One particular portrait, a black-and-white closeup of a doll in a blond bob wig is so realistic, it's a dead-ringer for Julia Roberts' hooker with a heart of gold in . The office is divided into a series of R&D rooms and a massive workshop where the dolls are cast and assembled.
Silicone vaginas, breasts, penises, nipples, and every other body part imaginable in every possible size, shape, color and state of disrepair cover nearly every inch of the space.
When Mc Mullen gave me a spin with a beta version of Harmony AI, I ramped up a series of random personality traits to their highest levels, including "annoying," "sexual" and "insecure." It's like a scene out of , but Harmony is no Maeve Millay.
The quest for a female substitute reaches far beyond Hollywood, though.
History is rife with men determined to bring artificial women into the real world.
Versions of the Pygmalion story can be found in countless works of fiction, ballets, films, operas and TV shows.
The all support the same ancient premise that real women need an upgrade.
During my four-hour visit to the birthplace of the Real Doll, the frighteningly life-like full-body sex toy, I've seen mounds of silicone vaginas, sheets of detached nipples, headless women hanging from meat hooks, a 2-foot penis and skulls with removable faces that attach like refrigerator magnets.
Now, as we sit in the dim light of his R&D room, staring at his latest creation, Matt Mc Mullen, the founder of Abyss Creations (the parent company behind the Real Doll), nonchalantly turns to me and says, "All I see is potential."For a man poised to bring millennia of male desire to life, Mc Mullen, a small but striking figure who looks like a reformed industrial rocker, is surprisingly calm.
It's clear that she doesn't have a pulse, despite the finely painted veins faintly visible on the surface of her silicone skin.
To the touch, she is slightly sticky, colder than a real human; her flesh feels, at the same time, more dense and more pliable than our own.
When Ovid published his epic poem In a short vignette, Ovid introduces Pygmalion, a sculptor who falls in love with one of his own statues.