VISIT HEY EPIPHORA
Yeah, me either.
And so, I was prepared to hate the Magic Banana, because:
1. Just look at it.
2. It’s called the Magic Banana.
3. Just look at it.
4. It came with a “note on empowerment.”
5. Just look at it.
Truth from a friend: “I feel like that’s not how empowerment works… people don’t mail it to you.”
Shrink wrapped in a box patterned like a banana leaf, the Magic Banana is simultaneously hokey and woo-woo. Like, the manual actually has a section entitled “Getting to Know Your Magic Banana.” The creator of this toy is Janeson Rayne, a “yoga educator, veggie chef, fine artist, and mom,” and her face is splashed all over everything, in a way that kinda starts to feel like your mom is watching you masturbate and giving you disturbingly specific G-spot tips. This toy is a “self-exploration tool,” I am told over and over, as though I’m about to enter a sweat lodge and find out who I really am. The advice is mostly inoffensive, except when it claims that the Magic Banana can induce clitoral orgasms, and when the word “breathe” is used instead of “breath.”
However! Underneath all the fruit and yoga references, there’s a sex toy that at least does something different. The problem is that it’s as overpriced as organic food and fine art.