Girl on the Net

Have you watched Netflix’s How To Build A Sex Room? Episode one is not indicative of the show overall, so if you’ve only watched the first it might be worth sticking with it. When I first settled down to watch it, I was deeply frustrated by its giggly, sex-is-a joke attitude. Not to mention the fact that they didn’t do what they’d promised us in the title they would: show us How To Build A Sex Room. The programme was lacking in all the details a horny amateur DIY enthusiast would need, such as how to determine which fixings to use for mount points (they call them ‘hard points’ which I think is less sexy) and which fabrics give the best attractive-yet-wipe-clean finish. BUT. I stuck with it, because I like watching people talk about kink equipment, and now I’m here to tell you all that How To Build A Sex Room is actually fucking GREAT.

I’ll start by letting you know that I am an extremely enthusiastic amateur DIY-er, with a penchant for making stuff that speaks to some of my kinks. I think kink and DIY go together like wine and cheese – most people I know who are into kink have at some point come up with a creative use for something otherwise boring (wooden spoons and ethernet cables for impact play, ties and scarves and shoelaces for bondage and cock torture). More ambitious ones have modified beds and Ikea storage boxes, or worked out how to put heavy-duty mount points on beams in their ceiling then cunningly disguised them beneath hollowed out smoke alarms. Kinksters are a creative bunch, and turning a space – whether bedroom, office, or just corner of the lounge – into a little oasis of banging speaks to the innovative fuckery that lives in our horny little hearts.

I am far from a construction expert, but I do like to dabble in Making Stuff. A few years ago I used some offcuts of wood to turn my coffee table into a spanking bench, and prior to that I built a (very rudimentary) prototype mount for a Fleshlight Launch, so I could strap it to a table and have it wank a guy off hands-free while I watched. Recently, I moved in to a flat of my own, and one of my as-yet-unfulfilled DIY dreams is to turn my bedroom into a combination relaxing chill room and enticing fuckpad. I haven’t made much progress on this yet, because I’m doing it bit-by-bit as I scrape together money for materials. But I have installed a soundproof wall so that my Doxy-powered antics don’t traumatise the neighbours. To illustrate my point above that kink and DIY make excellent bedfellows, here are some pictures of me using 6-inch slutty goth boots to reach the ceiling when dry-lining a wall. Saved me so much time! I will never plaster in trainers again. The next part of my project is going to be building a custom wardrobe, with a section for sex toy/kink equipment storage so I can stop keeping all my glorious fuckstuff in a laundry basket at the back of a cupboard, instead wowing gentlemen callers by sweeping open the doors (mirrored, obviously) and inviting them to ‘choose your weapon.’

Exciting.

So as you can imagine, the above information combined with the fact that I repeatedly tweet my disappointment that no one on Grand Designs has yet incorporated a dungeon into their self-build project, meant that when Netflix launched How To Build A Sex Room, everyone I had ever met texted me to let me know.

How To Build A Sex Room

The premise of the programme is that couples (and later – a polycule as well as a single woman) decide they want to have a dedicated space in their home for intimacy, connection and (sometimes) kink. Designer Melanie Rose swoops in with a brand of no-nonsense sweary Britishness that I’m not surprised Americans find charming, and interviews each person on their aesthetic tastes and sexual proclivities. Then she brings in contractor Mike (who, let’s be honest, would absolutely get it) to turn otherwise bland spaces into majestic fuckpalaces of wonder.

Initially I hated it. Episode one seemed drenched in the kind of patronising, ‘tee-hee sex is so silly’ attitude that characterised a lot of Channel 4 sex programmes back in the early noughties. But much like Channel 4 programmes in the noughties, it appears that attitude does sometimes help to shove sex into the mainstream, where it can then be treated with a little more respect. By episodes two/three the giggling had made room for some respectful curiosity about different kinks, and by episode eight I had cried a number of times over a few really beautiful revelatory moments where people’s kinks/desires/insecurities/needs were welcomed and treated with respect. Thanks a lot, I think, to Mike the contractor (may he one day notice my existence and invite me for dinner and drinks), who relaxes into the role of ‘kink-curious but not kink-shamey collaborator’ very well indeed. His attitude – sometimes shocked, often amused, nearly always welcoming and open – is one that I’d love to see other vanilla-leaning people adopt towards kinksters in general.

Melanie deserves a lot of respect here too, and not just because she insists on putting some sort of sex swing/suspension in nearly every single room – including when that room is a tiny fucking camper van. Baller. She has a bag of sex toys that she brings out, guiding participants through things they may not have seen before or giving jumping-off points for them to discuss what they’ve already tried. She takes them on little excursions – to visit dominatrixes, sit on some sex furniture, or get a bit of Shibari training – and then incorporates what they liked into her final design.

