A Nice Lady Came To My House and Whispered to Me

It was 15 minutes until my ASMR artist was scheduled to arrive and I was suddenly regretting the caramelised onion omelet I’d had for breakfast. Did the apartment smell like onions? Did I, in fact, smell like onions? In today’s social and political climate it can often be so difficult to tell.

I had especially brushed my teeth (sad) and was feeling a healthy mix of anxiety and shame. This experience was supposed to be about relaxation. True to form, I had never felt less relaxed in my entire life.

A week earlier, my family had excitedly sat me down and gifted me my birthday present: a private session with a person from ‘Whisperlodge’ who would spend 40 minutes whispering to me, brushing my hair and pretending to do my makeup: just like the ASMR YouTube videos, except IRL. The problem was that, for me, the whole point of ASMR was that it was not…. in RL

I’d first heard the term in 2013 while researching Internet sub-communities for a Cultural Studies essay I had left until the last minute. I was brainstorming topics in the dining hall when the college’s resident smelly girl told me about the rabbit hole of ASMR videos she had recently fallen down. She said the only thing you needed was a half decent Internet connection. Meanwhile the only thing she needed was a half decent stick of deo, but that’s actually not an okay thing to say or even think, and that's why I actually didn't, in hindsight. I then went back to my dorm room and began researching. I emerged 15 hours later, a changed woman.

Though this was my first formal experience with ASMR or 'Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response' – I, like many of us, had been experiencing it all my life. You know when someone draws on your back, those shivers you get? Or the braingasm (sorry for saying braingasm) you feel when having your hair professionally washed? In the ASMR community, these sensations are called ‘tingles’ and can be induced by auditory input, like the sound of tapping, crinkling or brushing.

My family knows about my passion for ‘those weird videos on the Internet’ and has described it as ‘a sickness’. Any time I’ve tried to play them ASMR videos they’ve ripped off their earphones and thrown them across the room. Why do these videos cause such divisive, reptilian-brain responses? Is it because people think they’re creepy? Yes. How do I know? Because many people have gone out of their way to tell me that they are. The eye contact, the whispering, the mouth sounds: it’s all just too much – too earnest. You know what else is pretty earnest? Having the person actually do it in front of you. I didn’t ask for this gift and I didn’t want it. But the wheels were already turning so I sent an intro email to the people at Whisperlodge and they soon replied, asking me to fill out a waiver.

The document had me to agree to various T’s and C’s, such as,

‘These sessions are not to be interpreted as sexual. All whispering and touching, both given and received, will be conducted in a professional and non sexual manner.’

And,

‘Both parties will remain fully clothed throughout the session, with hands outside of clothing at all times.’

And,

‘Should any action be interpreted as inappropriate, the performer reserves the right to terminate the session immediately with no warning or refund.’

Obviously I took this to mean I should open the door stark nude and so I did and then we had wild consensual animal sex all night. Nooo, the real thing was much weirder.

I was asked my ASMR preferences and told to send Whisperlodge some links to my favourite videos. They wrote back confirming I liked, ‘Whispering, ear exam role play, hair brushing, hair play, make up brushes and tapping sounds.’ which made me sound like an autistic cat (reduntant: all cats are on the spectrum and I probably am too). They then asked my availability, informing me the session would take place at my home. MY…home? I’d assumed they had a location. Now I had to come to terms with the idea that this bizarre interaction would be happening in my space, in front of my pet’s virginal eyes.

Scheduling is, and I’ve always said this, an unseemly task, unbecoming a lady - but after a few relatively painless back-and-forths, we agreed on a time. I tried not to use too many exclamation points in our communications as it felt un-whispery. For the purposes of this piece, I’m going to refer to the ASMR artist as Tallulah because I don’t know if she’d be comfortable with her name being shared and I’d rather die than contact her to ask.

