more companies should take note. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like CalExotics has realized what they’ve discovered because the only other vibrator with a side button is the Chic Violet. I think it’s only designed like that because it has a grip on the top, preventing the buttons from being placed there. These aren’t even the only buttons on the toy, which is a shame.
Side button placement should be standard. It just makes sense. We’re used to the volume buttons on the sides of our phones, and many remotes now follow suit. I don’t think sex toys should necessarily take after smartphones, but I do think that placing controls there naturally takes advantage of our thumbs, which often don’t do anything while using toys. If you happen to hold the Grace in your left hand, as I do, the controls are easily pressed with your index finger, which still works pretty well.
The buttons are small, however, and even though they’re embossed, I prefer something a little more obvious. It might not be as chic, but I’m all about function over form at this point. Fortunately, there’s a nice clicky feedback when you press the buttons. I wish they weren’t quite so close together, however.
I mentioned that the gem is a button, and you need to hold it down to power the toy on or off. Each setting has 5 speeds, controlled by the buttons on the side. They start on the lowest setting. If you keep pressing the gem, you’ll cycle back through all the settings. Its first setting is steady vibration that’s fairly powerful for the size of the toy but not super deep. They quickly turn uncomfortably buzzy when you increase them (with the side buttons) however. Page through the other 7 settings, and you’ll find pulsation, escalation, and combinations of both. These settings have personally never done much for me, and Grace’s buzzy vibrations aren’t about to change my mind on that. It’s not that it’s awful per se, especially when compared to some similar toys, but it’s not my preference.
I think Grace is probably a little loud for its power output. It won’t wake the neighbors or even the roommates, and pressing it against your body (or using it under the blanket of with the shower on) can muffle some of the sound. But it’s definitely not whisper quiet. Of course, this is rarely an issue when you love the feel of the vibrations.
The rest of the toy’s design is.. okay. I think a lot of similar clit toys are too flat along the side that makes contact with your body. I wish the Siri, for example, was more convex than it is. I always wind up using my fingertips to press toys against my body because they’re not pronounced enough. That’s why I enjoyed the Laya‘s shape. Grace has a slightly more defined nub along the bottom, which is good, but it could have been.. more.
Grace is covered with a semi-soft silicone. At the edges and edges, there’s some give. This includes the nub, and might be a selling point for people who don’t like rigid toys, which a lot of clit vibrators seem to be. It’s the type of silicone that has a ton of drag and collects lint like crazy, however. You win some, you lose some, I guess.
The package touts Grace’s water resistance, and the charging port is a self-closing hole in the soft silicone, so I think it’ll do fine. For lint magnets like this, being able to withstand a full rinse is a must. Speaking of the charger, it slides right into the port with ease, something that doesn’t always happen with toys that use the hidden port design. I enjoy that I don’t have to fuss with it, and an LED by the side buttons and glows red to indicate that the toy is charged and also lights up. When the toy is on, the light glows white, which is not necessary but acceptable.
I think “acceptable” might be a good word for this toy. It’s certainly not the worst. It will get the job done, perhaps with a little effort. A lot of people will probably be content with grace, especially at its price point. Amazon has it for less than $50, although that’s below MSRP. With so many premium brands selling their toys well over $100 and other affordable toys disappearing the price might be what pushes people to buy Grace. I can’t really blame them, but I can wax nostalgic about a time when strong, deep, clitoral vibrators didn’t break the bank.
Thanks to Vibrators.com for sending me this to review, although my review took long enough that they no longer carry the Grace.
The landscape of sex education is undergoing a profound transformation, failing to keep pace with the rapid advancements in digital technology. Traditional methods of sex education, once confined to classrooms and textbooks, now compete with the vast and unregulated expanse of the internet. This shift has led to an increasingly complex battle for influence, with the sex industry and online communities stepping in to fill the gaps left by formal education. Despite the idealistic goals of open education—free, accessible learning resources for all—the realm of sex education presents unique challenges, marked by a lack of regulation and the pervasive influence of pornography.
