Clarice: Swim Team Sex Doll — A Messy, Honest Take

Why Did I Even Do This?

I’m not sure what mood led me to ordering Clarice, the so-called Swim Team Sex Doll. Maybe it was one of those long nights where you’re just… tired. Not even in a fun way—just worn out from everything. The ads for absolute sex dolls kept popping up (they really know how to follow you around online), and at some point, curiosity won. Or boredom did. Hard to tell.

Clarice is a C-cup TPE sex doll, 5 feet 5 inches tall—about as tall as my ex-girlfriend, weirdly enough. She’s got this “swim team” vibe that’s supposed to be sporty but honestly comes off more like a marketing afterthought when you see her in person.

Details That Stick Out (And Some That Don’t)

The specs are everywhere on the site: 73 pounds (which is heavier than you’d guess—lugging her upstairs felt like moving a stubborn teenager). Bust is 32 inches, waist 20, hips 33. The numbers made me think she’d look cartoonish but… no, she looks almost normal? In certain lighting anyway.

Her joints are steel and move in ways that sometimes feel eerily lifelike and other times just clunky. There’s something about adjusting her arm that makes a tiny click sound—it gets under your skin after the third time.

She has three “usable” holes: vagina (6.7 inches deep), anus (also 6.7), mouth (5.1). I remember thinking those measurements sounded clinical until I actually tried them out and realized they matter more than expected; let’s just say not all holes are created equal.

Shipping Was... A Whole Thing

Free international shipping sounds nice until you realize it means waiting four weeks staring at tracking numbers that barely update. Processing takes three weeks alone—by week two I was half-convinced I’d been scammed by another absolute sex dolls knockoff.

When she finally arrived, the box was plain as promised—no labels or branding anywhere—which was good because my neighbor signed for it while I was out. He handed it over with this confused look; probably thought it was gym equipment or something equally boring.

Using Clarice Isn’t Like The Ads Promise

Here’s where things always get awkward in these reviews: people pretend it’s some magical experience right out of the gate. It isn’t—for me anyway. Setting her up took longer than expected; there’s an odd guilt when you first pose her on your bed, like assembling furniture with feelings attached.

The TPE skin feels soft-ish but gets cold fast unless you pre-warm her somehow (I used an electric blanket; don’t judge). Movable joints help with positioning but also make accidental elbow bumps common—a sharp reminder that she’s not real no matter how convincing she looks in dim light.

Honestly? Sometimes during cleanup I caught myself wondering why anyone would want all three entry points available at once—but then again maybe variety is the point for some folks.

Tiny Moments That Surprised Me

There are bits nobody mentions much: like how heavy Clarice feels when moving her from closet to bed—73 lbs doesn’t sound bad until you’re doing stairs at midnight trying not to wake roommates.

Or how the face looks different depending on angles and shadows; sometimes oddly sweet, other times blank and mannequin-like. Once I left her sitting by my desk and nearly jumped out of my skin walking past in the dark—a mistake I won’t repeat soon.

Also—and this might be too much info—the oral opening is only about five inches deep which… well, let’s just say expectations vs reality hit hard here if you’re not paying attention to those measurements upfront.

One Unexpected Downside

Maintenance isn’t sexy or simple; if anything, it’s annoying enough that sometimes I skip using her entirely just because cleaning up later feels like punishment for being curious in the first place.

You have to dry every crevice carefully or risk mold (the horror stories online aren’t exaggerated). And storing a life-sized doll discreetly? Not easy unless your closet is empty or you’ve got understanding housemates—which most people don’t have, myself included.

Would I Buy Again?

Eh…

If someone asked whether Clarice—or any swim team sex doll—is worth it… hmm, maybe not exactly for everyone? There are moments where having one feels oddly comforting during lonely stretches—but other times it feels like hauling around dead weight both physically and emotionally.

Absolute sex dolls do deliver what they promise on paper—even if reality gets messier than their marketing would ever admit.

Anyway—I still haven’t figured out what to do with Clarice when friends come over unexpectedly. She usually ends up hidden behind winter coats in my closet—a weird secret between me and several pounds of silicone shaped into somebody else’s fantasy body.

Maybe next time I'll order gym equipment instead—or maybe nothing at all.