The buzzer rang right as I was sitting down for a last-minute wee. I opened the door to Tallulah: young, trendy and dressed in black. She was wearing art-school pants and had with her a chic backpack full of ASMR gear, the combination of which made her look like a goth Dora the Explorer. I was relieved at how normal-presenting she was and wondered if she felt the same about me. To finally address the question on everyone’s minds: what was I wearing? I can now tell you it was black pants with slits in the knees, a white tee with a funky cartoon of a cat because I’m quirky. And a full face of makeup.

We spoke a little. She told me she was from Singapore, information I had – of course – already ascertained online (I also knew that she freelanced as a graphic designer, and was relieved to know ASMR wasn’t her only source of income.) She asked if we had a bathroom and then laughed and corrected herself: of course we did but was there one she could use? I admired her bold spirit. When she got back, I offered her a glass of water, which she gladly accepted – bold again.

Tallulah then asked if she could get on the Wi-Fi: sadly a low point for all. She needed to play relaxation tracks from her speakers and who was I to judge? For some people, data can be limited and we need to destigmatize that! It’s just that our Wi-Fi password is dark and full of terrors, featuring not just numbers but letters, some capitalised. The good news was, after overcoming the crippling awkwardness of me reading each character aloud, one by one from the modem, I truly felt Tallulah and I could overcome anything together.

I was quick to tell her this was a birthday present but I could tell she wouldn’t have cared even if I had curated this event myself (which I hadn't). Tallulah asked where I’d like to sit and I nervously suggested the living room or my bedroom, which felt sooo slutty. Her eyes fell on our large shearling armchair, “What about this guy?” she asked. My roommate’s Frenchie, Irving frowned at me - that was his chair, his spot, surely I knew that. “Perfect.” I agreed, and off we went.

I settled into Irving’s seat while he sat, furious, on the regular couch. Tallulah busied herself unpacking props while I managed to look awkward just by sitting still. Finally, she perched in front of me and said the next 40 minutes were about me and I shouldn’t be afraid to ask for what I want (preach). If she was doing too much of one thing, I should tell her. I nodded – but secretly knew I never would. I wouldn’t ask a masseuse to go harder if their touch felt like a raccoon cub feeling up a Twinkie. The confrontation would only send my adrenaline spiralling so hard I would spend the rest of the session peaking like I was in a fever dream. No thank yeh.

Preamble complete, she brought over a tiny amber glass vial filled with some, dare I say, tincture and told me this would help to ‘extend our time together’. Tallulah asked if she could ‘anoint me with these oils’. “Sure!” I said, but in my head I was growling, ‘Oh yeah anoint those friggin’ oils all over me’. She put three drops of lavender oil onto each wrist. Anointed as hell, I closed my eyes while Tallulah brought over some makeup brushes. This was already so good. Pulling on a set of blue gloves she said she’d had to order from overseas, Tallulah then asked if she could use the brushes on my hands. I nodded, closing my eyes. She took my hand in her gloved one, and I felt a rush of relief knowing she couldn’t feel the flop sweat on my hands.

Over the years I’d built up a tolerance to tingles and had to experiment with endless ASMR genres – including ‘unintentional’ Kardashian compilations. I’d tried everything: taking breaks, changing my environment, watching on different devices. Nothing worked. By the time I received this birthday gift, I had all but given up. But when Tallulah started on those makeup brushes, lightly gliding them up and down my fingers, circling my palms, even pressing them around the tip of every finger, it was like a light bulb went off in my brain. And when she started whispering? They had warned me in their emails,

‘Everything we do is live, so expect sounds to sound a little different without the mic's amplification.’

Well it did sound different – it sounded…like what dreams are made of (hey now, hey now).

Tallulah told me she would ‘love to try use the brushes on my face’. Would she? Would she really ‘love’ to do that? I wasn’t about to argue but just know: I didn’t believe this charade that she was enjoying this as much as I was. Or was she? Definitely not. Tallulah traced the contours of my face with a thicker, more voluptuous brush. It was like at a cosmetics store when one of the stunning artists does your makeup for you and you wish it could last forever, except this actually did go on for ages. And then the hair brushing began.

