Lisa Gray speaks to Seyyemostafa Seyyedebrahimi about his project Ooh La La!
In Ooh La La!, London-based artist Seyyemostafa Seyyedebrahimi detonates the hush around sexual pleasure with a riot of ice-cream colour, slapstick sound, and full-body immersion, crafting a VR playground/projection-mapped orchestra hall where silicone sex-toy shaped props double as musical instruments and carnival rides. Far from the voyeuristic gazes that have long policed erotic visibility, Seyyedebrahimi forces agency back into the visitor’s hands – nothing animates unless you squeeze, rub, or conduct the orchestra yourself – collapsing spectator distance into giggling complicity. The piece cleverly hijacks XR to upend the usual shame around sex toys; rather than chasing earnest, therapeutic catharsis, it delivers unapologetic, shared joy – demonstrating that laughter can wield as much political weight in immersive art as narratives of hardship. Though critics have retrofitted feminist theories onto the piece, its true strength lies in an instinctive, lived resistance to patriarchal prudery, translating sex-positive activism into bubbly spectacle. Ooh La La! doesn’t simply ‘normalise’ pleasure; it renders it radically ordinary bright, rhythmic, and shareable – inviting immersive art to loosen its belt and laugh a little.
What was your conceptual approach to turning these traditionally taboo objects into a source of whimsy and exploration, and how do you hope this playful reframing engages with or challenges contemporary conversations about sexuality, gender, and pleasure?
I started by asking what might happen if we stripped sex toys of their hush-hush aura and treated them like any other playful gadget. The answer, for me, was comedy: crank up the scale, splash on ice-cream colours, and suddenly a “naughty” object looks as harmless – and inviting as a carnival prize. That visual silliness is deliberate. When people laugh, their defences drop; the giggle is a permission slip to get curious rather than embarrassed.
By reframing the objects as exuberant toys, I’m nudging viewers to re-examine the cultural scripts that label pleasure as illicit or gendered. Instead of a whispered joke, the gallery becomes a sandbox where anyone – regardless of identity – can prod, poke, and talk about desire without the usual moral fog. In other words, the work doesn’t preach; it plays. I hope that this playful détournement cracks open conversations about sexuality and intimacy, showing that pleasure can be joyful, communal, and radically ordinary.
Why did you choose VR and Projection Mapping over more traditional media for this project. What can immersion do here that a film or installation can’t?
VR, MR, and projection mapping let the audience stop observing and start inhabiting the work. Slip on the headset and you’re no longer a polite gallery-goer; you’re physically inside a candy-coloured pleasure-park, swinging oversized toy-instruments that buzz back through your hands. That full-body agency is the point: when your muscles and balance are recruited, the themes of play, sexuality, and permission migrate from the abstract to the somatic. A film can show you someone else’s delight; immersion makes the delight (and the mild awkwardness) unmistakably yours.
The projection mapping component adds another layer that traditional media can’t replicate. It lets the experience spill out into the physical room, turning it into a shared, social adventure rather than a solitary one. In the Orchestra, for example, you stand in a real space and interact with tangible objects that trigger sexual themed musical notes, letting the visitors act as a performer/conductor and create their own music. This bridging of the virtual and physical domains deepens the sense of immersion and makes the piece a communal experience – others in the gallery can see and hear what you’re doing, almost like witnessing a performance. The technology allowed me to create an intimacy with the audience member and a fun spectacle for onlookers at the same time. In this piece the projection mapping element means the play and laughter can echo out into the real world. Immersive media uniquely supports this dance between personal exploration and collective experience. It can engage you on a deeply personal level and then turn that personal journey into something that people can talk about together afterward. In short, VR/MR/Immersive environments gave me the tools to turn viewers into players and listeners into co-conspirators – achieving a level of engagement and embodiment that a conventional format just couldn’t match.
How do the candy-bright visuals and cheeky sound design reinforce your ideas about pleasure and de-stigmatisation?
Think of the colours as an instant permission slip. The lemon-sherbet yellows and bubble-gum pinks shout “toy box,” not “red-light district,” so viewers unconsciously downgrade the risk level before they even parse what they’re looking at. That sugar-rush palette frames pleasure as something bright, safe, and oddly nostalgic – a place you’ve visited in childhood, just repurposed for grown-up curiosity.
