Remember Bridget Jones? Debautruous, empowering, career driven... willing to sacrifice said career for any dowy eyed, floppy haired Brit. Well what if she'd owned Sweet Vibes’ Girl’s Best Friend? Join us in this little game in which we reimagine the original character and rewrite one of her diary’s entries… showing how everything would be different if she was on her quest for empowerment in today’s world.
Early morning, London: my flat. Took the first flight back home, from where I'll work today starting in a couple of hours. Lying on my bed, which I've missed so bad. Open up my phone, scroll down my socials feeds, stop a few seconds on a meme. "Even a girlboss has her weak moments". Could've started this diary with a narration of the awkward interaction between me and a one-night stand, but that's such a low starting point, isn't it? Besides, I haven't had one in ages. My Sweet Vibes’ The Perfect Match made them unnecessary long ago.
Just got back from a week-long business trip to Moscow, and spending a couple of days home is just wicked. No one's here to welcome me with breakfast and kisses. My most stable relationship is with my adult toys.
Here's a quick list of things why I love my Sweet Vibes toys:
- They don't judge my boring old panties
- They actually wait until I'm done, except for that one time I had one run out of battery just when I was about to start
- Can point at my exceptionally thirsty clitoris and not have to listen to any made up, nonsensical excuses
- Perhaps unexpectedly, turns sex into self-care and me time, instead of the historical snoozefest of insecurity, shame, and half-met expectations
- They help alleviate pain, something sexual intercourse is rarely effective at
This January I pinned my usual 'I Will Not' New Year's Resolutions on a grubby piece of paper to the fridge door, and sent by my irritating mother on her annual jaunt to Magaluf (Shagaluf). I corrected earlier versions with a pen: all references to obtaining a boyfriend erased, as well as anything to do with obsessing over emotionally immature fuckboys, or rules on slutty behavior around the house (My flat is the only men-free zone in my life; in here I can be as slutty as I want).
Light up a cigarette while SOPHIE's 'It's Okay to Cry' is playing on my laptop. "I can see the truth through all the lies / And even after all this time / Just know you've got nothing to hide". Those words always make me wet (eyes first, then vagina). That is exactly how I feel. I've got nothing to hide and nothing to be ashamed of, even though I'm still working on most of my insecurities. Thank you SOPHIE.
I dream of going out for dinner in Paris, clubbing in Berlin, skinny dipping in Santa Monica. Can't picture anyone else by my side but my friends. Or just my trusty women’s vibe toy. Okay, I wouldn't bring my vibrator toy to a fancy restaurant in Montmartre, but you get the point... or perhaps I would, thank you very much. I like flying solo with my Girl’s Best Friend. To the point that if I were to be romantically involved with a human person these days, I don't think I could, would or should give up my clitoral stimulator during sex. Baby, the adult toys stay during sex, and you can keep whatever your kink is too.
I think of Bridget Jones’ legacy a lot. I’d like to see how her spiritual successors live, how empowered women have changed the world twenty years from now. But for the moment, I’m having fun imagining who would Bridget be if she had been nearing her thirties after a global pandemic, the dawn of the metaverse, and the Brexit rubbish. Bridget and her friends were the "pioneers in daring to refuse compromise in love and relying on their own economic power". Today, I'm the girl that laughs at men's faces. I'm a true Bitch Queen of Hell, as I've not only discovered my Inner Bitch, I've also unlocked it. I used the Pixie as the key.
That’s why I'm not making mental lists of food consumed every day anymore, not counting calories, and definitely not counting drinks. Having an eating disorder at 14 teaches you to stay away from these kinds of things and send diet culture to Hell. If I were to rewrite 'Bridget Jones' Diary', I'd start every entry with the number of times I've made myself come that day, and nothing else.
Also, I'm not sexting my boss (at least old Bridget's boss was somewhat passable, but that's definitely not Mr. Brown's case). In fact, I'm not sexting anyone. I've given up on dating altogether. I'm not even on dating apps just for the kicks of it. The last time I went on a date, it was with an amazing, stunning, leggy Goddess of a woman I almost fell in love with right on the spot. And she seemed to be genuinely interested in me, too. None of us made the first move, and at the end of the night, we politely said goodbye to each other. Now she has a boyfriend and I spilt a saucy falafel wrap all over my tits on the bus home.
There's something about a boy commenting on how good your tits look in the top you're wearing. The old Bridget couldn’t escape the siren song of men praising her body. But the new me must move on from masculine validation and encourage all my ladies to do so as well. That crap is worse than any drug I've tried, and it messes with your brain way worse.
Instead, I'd rather stick to the dopamine kick my brain gives me when I orgasm. And speaking of which, I'm just in time to play with myself a bit right before work. Here it is, the dizzying euphoria of choosing which one of my vibrator toys will be the lucky one today: the Kissed with that powerful vibration, The Perfect Match’s vibrating tips that make me go to the only Heaven I’ll ever set my foot on, or the TuLips which, simply put, makes me shake all over. Just like a shooting star, the thought of getting a new one flashes through my head.
I recall having the fear of turning into that Martin Amis’ character that is so hooked up on nicotine that he starts wanting a cigarette even when he's smoking one. I ended up turning into it, only it happens when feeling the sweet vibration of my toy(s) down there, after running them through my abdomen and gloriously chubby thighs.
As I'm nearing an orgasm, I think of the things the old Bridget could've done if she had ditched both of her love interests and just focused on herself and her friends. Even then, with the inescapable weight of patriarchy on her shoulders, I think the old me was pretty okay. Speaking of me and my friends, I should text the gals. Sharon is getting back with her ex, but if I'm not mistaken, it's not too late to save her.