I’m Not “Hard to Please” — The Toy Market Just Wasn’t Built for Me

By Sophie

Most “toys for women” still assume a straight storyline: penetration first, pleasure second, and a partner who looks nothing like the women I date.

So, when something didn’t work for me, I did what a lot of us do.

I assumed I was the problem.

I told myself I was “hard to please.” Too sensitive. Too specific. Too complicated.

It took me years to realise something important:

I’m not hard to please.

The toy market just wasn’t built for me.

The Lie I Internalised

When I first started buying toys in my early twenties, I was newly out and trying to figure out what intimacy looked like for me. I wanted tools that reflected the relationships I was actually in.

Instead, I found:

• “For Him” and “For Her” categories like we’re shopping for school uniforms
• Vibrators marketed around penetration as the main goal
• “Couples’ toys” clearly designed with a penis in mind
• Beginner guides that assumed one very specific script

None of it felt written for queer women.

And when something didn’t feel intuitive or comfortable, I didn’t question the design. I questioned myself.

Maybe I wasn’t responding the “right” way.
Maybe I needed stronger settings.
Maybe I just didn’t know how to relax.

If that sounds familiar, I need you to hear this:

If it doesn’t work for you, that’s not a you problem.

Design matters.

Body Literacy Changed the Game for Me

The biggest shift didn’t happen when I found a “miracle” product.

It happened when I stopped shopping based on hype and started learning my body.

Here’s what helped:

• Understanding that for most vulva-owners, the clitoris is the primary pleasure centre — and clitoral toys have been a game change for me.
• Realising that sensitivity varies wildly. Stronger isn’t automatically better.
• Noticing that surface area, pressure, and rhythm matter more than novelty shapes.
• Accepting that I prefer comfort and control over intensity and gimmicks.

A lot of people I talk to think they “should” enjoy what’s popular. But popularity is shaped by marketing, not anatomy.

When I shifted from “What’s trending?” to “What feels good in my body?”, everything changed.

Explore Clitoral Toys

The Design Flaws I Couldn’t Unsee

Once I developed that lens, I started spotting patterns everywhere.

Awkward Ergonomics

If your wrist is cramping, the handle is slippery, or you can’t reach the controls mid-use, that’s not user error. That’s poor design.

Intensity Without Nuance

Jumping from barely-there to overwhelming in one click isn’t power. It’s laziness. Gradual build matters — especially if you’re sensitive.

Hard Edges, Harder Expectations

Firm silicone isn’t inherently bad. But there’s a difference between supportive and unforgiving. Rounded edges and flexible textures make a huge difference.

Lazy Gendering

“For women.” Which women? With what bodies? In what relationships? The vagueness hides a very specific assumption.

The more I paid attention, the clearer it became:

The issue wasn’t my body.

It was that my body wasn’t considered in the design process.

What “Built for Me” Actually Means

I don’t need a toy labelled “lesbian.”

I need:

• Ergonomic shapes that work in multiple positions
• External-focused options that aren’t treated as an afterthought
• Adjustable, gradual intensity settings
• Body-safe materials that feel good against skin
• Marketing that doesn’t assume a penis in the room

This isn’t radical. It’s thoughtful.

And better design for queer women often means better design for everyone. When products are flexible instead of prescriptive, more bodies benefit.

Design matters.

You Are Not the Problem

If you’ve ever wondered:

• Why doesn’t this do anything for me?
• Why does this feel uncomfortable?
• Why do I need something different from what everyone recommends?

Pause.

There isn’t one correct way to experience pleasure.

There isn’t one shape that works for everybody.

And there definitely isn’t one storyline your intimacy must follow.

If something doesn’t fit your body or your life, it’s not a “you” problem.

Why I’m Writing This

I’m 31 now. I’ve had the awkward purchases, the overhyped recommendations, the dry spells, and the quiet spirals where I thought I just wasn’t wired the way I was supposed to be.

I became the friend people asked for advice because I was blunt about what didn’t work.

Eventually I realised something: we’re all having the same conversations privately.

“Why does everything feel so straight?”
“How do I choose something that fits my body?”

So, I’m writing the blog I wish I’d found when I first came out.

Not shocky.
Not clinical.
Not pinkwashed.

Just honest.

Because queer women shouldn’t need a decade of trial-and-error to feel confident.