Sound pushes the joke home. Every slap, sigh, or gasp is chopped into upbeat percussion, so what might register as “explicit” in another context lands here as slapstick. You twist a knob and trigger a giggle that loops like a hi-hat; you shake a prop, and a cartoon moan stretches into a bass drone. By remixing erotic cues into playful music, the work converts embarrassment into amusement, letting participants laugh with the sounds rather than blush at them. Together, the neon visuals and cheeky audio conspire to say: pleasure isn’t dangerous or dirty – it’s bright, shareable, and frankly entertaining.
What interaction design choices shift the viewer from voyeur to active, embodied participant?
Turning the visitor from a side-line onlooker into a fully bodied participant has been a guiding principle from day one. Every gesture in Ooh La La! is designed to yank people out of passive watching and drop them into hands-on play. In the VR Playground you aren’t peeping at avatars – you’re the one brandishing the toy-like props and setting off the magic. A collection of whimsical mini games runs on instinctive motions: tap, jiggle, or squeeze an object and a chain reaction erupts. In the “Park” scene, those motions echo classic erotic rhythms – stroke a rubbery handle and a cartoon tower inflates; flick a trigger quickly enough and a spring-loaded jack burst, showering confetti. Because each payoff – swelling, popping, spilling – mirrors pleasure so directly, onlookers feel pulled in, trading voyeurism for playful embodiment. The actions are physical and gloriously silly, instantly melting any awkwardness. With hand-tracking and motion controls, your whole body becomes the interface; the shift is from gazing through a window to stepping straight inside. Watching someone toy with a suggestive object keeps you safely distant but doing it yourself collapses that distance. The moment visitors realise “Oh, I actually have to play,” they lean forward, laugh, and forget to be self-conscious.
The Orchestra ramps that up: you stride onto a podium as conductor, surrounded by an eccentric array of “instruments” that, on closer look, are all sex-toy riffs. Wave a wand that doubles as a vibrator, thump a drum pad shaped like an outsized silicone breast – nothing happens unless you perform. That demand for action is deliberate: the artwork needs a body to spark it to life. Your real-world movements are mirrored one-to-one in the virtual concert hall, and every stroke or shake triggers sound. Agency becomes palpable; you’re not eavesdropping on someone else’s intimacy; you’re composing the mischief yourself. By the finale, most participants have forgotten they ever worried about looking foolish – they’re too busy co-authoring the spectacle. That pivot from spectator to performer is exactly what the interaction design aims for, replacing detached viewing with playful closeness and genuine personal control.
How have people reacted to “Ooh La La” in exhibitions? Were there any responses that surprised you or made you see the work differently? Has watching audiences engage with this playful yet intimate experience influenced how you think about or present the piece?
The reactions to “Ooh La La!” in exhibitions have been as fascinating as they are heartening. In fact, watching people go from hesitant to gleeful is one of the most rewarding parts of this project. Often at a showcase, I notice visitors hovering in the doorway at first, their cheeks a bit flushed and unsure whether to step in – the very phrase “sex toy” can trigger all their internal alarms. Yet only minutes later those same people are fully immersed: drumming on virtual toys, giggling uncontrollably, and waving friends or partners over with excitement. I vividly recall one exhibition where a young couple exchanged a “should we be here?” glance. They decided to try it, and within moments they were laughing and shouting, “Come on, it’s not what you think – get in here!” to everyone within earshot. That incident made me see the work in a new light: approach intimacy with enough playfulness and it can even strengthen relationships between partners. It affirmed that the piece isn’t about provocation for its own sake; it truly can cultivate understanding and joy across diverse audiences.