The digital age has democratized access to information, allowing individuals to explore their sexuality and sexual health without the constraints of traditional barriers. However, this freedom comes at a cost. The sex industry, leveraging the anonymity and reach of the internet, has become a de facto source of sex education for many, presenting a skewed and often unrealistic portrayal of sexuality. This ubiquity of pornographic content online, accounting for a significant portion of web and mobile searches, does not equate to openness but rather reflects its pervasive nature.
According to the erotic portal Erobella, the United Kingdom serves as a case study in the complex relationship between societal attitudes towards sex and the challenges of sex education. The juxtaposition of embarrassment and prudishness with a secretive pursuit of sexual knowledge underscores the hurdles in fostering open and honest discussions about sexuality. The sex industry exploits this cultural ambivalence, further complicating efforts to provide comprehensive sex education.
Reflecting on the past, many of us of a ‘certain age’ can recount the limited and biased sex education of the 1970s, characterized by a focus on physical acts and a blatant disregard for female pleasure and consent. The emergence of the HIV/AIDS crisis and rising teenage pregnancies prompted a shift towards more inclusive and comprehensive sex education, yet these efforts have struggled to evolve in the face of digital innovations.
The recent push towards a curriculum that emphasizes relationships and identity over physical acts of sex marks a step in the right direction. However, the internet and technological advancements have already outpaced traditional educational methods, with young people often turning to online resources for information. This shift has highlighted the inadequacy of current sex education practices and the need for a new approach that embraces the complexities of the digital age.
Pornography, with its distortions and biases, presents numerous challenges, limiting imagination, skewing expectations, and exposing individuals to risks such as abuse and identity theft. Despite the availability of more information than ever before, sexual health is in decline, illustrating the detrimental impact of pornography’s dominance in sex education.
In response to these challenges, there are calls to leverage the reach and appeal of pornography for more comprehensive and engaging sex education. Initiatives like Pornhub’s Sexual Wellness Centre and educational programs in Denmark aim to provide informed and safe access to sexual information, acknowledging the reality of pornography’s influence while striving to counteract its negative effects.
The concept of openness in education, championed by UNESCO, urges a reconsideration of the traditional role of educators as gatekeepers of knowledge. Instead, it advocates for a more democratic approach that empowers individuals to seek out a diverse range of perspectives and information. This shift requires a radical reimagining of sex education, one that can compete with the allure and accessibility of pornography by incorporating digital literacy and a nuanced understanding of sexuality and relationships into the curriculum.
The path forward demands a collaborative effort that extends beyond the classroom, embracing a whole-of-society approach to combat the biases of the sex industry and provide a balanced, inclusive, and comprehensive exploration of sex and relationships. By incorporating digital tools and platforms, sex education can evolve to meet the needs of today’s learners, fostering a generation of informed, empowered, and healthy individuals.
It’s 2024, and everywhere you look on social media, it seems like people are speaking in code. In some places, people avoid using adjectives; in others, potentially violent words are censored. Sometimes, the effort to attempt to avoid your account or group being punished by site administrators is so great that I am surprised anyone bothers at all.
And it is not necessarily paranoia. I know plenty of people who have been shadow-banned, suspended, or permanently removed from social media sites.
I now frequently have my Facebook account limited if I laugh react a funny cat picture.
So I understand why the people and pages I follow will use “S3x” or “S-x” instead of sex because there’s a real risk that the content we post will catch the attention of some person or bot, and our accounts will be throttled if not entirely removed. Our hard work will be instantly deleted, and our reach diminished as we are forcibly disconnected from followers. What’s worse, our attempts to educate people about sexuality will be thwarted, and streams of income may be ripped from us.
There are very real consequences to not playing by the rules of our social media overlords.
And I hate it.
It’s not just that trying to read these posts becomes nearly impossible (and I cannot imagine how much more difficult it is for anyone using a screen reader!), which has forced some people to give up on spaces that enforce these rules.
Social media should not censor sex, not when they let rampant violence, harassment, and misogyny go unchecked, and especially not when lack of access to such information contributes to sexual assault, the spread of STIs, suicide, and other general misery.
Censoring sex actively harms people.
Yet, these sites do exactly that.
As much as we can try to diversify by starting a SubStack or Patreon or by joining BlueSky or Mastodon or one of the other overly hopeful replacements for the tech giants, they do not replace the reach offered by Instagram, Tiktok, Twitter, or, yes, even Facebook.
