Walk through any queer event listing in British Columbia this fall and you will notice something that would have been rare twenty years ago. Alongside drag bingo, film screenings and pumpkin carving, there are sapphic speed dating nights, sex-positive workshops and meetups where pleasure is discussed as openly as politics. For many queer women and non-binary folks, that openness extends to what happens at home, including the toys they choose. Picking something like dildos designed by and for queer women is no longer a whispered purchase but a normal part of taking care of yourself and your relationships. How did we get here, and why does it matter for the community as a whole?
A short history of saying the quiet part out loud
Queer communities have always been at the forefront of talking honestly about sex, partly out of necessity. During the AIDS crisis, activists in Vancouver and across Canada built peer education networks that taught consent, safer sex and bodily autonomy long before schools caught up. Lesbian and bisexual women were central to that work, and they brought the same frankness to conversations about their own pleasure, which mainstream culture had mostly ignored.
That legacy is still visible today. Community organizations run workshops on communication and boundaries. Queer bookstores host readings about desire and intimacy. Even a casual meetup at a taphouse can turn into a conversation about what makes a relationship feel good. The underlying message is consistent: your body, your pleasure and your relationships deserve the same attention you would give to any other part of your health.
Why pleasure is a wellness issue, not a luxury
It is easy to dismiss sexual wellness as a trend, but the research tells a different story. Sexual satisfaction is linked to better sleep, lower stress and stronger emotional connection between partners. For queer women in particular, it is also tied to self-acceptance. Many of us grew up without any representation of what our intimate lives could look like, and some internalized shame along the way. Learning what you enjoy, and being able to ask for it, is part of undoing that.
This is where tools and toys come in. For a long time, products marketed to women were designed with heterosexual couples in mind, or treated as novelty items rather than something worth engineering well. That has changed. A new generation of makers, many of them queer women themselves, now designs with specific anatomy, specific dynamics and specific needs in mind. Brands like Wet For Her grew out of exactly that frustration: the sense that nothing on the shelf was really made for the people buying it.
What to look for if you are new to this
If you are considering a first purchase, or replacing something you bought years ago, a few practical points go a long way.
Material matters most. Body-safe silicone is non-porous, which means it does not trap bacteria and can be fully sanitized. Cheaper jelly or rubber products can degrade over time and may contain chemicals you do not want near your body. Glass and stainless steel are also safe options for those who like firmer sensations and temperature play.
Shape and size are personal. Marketing often pushes the idea that bigger is better, but most people, especially beginners, do best with something modest, slightly curved and soft enough to be forgiving. Many designs now come with a flared base so they can be used with a harness or on their own, which gives couples more flexibility as they explore.
Think about who is using it and how. A toy intended for solo use has different requirements than one meant for partnered play. Some designs are built so that both partners feel sensation at the same time, which can shift the dynamic in a relationship in interesting ways. Others are made for ease and comfort during longer sessions. There is no wrong answer, only what fits the people involved.
Talking about it with a partner
One of the healthiest things sex-positive community spaces model is conversation. Introducing a toy into a relationship can bring up insecurity (“am I not enough?”) or uncertainty (“what does this say about us?”). Those feelings are normal, and the way through them is honest, low-pressure dialogue.
Start by framing it as curiosity rather than a fix for something broken. “I saw something that looked fun, would you ever want to try it together?” leaves room for a yes, a no or a maybe later. If your partner is hesitant, ask what is behind it. Often the concern is about being replaced, and reassurance that the toy is an addition, not a substitute, is enough.
Once you do try something new, keep the stakes low. Laugh when things get awkward. Agree on a simple way to pause. Check in afterward about what felt good and what did not. The first attempt is rarely the best one, and treating it as an experiment rather than a performance makes the second attempt far better.
Care, storage and the long game
Good toys are an investment, and they last if you treat them well. Silicone can be washed with warm water and mild soap or boiled for a few minutes. Store items separately so different materials do not react with each other, and keep them out of direct sunlight. Use water-based lubricant with silicone to avoid damaging the surface. A little routine care keeps everything hygienic and extends the life of what you own by years.
Community is built in private, too
It is tempting to think of queer community as something that happens in public: at the parade, at the gala, at the bar on a Saturday night. But a lot of it is built quietly, in the trust between two people who are learning to ask for what they want. The same values that make a good Pride event, consent, inclusion, honesty and joy, are the ones that make a good relationship.
So the next time you scroll through the fall event calendar looking for something to do, consider that the sex-positive workshop or the sapphic meetup is not a side note to community life. It is the same project, just closer to home.