My deepest sexual fantasies involve my new husband carrying me over the threshold of our gorgeous PH in the Village (West, to be closer to the trains), laying me down on the Four-poster and then playing with my hair all night. All this to say: I had high hopes for the hair-brushing portion of this experience. Well, I have never been so bored in my entire life. As such, I mentally dissociated and began to notice the creaky sounds of New York outside – the bangings, screechings and honkings that make up the city’s room tone. I looked at the dog and cat (yes, I buried the lede - I have a cat), who both looked back at me – disgusted. I felt it was rude of them to gawk considering how much time I spent doing weird games like this for them. This was mommy’s time, hadn’t they heard the nice lady?

I stiffened up, which I think Tallulah could feel, and finally this wretched part of the session was over. She then started this business where I heard a loud PING behind my head and then, as it came closer, felt vibrations echo through my whole body. Was this ISIS at work? Or something more. It was actually, as it turned out, a tuning fork but I want you to know – in the brief moments before I made this connection, I genuinely thought Tallulah was using some kind of sex toy on my ears and I was fully fine with it.

We were nearing the end. I knew this because Tallulah told me we were nearing the end. She showed me a box of Q-tips, leaned in close to my ear and said she was going to do some ‘ear mapping’. Ever so softly, she used the cotton bud to trace different parts of my ear and whisper their individual functions. The scratch of the cotton around my ears sent good shivers down my arms. This was at least ten times nicer than the time I got a moth trapped in my ear and had to have it medically removed, which was actually a really chill thing that happened to me and doesn’t need to be unpacked.

Finally, Tallulah instructed me to close my eyes and said we would finish with a game where she’d bring objects from around the room, tap them by my ears and I’d have to guess what they were. Okay…fun? Whatever item she then retrieved sounded like a candle so I guessed candle. She said guess again so again I guessed candle, ever heard of it? She told me to open my eyes. It was a big gold pineapple thing that Millennials are governmentally required to buy when they move to Manhattan. The next thing sounded like wood but I couldn’t guess much further than that; I tried to peek out the corner of my eye and she laughed – we were having so much fun, she and I, we were like Thelma and Louise. Was it too early to suggest a sui pact? The item turned out to be, as so many things do, the lid of our dog treats. The last thing sounded like rubber. I had no idea what it was so Tallulah made me smell it: it smelled like a banana. I guessed that it was a banana. It was a banana!

This is a game my children and my children’s children will continue to play generations from now, to pass the time in our underground nuclear bunkers, forever and for always. What a way to close out the show: I truly wanted to clap but instead, sat there in a dream-like state as Tallulah packed up her things. I told her I was so relaxed. She told me I should take a nap. And that was it. No hugs or handshakes. Tallulah took off her gloves and threw them and the Q-tip into our trash, and off she went. I walked her to the door, thanked her with earnest, and she yelled out to, ‘enjoy the nap!’ as the door swung shut.

Irving had already reclaimed his spot in the big chair. And why wouldn’t he? This was his world; we were only living in it. I went and sat in my study and I thought. I thought for ages. My mind truly felt like it had been irrigated, like I’d had a brain colonic. I thought about how at some point, when Tallulah had run her fingers along the bristles of the hairbrush, I’d looked up to see the dog and cat’s ears twisting and twitching, and realised how alike we were in so many ways. I remembered that moth who, for a few brief hours, had shared an ear with me and hoped that she was still out there somewhere now, working through what it means to be a less-hot butterfly and building a strong independent moth life. And I wondered if jet fuel really could melt steel beams.

Suddenly, an hour had gone by while I’d been coasting on this new calm and I decided this really was a great present after all. In a city full of loud strangers who hated me and I deeply hated also – I’d had a nice interaction with one. And someone else had paid for it! Maybe my family won’t ever understand ASMR. And maybe I won’t find a partner who’s willing to hair-play the night away with me but one thing’s for sure – no matter how niche or weird your secret passion is, there will always be a bunch of fellow freakazoids out there who like it too. And if you’re lucky enough, some might even come to your house and for forty blissful minutes, enjoy it with you.

So long as it’s not pedophilia ;)