#tech id

Framing Devices #007

I remember the first time I saw a “sex toy” — in actuality, it was a sex-adjacent object — I was 10 years old rifling through the drawers of my mother's bedside table when I found a set of black-sequinned heart-shaped nipple tassels.

I immediately stopped searching for whatever it was that I was looking for and took them to my mother. I lifted my hands to her eyes, baring the treasure gently on my palms, and asked, “What are these for?” My mother, being the sex positive person I know her (now) to be, responded simply, “Those are nipple covers, my friend”

Why would you want to cover your nipples with these? They seem impractical. Wouldn’t a bra be easier? Does my mum just wear these sometimes so she can be topless?

These were the immediate thoughts that came to my mind, but eventually I retorted with one question, “Is this for sex?” “Yes, my dear, your dad likes them”, she followed this by poking out her tongue. “Eughhh” was the only thing that came out of my mouth before I ran back to her room to put them away.

She still owns them to this day, and upon reflection, I can confidently say she has great taste in nipple covers.

Since then, I have had the pleasure (pun intended) of administering pulsing vibrations to partners, having sex toys presented to me by others, and enjoying the pinnacle of human engineering upon myself.

I bought my first vibrator when I was 18. My boyfriend at the time said it could be fun, and it was with him, but I couldn’t even approach this bright pink silicone bullet. The first time I turned it on, I was mortified by how loud this tiny machine was. Every time I attempted to get off, I was paralysed with the fear of being caught. To my ears, this device sounded like a monstrous construction site. Jack Hammers, Saws, and drills — a symphony of men at work — not the subtle wank I was hoping for.

I threw it out, placing it deep in my family trash can — underneath a heap of food waste — so that no one would know that I, Luckk Parker, was now a sex pest.

When I moved to college, suddenly everyone around me was talking about sex; it was all-consuming to these fresh high school graduates. Somehow, amid all these conversations around sex, I had become a wise old crone. I was taking my newfound friends to their first sex shop and guiding them on which products would suit their particular needs — I was the most knowledgeable person when it came to getting off with a partner (having a long-term boyfriend granted me such a title).

I would receive text messages telling me, “So I tried that thing we were talking about and it actually worked!” Even though I wasn’t getting any — being in an exclusive long distance relationship fml — I was helping my girlfriends reach their first O.

I think this was when the shame I had built around sex started to fade into obscurity.

Thinking on Old Tech

Five years ago, I was at a party in Vaucluse — a Sydney gathering with all the new people I’d met in college. It was the first time we’d seen each other since our college had been shut down due to COVID, so it was a moment of celebration. Parties have always been a bit of hit or miss since I’ve never been able to handle my drink. I’m unsure if it’s an allergy or an intolerance, but when Jimmy Briggs arrived at this McMansion with my pink gin in hand, I knew my night would be short-lived.

My memory of the party is fuzzy. I remember trying a vape for the first time and immediately throwing up (I’d never had nicotine before). I do remember however, waking up on my bathroom floor. My clothes were wet, the tiles were stained orange with bile, and my phone was missing.

In my tragic state, I tried to get in contact with Uber, but my driver was holding my phone hostage — he wanted $300. I don’t give in to the demands of people I deem morally corrupt — out of principle — so I resigned myself to losing my iPhone 11 and bought a flip phone to tide me over until I could afford a new one.

This flip phone — purchased from Macquarie Officeworks — along with a prepaid SIM, ended up saving me from falling into insanity. With COVID-19 lockdowns being imposed and lifted so sporadically, I’d been unconsciously yo-yoing between manic and depressed, mirroring the global updates I was receiving online through my phone.

One drunken night had brought about a much-needed silence in my life. My destructive dopamine cycle had been replaced with a steady flow; disconnecting was exactly what I needed in that period.

Only equipped with my ‘dumb’ phone, I had to actively reach out to my friends and parents. DMs became hour-long calls — it’s hard to ignore someone when you don’t know how to turn the ringer off on an old piece of tech. When I went out with this barbaric device, I became a talking point, even a party trick.

“Oh my God, Luckk, show ___ your phone!”

I’d whip out the Nokia and flamboyantly flip the screen open, sparking laughter and stories from others about their memories of life before the iPhone. This wasn’t my first flip phone, however.

At the age of five, I was given an original Motorola W375 2G GSM flip phone. The circumstances that led to me owning such a flashy orange phone stemmed from a mishap on my first attempt to get myself to school without my parents. My sister and I got lost in Circular Quay, which was enough for my parents to purchase a means of communication in case of emergency — why they chose me rather than my sister, who was three years older, still confuses me.

That phone changed my little life. Motorola gave me a sense of identity, a new way to play, and a cool factor I’d never known. This was the dawn of a new age — I was a five-year-old with a mobile! And not just any mobile, but the peak of communication technology (at the time). I would document everything through its terrible camera. Selfies, landscapes, and amateur investigations were some of my finest work.

The images were so pixelated and crunchy, but so were all photos taken in 2006. Now, in 2020, with only a flip phone to my name, I was re-engaging with a mode of play I’d forgotten. The accessibility and ease of photographing with my iPhone had taken away the labour of love.

Once again, I was capturing everything. Every photo — no matter how grainy, badly lit, or out of focus — became a statement, a yearning for simple technology, fun technology, tech that could make you laugh and cry, sometimes in the same day. I would spend hours transferring these photos to my computer, watching the exports fail repeatedly, but this act of waiting brought me anticipation and excitement. I experienced the height of online connectivity and user engagement — a global pandemic— through a flip phone. I got to experience it through a nostalgic lens; I remember it through the eyes of my five-year-old self — flip phone in hand.

Framing Devices #003

It’s 5:00 am … no, 5:03 am, depending on whether you trust the DVD player clock or the VHS player clock more. I’m at Paris’ house, and I’ve been woken up by a few stimuli:

The magpies, celebrating their harvest

The static emanating from Paris’ boxy TV — still paused from last night

The foul stench of stale French fries (my mum never let our family have fast food)

Ruby’s snoring carrying across the room — such a powerful sound for someone so small

And my own fear that this slumber party was about to end.

I’m careful not to cause too much disturbance. I don’t want to be the weird girl who wakes up before the sun, or the annoying girl who wakes everyone else up before they’re ready. Perpetually anxious, and forever fearing my social demise.

So I just wait there — perched on this trundle bed — staring at this clunky tech, occasionally catching my reflection between TV flickers and waves of visual static, wondering:

Why did I have to be the first one awake?

Was I acting weird last night?

And will I make the cut when invitations go out for the next sleepover?