One of them has a voice. Guess which one we designed for.
Look closely at the fantasy. She's beautiful, she's magnetic, and she has nothing below the waist. That isn't an oversight, it's the design. The mermaid is a woman built entirely to be wanted, and built, structurally, to want nothing back.
The story we tell about her is worse than the anatomy. In Andersen's original, she trades her voice for legs, and every step on those legs feels like walking on blades. The prince was unconscious when she saved him, so he spends the entire story convinced someone else did... and she has sold the one thing that could correct him (her voice!). Disney gave the voice back and let her keep the prince, which was generous, but the deal on the table was always the same: go quiet and you might get chosen.
Then there's the siren, who is a different creature entirely. In the Odyssey, she and her sisters sit on a rock and sing, and the song is so good that passing sailors steer toward it and wreck. Odysseus wants to hear it anyway, so he has his crew stuff their ears with wax and tie him to the mast, and he sails past straining against the ropes because he knows he can't be trusted around it.
Sit with the shape of that. Nobody in the story asks her to stop singing. The men change what they do instead. She never leaves the rock, never trades anything away, never makes herself smaller so the boats can pass comfortably. Where the mermaid gives up her voice to be chosen, the siren's voice is the only thing anyone is afraid of, and she never apologizes for it once.
This summer the aesthetic quietly changed its name. Chanel put mermaids in Biarritz, the internet started saying siren instead, the shell jewelry got better. We don't think that's a coincidence. The mermaid was fun. The siren is the upgrade, and the upgrade is the voice.
Which brings us to Spellbound
Notice who gets spellbound in the myth. Not her. The sailors. She's the one doing the enchanting, and enchantment, in her case, arrives as waves through air.
Spellbound works on the same principle, which is not an accident. One end delivers soft, rhythmic air pulses rather than contact. The other is a flexible vibrating end that bends to your shape and stays where you put it. Seven settings each, medical-grade silicone, physician-designed, and quiet enough that the only thing anyone hears is whatever you decide to say. It's our most-requested device, and it's the only one that lets you be both the siren and the sailor at the same time.
Siren practice, in four parts
1. Work out what you'd even sing about. You cannot ask for something you have never located. Unglamorous prerequisite, and it happens alone, with time and no audience.
2. Start with air, not pressure. Run the pulse end a setting lower than you think you want. Anticipation is the point. Sirens are not in a hurry.
3. Use both ends, then decide. Fourteen combinations is a lot of information about yourself. Take notes, mentally or otherwise.
4. Say one specific thing out loud. A direction and a pressure, not an adjective. Then count how many times you nearly said maybe or this is silly, but first, and say it again without them.
The tail is optional. The shell jewelry is encouraged. The voice is the whole point.
Xoxo,
Cerē