Sex bloggers, educators, and therapists are in good company with retailers, venues, certification providers, and others, none of whom feel safe using accurate words to describe their profession, products, or services. It is a spot between the sharpest rock and the hardest place.
And there’s no end in sight. In fact, the censorship only seems to have worsened since I first started this draft!
What is the end game in all of this?
Platforms that are so sanitized of sex that we lose decades of progress? Sex returning to the taboo shadows, so there is no hope of satisfying relationships, and pain becomes the norm once more? Difficulty finding legitimate sex education that leads people to risky sources? Funding cut from sexual research? Oh, wait.
I mean, I see it happening before my eyes. But I don’t want to believe it. And I can’t understand it because such a world harms everyone, even those who are pushing for it or who allow it to happen. Maybe they lack foresight, but I do not.
And my foresight tells me that we are on a slope that couldn’t be more slippery if we emptied a case of lube on it. Of course, this isn’t new, but it’s become impossible to ignore, much like all the creative expressions of the word “Sex” on social media practically scream at me.
Maybe, for a bit, these efforts will garner some attention because they’re so jarring. Or maybe people will learn to ignore them because what’s the point when you need to decrypt all the content on your feed? And what do we do when the tech overlords catch on and ban these workarounds? At what point will they have to draw the line? Will it be when censorship interferes with their profits? Or do we need a new sex-friendly platform with reasonable rules and allowances to take the world by storm? Is such a thing even possible?
I have so many questions and so few answers. I don’t know if anyone does.
But I do know that I don’t want to censor the word “Sex.” So, I won’t. Not here. Not on social media.
I recommend you sign up for email notifications (see the option in the sidebar) if you’re interested in reading about sex without censorship, should my failure to comply result in me being banned from social media.
Fun Factory Laya III
$109
from Fun Factory
I cannot believe Fun Factory has released three new versions of the Laya, and I have yet to wax poetic about its meaning in my life.
So why don’t I do that?
I have fond memories of using the original Laya Spot while sprawled sideways on my oversized armchair as Family Guy played in the background. I was in my San Antonio apartment, which I shared with my then-husband, who was, at the time, deployed. It was a difficult time in many ways, but I had my cats and a few trustworthy toys to get me three. Indeed, that was the year when I discovered I could squirt.
Much has changed since then: my relationship status, my pets, my location, and my education level, to name just a few. How often I use sex toys is also not the same. As it turns out, Fun Factory’s “lay on” vibrator isn’t the same, either. If you can believe it, they’re now on the fourth version of the Laya, although it’s the Laya III because one was just an iteration of the Laya II, which I had things to say about.
Laya III is a noticeably different toy from these previous options. The new light teal (which Fun Factory calls “Sage Green” but is definitely not) or lavender options remind me more of the original’s colors than either of the Laya II revamps. Folks might not remember, but the Laya Spot came in a variety of dual-color combinations. It was fun, if not financially feasible in the long run. However, Fun Factory has done away entirely with the contrasting side panels, instead opting for an allover color. This makes it a seamless toy, however.
Another change comes in the texture, which is now diagonally ribbed along the top and sides of the toy–everywhere but the place where it will make contact with your clitoris. To be honest, I’m not sure that this achieves much other than aesthetics. I suppose if your hands are full of lube, it might be easier to grasp, but I did not typically use lube with clitoral toys, and if your fingers were that coated, they would slip right off the smooth buttons.
As for the silicone itself, it’s more velvety and has less drag. It’s not a lint magnet like the Laya Black Line, which my pictures clearly show. I swear, there is no way to remove lint from this thing, but that is, fortunately, not an issue carried over to the Laya III. Of course, the hard plastic of the original didn’t attract lint, so it’s nice not to have to worry about this again.
I still don’t know if I really like the placement of these buttons, but I think that’s a me problem. The bubble design from the Laya II carried over, meaning it’s far easier to press than those on the original Laya Spot. However, I just don’t love them. Truthfully, I want something bigger, flatter, and just… impossible to miss. I’ve spent too much time using vibrators to fumble for the controls that are less than obvious.
