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Toy story
What's it really like to work in a sex shop in Canada?
By Susan Bourette
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Day one Got a call from ELLE Canada. They want me to work at a couple of sex shops in Toronto for a few days to find out what turns Canadians on. I've been a baker, a waitress -- even a slaughterhouse worker -- but this is a first for me. It's kind of inti-midating for a (lapsed) Catholic girl. What if someone I know recognizes me?
Day two First day at Lovecraft in upscale Yorkville. Pink walls, soft lighting and hushed tones. I am dazzled by the displays containing hundreds of hard, jelly and silicone penises in every shape and size, vibrating tongues, cock rings and Fuzzy Boobie Danglers. Start my unofficial training with store owner Anne Amitay. Amitay opened Lovecraft -- Canada's first sex store -- with fellow teacher Mary Sutherland in 1972. (Their original idea of distributing teaching aids for children with developmental disabilities fell through due to funding problems.) Within a week of opening, stock sold out. At first, customers were mostly men, but now 60 percent are women.
Amitay shows me around the store. "We don't sell just anything,"she says, pausing in front of some whips and paddles hanging in the SM section. "We definitely wouldn't sell anything like Spanish Fly. Or anything hardcore that's degrading to women or men."The cuddly bear and dolphin vibrators catch my eye. "The trend for cute vibrators started about 10 years ago,"explains Amitay. "Since then, it has really picked up momentum. Many women, it seems, don't like their toys to look like penises-they like them to look more unthreatening."
Day three Need to familiarize myself with the inventory. Since Lovecraft sells some 13,000 vibrators and dildos each year, I decide to take a shortcut. On the counter is a big black binder full of the secrets of the sex-toy trade. Put together to help the staff find customers their perfect toy, the binder is crammed with staff reviews of everything from the G-spot Vibe and the Micro Butterfly to the Rabbit Pearl. The triple-gold-star award goes to the Dancing Egg, a.k.a. the Gizmoz. It was launched 20 years ago and costs $15. "It was beyond fun!" wrote an employee. "Because of the speed control, you can either binge for hours or be more practical and get off in just a few minutes. Absolutely unbelievable!"
Armed with this new-found knowledge, I head out onto the shop floor. In the book section, middle-aged, well-coiffed couples browse through shelves stacked with titles like The Clitourist: A Guide to One of the Hottest Spots on Earth. Nearby, a twentysomething strokes his newborn's head, cooing softly over the dressing-room door where his partner poses in a lacy, see-through number.
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