Anna Pickard wonders just who will be enjoying the delights of London's new sex museum
Amora ... 'a half-house of erotica and education'.
Last night, I was fortunate enough to visit London's newest genital-based tourist attraction. Amora is, it says, an Academy of Sex and Relationships: which in the flesh translates as a weird half-house of erotica and education.
Based ominously next to the Trocadero, the universal epicenter of tack, a descent into the Museum of Mating sees your senses assailed by the heady scent of essential oils, the powerfully suggestive hue of lush pink and red walls, and the frankly laugh-out-loud voice of a woman whispering 'Lurve... Ssssex... Relationshipsss... Marriage...' in a 47 decibel whisper. For a timid church-raised girl, this is not a little terrifying. And maybe that's the point.
Split into seven interactive - if quite small - zones, Amora promises a hands-on guide to fulfilling your sexual and romantic potential. But it's quite difficult to imagine who the perfect target audience might be.
First dates
After an awkward ice-breaking dinner at a safe West End restaurant, why not top off the evening with a tour of The Academy of Sex and Relationships? That way, you can learn where the G-spot is before it's too late (there may be questions later), and discover in the Orgasmatunnel - sadly an impermanent feature, which may say something telling about the state of the British orgasm, I don't know - how to tell a faker from a real orgasmer. Then, moving quickly through fetish (it is a first date after all) you can discover in the very last room ('Wellbeing') all the nasty STIs you can get from unprotected sex, with pictures, before leaving the exhibits, entering the bar and boutique area, and getting on with the rest of your evening.
Birthday parties and/or hen nights
Large groups of giggling women may not be the target audience, but the large wall of hen night props in Amora's shop seems to suggest that they are at least expected visitors.
The "intriguing and striking" wall of "Amora Spice", a set of 84 male and female genital plastercasts in various poses ("various" in this case encompassing both "at ease" and "angry", if you'll excuse the terminology) might be intimidating for young couples, who will invariably measure themselves up against the exhibits; though hopefully only mentally.
However, it in is this room with it's "Wall O'Bits" (as it is affectionately known) that a small group of women, be they on a simple girls' night out or perhaps celebrating the impending nuptials of another, could really come into their own. In fact, I'd go so far as to conjecture that someone may some day have their eye out.
Overseas visitors to London
Amora seems very keen to differentiate itself from more prurient and obviously more-intent-on-titillating sex museums in other major cities. But the need to inform, provoke discussion and to educate seems to necessitate an awful lot of written material. Walls everywhere are covered in complex biological reasoning - all in English - and though the level of interactivity is good for a museum on such a topic, it's difficult to work out how deeply you could penetrate the subjects at hand without a solid grasp of the written explanations.
And there is still fun to be had in a non-lingual sense, of course. The pleasure of slapping a mannequin with a paddle can be had by all (over 18 and willing to pay the £12/£15 entrance fee), because the question of whether you're spanking too hard or too softly can be answered with a glance at the simple colour-coded guide.
And the "create your perfect partner" computer-generated model needs no explanation at all. Simple arrows either side of a body part lead to fantasy heaven - for anyone whose perfect partner is sized between about a Britsh size six and 10 (with ginormous bosoms), and has a weird computer-generated face.
Lonely old men
I assume keeping them out is the reasoning for the quite extortionate entrance fee: porn is still cheaper, and doesn't show you pictures of penile sores, afterwards.
It is laudable that people are trying to promote open discussion and a proper grown-up attitude to sex, especially in a country that has traditionally prided itself on a 'behind closed doors" mentality - and I should know, I've been blushing from the moment I entered the premises until this very moment. But something just doesn't feel right about this chic and dubiously-sensual hole in central London that treads a very wobbly line between titillation, information and exploration.
Their hearts are in the right place. I'm just not sure where all their hands are.
