So... Shall We? How the Group Chat Became Britain's Favourite Sex Shop Assistant

There was a time — not so long ago — that buying a vibrator required the stealth of a Cold War operative: sunglasses, hood up, cash only, and a brisk walk past the postman as though nothing at all had arrived in plain brown wrapping. Fast forward to 2024 and the nation's group chats are buzzing with links, screenshots and the phrase "this one's got good reviews, shall we?"

Yes, shall we. The two most loaded words in the modern British shopping experience.

The Death of the Solo Mission

According to our own customer surveys — and a frankly unscientific poll of everyone we know — the majority of Brits under 45 now involve at least one other person in an intimate purchase. Sometimes it's a partner on the other end of a video call, phone propped up on the kitchen counter while one half of the couple scrolls and the other says "ooh, go back to that one." Sometimes it's a flatmate who has appointed themselves Chief Vibe Consultant. And sometimes it's the whole group chat, where a single link can trigger forty minutes of debate, three voice notes and a spreadsheet.

We're only half joking about the spreadsheet.

It makes complete sense when you think about it. This is the generation that reviews restaurants before booking, reads Amazon ratings for a garlic press, and crowdsources opinions on whether a haircut suits them. Why would a rabbit vibrator — a considerably bigger investment than a garlic press — be exempt from the consultation?

The Video Call Basket Share: A New National Pastime

The long-distance couples of Britain have quietly pioneered one of the sweetest rituals of modern intimacy: shared browsing. Two people, 200 miles apart, a FaceTime call, and a basket that updates in real time. It's window shopping for the Wi-Fi generation, and it's genuinely rather lovely.

The etiquette, as far as we can tell from watching it happen:

• Nobody scrolls ahead. You wait. It's like reading someone's birthday card over their shoulder.
• The mute button is your friend. Some reactions are best kept off the record.
• The "add to basket" moment gets a little cheer. We've witnessed this. It's adorable.

Flatmates: The Unsung Heroes of the Group Purchase

Then there's the flatmate dynamic — that uniquely British arrangement of living with a near-stranger who ends up knowing more about your life than your mum. Send a link to the house chat and you'll get one of three responses: "iconic," "I have that one, 8/10," or a thumbs up from Steve who has never spoken in person but is evidently supportive.

There's a safety-in-numbers effect at work here too. Our research suggests people are far more likely to try something new — a couples' toy, a slightly braver piece of lingerie, that thing with the frankly intimidating attachment — when a friend has already road-tested it and reported back. The group chat has become an informal review platform, complete with star ratings delivered over a brew.

Turning "So... Shall We?" Into the Fun Part

If you're sitting on a link you've been too nervous to send, here's how to make the conversation a laugh rather than a leap:

Lead with the silly. "I saw a toy shaped like a cactus and now you have to look at it too" is a much easier opener than a solemn sit-down. Humour is the British national lubricant — metaphorically speaking.

Make it a poll. Group chats run on polls. Options: (a) yes obviously, (b) yes but I'm pretending to be neutral, (c) we already own that. There is no wrong answer.

Set a budget before you browse. Nothing kills the mood faster than a checkout page that looks like a mortgage deposit. Agree a number, then have fun within it. £30 of joy goes further than £300 of awkwardness.

Remember the postman incident. If you're sharing a flat, sort the delivery situation before the purchase, not after. Discreet packaging is standard with us, but the house chat will absolutely find out anyway. See: Steve.

Why Shopping Together Is Genuinely Good For You

Beyond the laughs, there's something quietly progressive happening. Collaborative shopping normalises conversations about pleasure — between partners, between friends, between flatmates who previously communicated only via passive-aggressive Post-it notes about the recycling. Every link sent is a tiny act of openness. Every "shall we?" is a conversation about what people actually want, asked out loud, which historically was not the British way at all.

So next time a mate drops a link in the chat at 11pm with no explanation, don't scroll past. That's not spam. That's an invitation.

And if you're the one holding the link? Send it. The worst that happens is a thumbs up from Steve — and frankly, we'll take it.