Such responses have influenced how I present the work and gauge its impact. Those moments – the initial blush turning into an open invitation for others – have become a key metric for me. They tell me I’m walking the line correctly between edgy content and a welcoming tone. If people leave feeling lighter, more curious, maybe even relieved rather than judged or objectified, I know the work has done its job. We’ve managed to subvert the taboo without sliding into the shame we’re trying to dismantle. I’ve been pleasantly surprised by how playful – and even innocent – the atmosphere around “Ooh La La!” becomes once people engage with it. Observing audiences has taught me to lean further into that approachable vibe. For instance, I’ve tweaked exhibitions based on feedback – small things such as how I introduce the piece to newcomers or whether a facilitator is nearby to joke with nervous participants, ensuring they know it’s okay to laugh and be silly. Seeing visitors eager to share the experience, as with that couple, has also prompted me to emphasize its social, shareable aspects. I now often set up a monitor showing the VR view or amplify the Orchestra’s audio so friends can enjoy the spectacle, turning individual participation into a group laugh.
In short, audience reactions have not only validated the concept but actively shaped how I continue to present “Ooh La La!” They’ve shown me the importance of nurturing that safe, playful space – because when you do, people surprise you not just with laughter but with insight and openness you might never have imagined.
Have you encountered any challenges or frictions when it comes to exhibiting an immersive artwork centred on sex toys and sexuality?
Plenty. Exhibiting an immersive piece about sex toys inevitably runs into the wall of taboo. Some visitors (and even curators) hesitate to step inside a headset labelled “Ooh La La!” – worried it might veer into the pornographic or single-out participants for ridicule. I soften that barrier through framing: candy-bright visuals, cheeky signage, and a clearly stated goal of de-stigmatisation signal “playground, not peep show.” Humour targets our shared hang-ups rather than the person holding the oversized prop, and the designs stay abstract enough to feel inclusive across genders and backgrounds. Clear age-guidance (18+), welcoming staff, and a layout that gives users a hint of privacy all help people relax into curiosity instead of hovering at the edges.
The practical frictions are just as real. I solved this with rugged hardware, endless calibration, and backup units on hand. Display areas are tucked slightly around a corner or behind a soft partition or in a room, so visitors aren’t performing for a crowd, yet onlookers still catch the colourful projections and sounds. Convincing venues often means demoing the walkthrough to prove the work is subversive, not smutty. With that groundwork, initial doubts usually melt away, and the piece lands exactly where it should: a giggly, thoughtful space where pleasure can be discussed openly.
Do feminist or post-human theories actively inform your process, or have those readings emerged mainly from critics and audiences afterward?
I didn’t consciously set out with a feminist or post-human checklist in hand, but those currents inevitably flow through “Ooh La La!” because the piece is about empowerment, acceptance, and breaking shame – concerns that overlap with sex-positive feminism. Beyond that, the feminist layer comes from lived experience rather than theory books. Growing up in a conservative milieu taught me how rigid, patriarchal norms police pleasure; building a candy-bright playground where anyone can own their desire felt like the most intuitive pushback. Critics later pointed to Butler or sex-positive discourse, and I’m happy their language sharpens what my gut was doing: reclaiming the body and pleasure as acts of agency rather than scandal.
I welcome those readings because they give critical scaffolding to what began as a heartfelt, mischievous experiment in de-shaming pleasure.
In the landscape of immersive media art, where do you position “Ooh La La”? Is it in dialogue with other VR/MR art projects or trends that explore personal or taboo subjects, or do you feel it’s carving out new territory by tackling themes of sexuality and pleasure that aren’t commonly addressed in the medium?
“Ooh La La!” sits comfortably inside the current wave of XR works that use immersion to probe private or taboo subjects – think VR pieces tackling gender identity, trauma, or mental health. Like those projects, it borrows the avant-garde impulse to drag delicate conversations into public view but updates the tactic for headsets and haptics: step inside, move your body, and the topic of sexual pleasure becomes immediate rather than abstract. In that sense, the piece continues a long feminist/art-activist lineage of demystifying the body – only now the gallery wall is a 360-degree playground.
Where it veers off-road is in pairing sexuality with slapstick humour and candy-bright props, a mix still rare in immersive art. There were virtually no models for a public, critical XR experience about sex toys when we began, so we had to invent the tone and tech from scratch. That novelty turns the project into a friendly provocation: proof that VR can handle pleasure without slipping into porn or cliché, and an invitation to other artists to wander further into this untapped terrain.