There were moments when I felt a bit nervous about what she was doing. Saying ‘do you trust me?’ but giving no information on what was about to happen then leading a couple into a dungeon where a D/s pair were doing some fairly extreme whipping, or testing out a spanking bench in a front garden where anyone might see – both these events made me uncomfortable from a consent perspective. But these little moments feel a lot smaller and less significant than other curated-for-TV moments I’ve seen in sex programmes before. For instance, Louis Theroux walking in on polyamorous people when they’ve just woken up, and while they’re still in bed firing intrusive/shaming questions at them that he’d never ask of a monogamous couple. Or Channel 4 inviting participants to discuss dick size/labia shape/pubic hair in front of the people who are being directly critiqued on Naked Attraction. You can probably think of a few examples of your own. Usually when sex meets reality TV, horrible things happen. And it’ll always be praised for ‘having the conversation’ or ‘raising awareness’, because technically it does. But in order to get the funding to ‘have the conversation’ it also has to put participants in the firing line – opening themselves up to stigma in order to get more viewers.

How To Build A Sex Room absolutely does do this to a certain extent – they’re essentially asking people to expose their most intimate desires, kinks both fulfilled and unfulfilled, and in some cases the difficulties within their relationship, to an audience which spans everyone from ‘kink-happy sex blogger who’s mainly watching because she wants to learn about chain gauge and suspension rig safety’ to ‘sneering twat who’s tuned in so they can take the piss out of pony benches and piss-play‘. Based on Episode One I was concerned that they’d fall into the exact same trap as so many other sex shows: focus so much bringing in the latter type of viewer by ramping up the ‘ooh isn’t this weird?!’ aspect that they forget about the real lives of the people who’d agreed to take part.

Happily, though, as the show went on, I found it to be far more touching, personal, caring and – yeah – consensual than a lot of other sex-related telly. Perhaps that’s because it’s 2022 now, and people understand that kindness and warmth really can make great TV. You don’t have to shame people for entertainment, you can celebrate them instead.

How To Make A Sex Programme That’s Kind To People

And so over the course of eight episodes we get to meet a couple whose sex life has been overtaken by laundry – who go from having a cluttered bedroom with not one but TWO tellies to a gorgeously swanky shag-palace with a literal mirrored ceiling. We watch a guy and his wife trying out a bit of rope-play, initially cynical but swiftly moving to what I can only describe as ‘almost certainly erect’ as a switch flicks in his brain and he realises he’s super fucking into this. A couple whose teeny camper van becomes an indoor/outdoor playroom under the stars. We get to watch as a nerdy, hot ex-stripper dons heels and a tiny outfit after years off-stage, and blossoms back into her confident dance persona. We see Mike (may he hold me in his big strong arms and whisper stories about the best way to use a router) learning about new toys, kinks and furniture, and greeting all of it with the attitude of a practical man who is only too happy to help.

We learn about one woman’s struggles with alopecia. A kinky group’s penchant for piss-play (and the need for good drainage in any watersports-focused sex room). We get to spend some warm, happy time with an indescribably lovely burlesque/drag couple whose biggest turn-ons involve watching each other get dressed up for a night of performance. We meet a single woman in her fifties who is living her absolute best fucking life.

You can be entertaining without being mean

And yeah, there are things I’d still nitpick. The heavy use of fur and fluff in rooms designed for fucking makes me cringe at how crispy that stuff will be once it’s been drenched in sex juice after a month. The fact that – despite a conversation with a guy at a chain warehouse – some of the suspension rigs they install look far flimsier than what I’d personally feel safe swinging from. The occasional mis-steps when it comes to listening to someone’s expressed requests, or the odd nudge in the wrong direction. The fact that they don’t give us brand names and details when listing out products (please, someone, please tell me what brand of sex couch they’re using [UPDATE! Kelvin Sparks found it – the Tantra Chair!], and where I might be able to find the pony chair that they use in episode 7), nor even a ballpark BUDGET, which is vital for those of us who really want to try this at home. The fact that despite her extensive sex toy knowledge, at no point does Melanie give anyone an actual Doxy.

But these are minor points when you look at the show as a whole. I don’t know a lot about reality TV production, but my limited experience of such things (mostly from friends who work in that industry) is a bit disheartening. Great people with sex-positive, consensual, exciting ideas are often made to crush and batter those ideas into a shape that will draw in viewers who are more interested in gladiatorial sport than genuine connection. The idea that sex-focused reality TV must highlight shame in order to be successful is (though not universal) disappointingly common. Pull in the viewers by amping up drama, where ‘drama’ is often a code for ‘being mean.’ Snide voiceovers, giggly presenters, tropes about the way sex ‘should’ be. Poking people into conflict instead of bringing them together. Participants whose sexualities fall outside the mainstream forced to justify and explain their existence.

How To Build A Sex Room does a great job of moving away from that. People are asked to discuss and describe, but never forced to justify who they are and what they enjoy. Melanie and Mike (may he stand behind me breathing gently on my neck while demonstrating how to cut a dovetail joint) have great banter and a kind, playful attitude, and the participants all come across in a really positive light. And although you might watch all of it and not love the rooms themselves, I hope you can love the kindness that shines through.

I’m sure there’ll be people who watch the show and are inspired to create a sex space of their own. My only real criticism of How To Build A Sex Room, having now watched the full thing, is that because it doesn’t actually show the detail, these poor inspired fuckers still won’t know how to do that!

It’s a minor point though, really: this show is not for me. It’s not a YouTube video or instruction manual, it’s a sex-based reality TV show. And as far as those go, it’s genuinely good. If the show itself had joists, I’d happily attach a sex swing and fuck it to climax.