Packaged in a brown glass bottle with a black pump top, it might be mistaken for Aesop hand soap, the ubiquitous status cleanser. Or, no: White lettering across the front says "Shine"-hair product maybe? Wrong again. It's lube, very beautiful lube. Lube designed to look both elevated and everyday, chic and matter-of-fact. You could leave it out when your parents drop by and, hypothetically, not die of embarrassment.
Maude, the maker of this particular lube, is part of a wave of young brands whose founders decided sex products were overdue for a design overhaul and then set about offering their own alternatives. The issue isn't a lack of products, says Maude CEO Eva Goicochea. The problem, she says, is that many of them fail to align with consumers' attitudes toward sex and aesthetic sensibilities. The incumbents-think glittery, leopard print vibrators-have been marketed in a way that feels too Vegas, too college, too evocative of what Goicochea calls "Friday night bad decision sex."
She wanted to make products that felt inclusive of all bodies and ages. Her goal was to convey comfort, familiarity, and friendliness, with a focus on wellness-not because the term is trendy, though it is, but because sex very much affects (and is affected by) a person's physical and mental health.
Launched in 2018, Maude sells oatmeal-colored packages of natural latex condoms, massage oil candles "with warming notes of amber, cedar leaf, lemongrass, tonka bean and medjool date," and an unassuming, off-white vibrator that wouldn't look out of place in a Muji store. (Maude only makes one style of vibrator, to help overwhelmed customers cut through the noise of the crowded sex toy market.) Maude's branding is classic direct-to-consumer startup minimalism: Pared-back and clean, humanized by fun little doodles, promising no-brainer solutions to the contemporary problem of consumer overload. It makes sex, a very complicated thing, seem remarkably easy to navigate.
Buying products in service of your sex life can be awkward and intimidating, and for companies like Maude, using design and branding that don't scream S-E-X sex-branding that could be used to sell Allbirds sneakers or a Casper mattress-is one way of helping nervous shoppers feel more comfortable. When it comes to sex products, no one style is objectively better than the rest. But design always sends a message. A stainless steel butt plug with a giant aquamarine gem at the end ( available on Ebay) might make someone feel like they're starring in an X-rated version of Titanic, where a more understated product from the men's health startup Hims might say: Sex is a normal thing that you do with your body. Here's some unassuming premature ejaculation spray to help you along the way.
The bodycare brand Nécessaire has reframed lube as an essential element of a person's personal care arsenal-one that deserves to look every bit as sophisticated as the holy grail grooming products we proudly display on our vanities and bathroom counters. The brand only sells five products, each with a name suggesting they're the be-all and end-all of their categories: The Body Wash, The Body Lotion, The Body Exfoliator, The Body Serum, The Sex Gel. Nécessaire's lubricant comes in the same elegant, black-white-and-neutral packaging style as the rest of its products. It seems silly to stuff it in a Ziploc bag and hide it in a drawer while other, homelier products live out in the open.
"Having a sex gel that you're not embarrassed of, as a concept, felt kind of new. We're all used to having tubes and pumps and bottles of things that we have to quickly store away when we have guests," says Nécessaire co-founder Nick Axelrod. "Creating something that you wouldn't have to hide and that you could be aesthetically okay with in your home was important to us." (In the age of user-generated marketing on Instagram, it also wouldn't be very good for business if customers felt compelled to conceal their purchases from the world.)
Shoppers like Rowan Lloyd, 25, have welcomed the shift toward simpler design. Lloyd grew up in a small town where going into the local sex shop to giggle and gawk was a semi-scandalous rite of passage for 18-year-olds. Her early impressions of sex toys were based on products like the Rabbit vibrator, made famous by Sex and the City, which she found "terrifying," with its intense colors and suggestive shape.