But what about the vibrations controlled by those buttons? A side-by-side comparison of the Laya III and Black Line Laya shows that the Black Line’s lowest level of vibrations is stronger, but it has fewer (3) levels of steady vibrations than the Laya III. The highest level seems about the same on both, so the change in the Laya III’s 5 levels is more incremental, something that is absolutely not needed. That makes it bizarre that they toute these unnecessary incremental changes as a customizable experience.
And while the vibrations on the highest setting are similar, they are not identical. The Black Line’s vibrations feel more targeted, although “pinpoint” wouldn’t be accurate. The Laya III feels chaotically diffused in contrast. I actually prefer the Black Line, a toy that previously left me incredibly disappointed. When you consider that the Laya II is stronger than the Black Line, it’s clear that Laya III’s motor is a step backyard.
Y’all, I gotta be honest, I didn’t look much into the Laya III before I tried it. I saw the name, and I wanted it. I completely missed the fact that the motor apparently vibrates and taps until I watched the video after starting this review. And if that’s supposed to be true, I literally cannot feel it. It feels like marketing BS, and I hate typing that.
This is where I also admit that I didn’t realize the texture is supposed to hold lube with the suggestion that you can use either end of the Laya III for pinpoint stimulation. But we’ve already established that the vibrations feel more diffuse at the stronger end than previous of the toy, so there’s no way the weaker end will somehow feel more targeted.
So, really, why did Fun Factory make this toy?
Or, rather, why didn’t they just promote a previous iteration of the Laya that showed how it could be versatile? Because I think it has always deserved more love than it got, and there was no need to improve upon a perfectly good design once they upgraded to a rechargeable motor with decent strength.
Barring a drastic change, I think we got the best Laya we’re going to get our hands on a few years ago. Of course, not everyone has a previous version, so the Laya III isn’t a terrible option for them. After all, if you don’t know what you’re missing, how can you miss it? Some folks might swoon over Laya III, especially if they don’t have much to compare it to, but we’re long past the days of the original, which cost less than $50.
As a lifelong leftie, I’ve struggled to use scissors and pens that cause pain (and don’t even get me started on how being short makes it all that much worse!). And while I can now buy (often for a higher price) counterparts that promise not to hurt my hand, but there’s still one area without any consideration for handedness: sex toys.
For the most part, no sex toys are handed, unless of course, you count those finger vibrators. Their controls are typically centered along the handle or base (unless they’re even more ridiculously inaccessible), which I do not find particularly intuitive, especially when it comes to changing settings in use because I cannot see them and sometimes can’t even reach them. No one loves having to stop using a toy just to turn up the vibrations! Yet, companies have failed to produce vibrators and other powered sex toys that truly reflect the fact that, most of the time during use, our hands are not neatly grasping the base of the toy. Instead, they point down, come from an angle, or are upside down–or all three.
What makes this even more frustrating is that the answer is right there: thumbs! Most of us have two that aren’t entirely occupied by holding a toy and are in a better position to access the controls than our other fingers. However, those centered buttons at a toy’s base aren’t quite what we need to make vibrators more user-friendly or, perhaps, ergonomic. Companies really need to go back to square one when it comes to positioning their controls.
Don’t get me wrong, some companies have tried other things. JeJoue Mimi and Mimi Soft have buttons on the butt of the toy, and the now defunct We-Vibe Wish did something similar (see also: the Scoop). But being able to do that with clit stimulators doesn’t help with insertable toys, which may be long enough that we can’t reach controls on the very base of the toy, let alone do so with enough dexterity to use them how we want.
MysteryVibe was thinking outside of the box with their Crescendo, and I don’t mean just because of the bendable shaft. They placed two buttons on each side of the shaft to make it easier to power on and off and move through settings. If you’re righthanded, your thumb will press the button I would press while holding it with my index and vice versa, but it’s a step in the right direction.
Similarly, if you can get over (or if you enjoy) the bulky, body-fluid-grabbing faux gems on Jopen’s Pavé Grace, the button placement is probably the best I’ve ever seen on a clit stimulator. It’s so intuitive and natural that as soon as I used it, I wondered what the hell we’d been doing to this point, especially because all of my mobile devices have similarly placed volume buttons–not to mention my TV remote. I’m not sure how much that challenged design and production, but I sure as hell appreciate the step we’ve taken toward an ergonomic vibrator.
