The Endangered Sex Scene
“This is my kit.” Alicia Rodis, who since early last year has been HBO’s lead intimacy coordinator, a new title that translates roughly to chief sex-scene coach, held up a clear vinyl case filled with what at first glance appeared to be toiletries and packages of pantyhose. On closer examination, though, the products and their names were mysterious. Shibue. Hibue. Stanga.
“Let’s say we’re coming in to do a sex scene,” she said. “They’re simulating sex and they’re excluding genitals—we are going to see someone fully naked, but not their genitals—and they’re in the bed, with sheets. So what do we need to make sure?” Here she picked up a Shibue (“she-boo”), which looks like a panty liner except that it’s meant to adhere to a person rather than to an undergarment. “We take a Shibue, open it up, and put a silicone guard underneath so everyone becomes like a Barbie doll.”
Rodis wants both to shield sensitive body parts and to make their contours undetectable. She explained that costume departments know all about the items in her kit, but she doesn’t like to leave anything to chance. If she’s new on a set, she will bring Shibues in a full range of human skin tones and some silicone guards, too. She waved a lavender package containing one (brand name: Silicone Valley), then continued riffling through her supplies. “Knee pads or elbow pads in case someone’s on a hard floor. Sticky tape, moleskin. Wet Ones, tissues, breath mints. Baby oil so they can take anything that’s adhesive off. Razors—though usually I’ll talk with actors beforehand and ask, ‘Could you shave your bikini line so