But as the look of sex toys has evolved in recent years, Lloyd has found options that suit her better-they're attractive but not over-the-top, they're high-quality, and, most importantly, they feel like "real life" rather than some heightened, imaginary version of what sex is supposed to be like. She's a fan of Crave, which makes a slim vibrator that can be worn as a pendant necklace, and Unbound, which she calls "the Glossier of the sex toys industry." The latter appeals to her not just because of its design sensibility, but because the company positions itself as a lifestyle brand: In addition to selling rose-colored mini vibrators, cobalt cock rings, and gold bangle handcuffs, Unbound makes merch ( beanies, sweatshirts), offers a rewards program, and posts a lot of sex-positive memes on Instagram. It fosters a feeling of community, Lloyd says-a far cry from the sex shop in her hometown that seemed so sordid.
The industry's design revolution actually started about 15 years ago, says Rita Catinella Orrell, author of Objects of Desire: A Showcase of Modern Erotic Products and the Creative Minds Behind Them. Brands began applying the research and development processes typically reserved for high-end consumer goods to sex toys, approaching the category with a greater degree of thoughtfulness and technical savvy than before. This shift was prompted in part by the popularization of soft silicone toys, which don't smell and can be easily cleaned, encouraging designers to focus on creating products for long-term use rather than disposability. At the same time, Orrell explains, sex shops in major cities-if not everywhere in the U.S.-were becoming more female- and queer-friendly, and were shedding their shady reputation, opting for nice lighting and attractive presentations.
This shift has yielded a multitude of sophisticated products, Orrell says, like Tenga's range of male masturbation cups and Lelo cock rings. And the revolution continues: Brands today are increasingly disinclined to gender their products with stereotypical color schemes, and shoppers are moving away from devices that are explicitly anatomical in form, says Kit Richardson, buyer and merchandiser for the store at the Museum of Sex in New York. New products are more inclusive of sexuality and gender identity. The Brooklyn-based brand Dame, for instance, sells vibrators for people with vulvas in a variety of non-phallic shapes-most notably a hands-free clitoral stimulator that can be worn during penetrative sex-and colors that don't feel obviously gendered, like navy, lilac, plum, and mint.
Richardson has also seen an increased focus on health from the makers of sex products, as consumers have become more conscious of what they're putting in-on, around-their bodies. Medical-grade silicone has become a "super-popular material" in large part because it's non-porous and therefore less likely to trap and breed bacteria than other rubbers. Non-synthetic materials like glass and steel are on the rise for similar reasons; for those interested in body-safe materials and the supposed healing properties of crystals, the brand Chakrubs has a line of dildos and butt plugs made from polished jade, amethyst, and quartz.
Healthfulness and high design meet in brands like Nécessaire, which emphasizes clean ingredients in all of its products, and Future Method. The latter applies aesthetics that sit at the intersection of clinical and minimalist to anal douches and packages of specially formulated douche solution. Launched earlier this year, the brand was founded by Evan Goldstein, a physician who mostly works with gay men. He found that patients often over-douched in an effort to feel clean before having sex-using a shower attachment, storebought rubber bulb, or enema-which can strip the lining of the rectum and cause cracking and irritation, leading to a higher risk of contracting a STDs. Future Method's bulb holds a smaller quantity of solution than other versions and the bags of solution will only fill it twice. Goldstein hopes those features will reduce superfluous douching.
Running alongside the aesthetic changes in the sex products industry is its increasing visibility and accessibility. Not every town in the U.S. has a friendly, feminist sex shop, but most direct-to-consumer brands will ship right to your doorstep and use packaging discreet enough for shared entryways. Some major retailers have made it possible to pick up a sex toy while you're stocking up on toilet paper or perusing dorm decor: Walmart has expanded its range of sex toys, and Urban Outfitters now offers a robust selection of toys in the health and wellness section of its website, along with rather chic Jonny condoms and Überlube.
Social media has also been instrumental in opening up the conversation about sex products, Richardson says. It's where brands introduce themselves to new customers, and where sexual health influencers share their experiences with the myriad trials and joys of sex. For people like Rowan Lloyd, platforms like Instagram can provide a grounding sense of shared interest in sex products-a quiet affirmation that you're perfectly justified in your interests.
"When you see someone you know liking a brand's post or following it, it fosters a feeling of, I'm not the only one into this," says Lloyd. "I think that's really important."
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