We just need to close our eyes and take a giant leap that involves saying a permanent “Goodbye” to those centered buttons on the top or base of a powered sex toy.
But that introduces a slight problem of handedness. The folks at Cal Exotics opted to put the buttons on Grace’s left side so that righthanded folks could easily access them with their thumb. I’ve got slightly less-than-ideal access with my index finger as a leftie. It’s usable but not flawless. Of course, it makes sense to opt for that button placement as righthanded folks make up the vast majority of the population, and it’s already such an improvement over most controls I really shouldn’t be complaining.
But that doesn’t mean that there isn’t something in my little heart that wants a lefthanded sex toy with perfectly placed buttons where my thumb can reach them for uninterrupted stimulation. It’s not realistic for companies to make two variations of every vibrator, nor do I suspect that putting buttons on opposite sides of a toy would be a practical and affordable solution. But I can dream, can’t I?
I don’t think it’s a complete pipedream that sex toy makers might focus on comfort to elevate their products and brands, but maybe I should pester Roku into making a vibrator in the meantime.
As I type this, Thanksgiving is minutes away third minutes underway, and Fun Factory’s Black Friday sale is going strong!
You can save 30% off all toys and 10% off accessories and lube. There are tons of goodies worth splurging on including the Jewels Big Boss in a great lavender ($980, any of the Stronic line ($105 to $140), the limited edition Amor dildo in rainbow ($32), the fan-favorite Bootie butt plug ($24), the newer Vim wand ($118), Fun menstrual cups ($28), and Smartballs ($21).
The folks at Fun Factory are including the brand-new Laya III, the newest version of one of my favorite clitoral vibes, in this sale, too! It’s significantly under $100 at $76! It’s a great time to save and try a new vibrator, which I will soon review. Rest assured that I can already say that I prefer it over the Laya II.
Plus, it’s such an interesting shade of pale blue, which I am sure some of you will appreciate. And even if Laya isn’t your cup of tea, Fun Factory’s sale is sure to have something for everyone.
A common scammer tactic involves threats of releasing nonexistent masturbation videos.
I’ve received a few scammy spam messages identical to the one above this week. It’s not the first time I’ve opened my inbox to such messages, and I’m sure it won’t be the last, either. In fact, I almost missed it because Thunderbird correctly marked it as spam.
What you cannot see is that the sender appears to be me. To the average person, this might lend credence to the threat. Previous versions have included real passwords that became exposed rather than claiming to use some “Remote Administration Tool” malware to record the user and it has not always appeared to come from my email account, but the sentiment remains the same.
Some people know it as a Sextortion Email Scam, although many victims would likely not know if this is a common type of scam or what it’s called. Ignoring the fact that people may fall for the messages because they do not understand how easily scammers can spoof any email address, including their own, and how their efforts become untraceable by using Bitcoin, I find these scam messages to be an interesting lens through which we can understand society.
The scammers make several assumptions about their victims:
Several of these assumptions are likely to be true. After all, many people masturbate, and most devices have integrated cameras.
Perhaps most interesting is the assumption that anyone would pay to prevent their loved ones from accessing evidence of their sexuality, so much so that their worry would prevent them from checking whether the message is a scam. I am sure this is occasionally true. I’ve received similar messages for years, and scammers only need to trick one unsuspecting recipient for their effort to pay off.
Yet I cannot help but think about how the threat wouldn’t be effective if we did not live in a culture that shamed sexuality. If we recognized our inherent sexual natures in all their variety, messages like this would have little power. Sure, it might be uncomfortable if someone in our address books saw us in a sexually precarious position, just like it can be awkward to walk in on our parents having sex, but it shouldn’t be the end-of-the-world scenario as this spam suggests.
Greater than 99% of all people exist because someone else had sex, and we all recognize that sex can be pleasurable. The time and effort people spend pretending otherwise isn’t just unnecessary, it’s entirely misguided. And the attempts to deny others their sexuality is harmful in more ways than one. From slut shaming to barring comprehensive and inclusive sex education, we live in a world where sex doesn’t get the respect it deserves.
So, it’s no surprise that spammers might use sexuality as an angle to scam people out of money. But it is incredibly frustrating that sexuality is still so powerfully attached to shame in 2023.
