Sally: The Unlikely Introvert (Who Happens To Be a Sex Doll)

You know how people say “don’t judge a book by its cover”?

Well, apparently you shouldn’t judge a sex doll by her marketing blurb either. I got introduced to Sally—the so-called Introverted Sex Addict—by one of those late-night, slightly questionable browsing sessions that end with too many tabs open and a sense of mild regret. But anyway, here we are. And yes, Sally is from Absolute Sex Dolls, in case you’re wondering where this particular rabbit hole leads.

The Stats Sheet That Reads Like A Dating Profile

Height: 5 feet 2 inches (or 162 cm if you’re feeling continental). Weight: 86 lbs (39 kg). Bust: 31 inches, Waist: 25 inches, Hips: 39 inches. Oh—and the breast size? A very modest-sounding 32AA. Except they call them “ultra-realistic gel breasts,” which makes me think of those squishy stress balls but with way more commitment.

And then there’s the “hole depth.” Not even going to pretend I didn’t laugh at this part when I first read it. Vagina: 7 inches deep; Anus: just over six. It’s weirdly specific but… oddly practical? Maybe that’s what counts for intimacy these days.

Movable Joints & Steel Skeletons (No T-800 References Allowed)

Sally has a steel skeleton with movable joints—because nothing says romance like adjustable elbows and knees that click into place with a satisfying but slightly unnerving sound. She’s full silicone, not some half-hearted blend or whatever else is out there pretending to be skin-like.

Honestly, the first time I tried to pose her for storage (yes, storage), it felt less like arranging an object and more like negotiating with someone who refuses to help move their own limbs. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried fitting a five-foot-two inch silicone person into your closet without making eye contact with your own reflection.

The Irony Of Discreet Packaging

Let’s talk about shipping for a second because the absolute sex dolls team really leans into the whole “nobody will ever suspect” angle. Free international shipping! Discreet packaging! Four weeks from order to doorstep! Supposedly the box is plain and unlabeled—which is great until you realize there aren’t many household items shaped exactly like an adult-sized human folded up inside cardboard.

I remember thinking: who do they think they’re fooling? My neighbor saw me wrestling this coffin-shaped package through my front door and just nodded politely like we were both in on some unspoken secret.

Personality Quirks (Or How Marketing Got Weird)

Here’s where things get interesting—or maybe just confusing. Sally is billed as “introverted.” As if she’d rather sit quietly in the corner reading Proust than participate in whatever scenario people buy her for. There’s something accidentally hilarious about trying to attribute shyness or social anxiety to an object designed explicitly for… well, let’s call it high engagement activities.

But maybe that’s part of her appeal? A kind of anti-influencer vibe—a big butt and long legs paired with zero small talk or judgmental stares when you forget laundry day again.

Silicone Realism Is Both Impressive And Slightly Disturbing

The thing nobody tells you about these full silicone sex dolls—the ultra-realistic ones—is how lifelike they actually feel under your hands. It’s impressive right up until it isn’t anymore; sometimes late at night when everything goes quiet except for the faint squeak of synthetic skin against bedsheets… yeah.

Her breasts are gel-filled and honestly pretty close to reality—at least compared to other options out there—but still somehow not quite right? Like uncanny valley but for touch instead of sight.

Processing Time Is Its Own Kind Of Anticipation

Three weeks processing plus one week shipping feels both fast and slow at once; enough time for anticipation to morph into impatience but not quite enough for buyer's remorse to fully bloom before she arrives on your doorstep (in that anonymous box). If you're planning around dates or holidays... good luck guessing exactly which Thursday she'll show up on.

One Odd Realization

Somewhere between cleaning instructions and figuring out where she fits in my apartment layout (hint: nowhere convenient), I realized owning something like Sally changes how you see everyday objects—closets become hiding spots; beds become negotiation zones; even basic chores take on new logistical challenges no one warns you about.

Weirdly enough, after all the awkwardness fades away, there's just this silent roommate who never interrupts Netflix marathons or asks why you're eating cereal at midnight again.

And now—I guess that's just normal? Or as close as things get around here anyway.