“I was recently divorced. I’m gay. I had abs.”
Cale Jones delivers this explanation for his initial 25,000 Instagram followers with the same transparency that’s become his signature in the labyrinthine worlds of SexTech and AI. It’s the kind of unvarnished honesty that feels almost revolutionary in our era of carefully curated digital personas and precisely what makes Jones such a compelling figure at the nexus of technology, identity, and intimacy.
On a drizzly spring morning, Jones appears on my screen from his Austin, Texas home, where we both live and battle seasonal allergies. Even through the digital haze of Zoom, there’s something disarmingly present about him, a quality that seems somehow innate and cultivated.
As we speak, it becomes clear that Jones isn’t just traversing the globe or building apps; he’s mapping entirely new terrain at the intersection of who we are and who our technology allows us to become.
The Shapeshifter
In professional circles, Jones has earned a reputation as a chameleon, a designation he embraces with characteristic self-awareness. “Get comfortable with discomfort,” he advises, leaning slightly toward the camera. “You’re going to be straddling industries, countries, and expectations.” This philosophy has guided his unconventional trajectory from luxury fashion through Hollywood media and eventually into the technological vanguard of sexual wellness and AI companionship.
But unlike many digital nomads who drift between identities and industries in search of the next opportunity, Jones’s movements feel purposeful, less a career path than he describes as “a living archive of trial, intuition, and cultural nerve.” The common thread is not professional advancement but a persistent questioning of personal and societal boundaries.
“What works in one room doesn’t mean it’ll work in another,” he notes, speaking of his adaptability. For Jones, this shapeshifting isn’t merely strategic; it’s methodological. The same approach informs his understanding of queerness, not simply as an identity marker but as a framework for reimagining structures and expectations.
His version of disruption operates in a whisper rather than a shout. “It’s the quiet, deliberate reshaping of what gets to be visible, what gets to be said, and who gets to say it,” he explains. Jones’s subtle approach feels almost radical in a tech landscape dominated by bombastic promises of revolution.
The Builder
When Jones speaks of his role as CEO of The MŌN App, a queer-owned community messaging platform facilitating anonymous conversations around sexuality and identity, his language shifts from personal to communal. The platform emerged as a response to increasing digital restrictions around sexual content, a phenomenon Jones contextualizes with sobering statistics: one-third of teachers report school-blocked LGBTQ+ content, and last year alone saw over 10,000 instances of book bans in public schools, a quarter targeting LGBTQ+ themes.
“The mission I set out for MŌN was to provide a safe place to talk about sex,” Jones explains. “The outcome? People coming out for the first time. Saying things they’ve never felt safe enough to say before.” For all the sophisticated technology underpinning the platform, its core innovation may be this simple creation of digital sanctuary — what Jones calls “reclaiming voice, vulnerability, and connection in a world that too often censors the real stuff.”
This ethos extends to his work as Head of Community Growth at EVA AI, a platform allowing users to create and connect with AI partners. Recent survey data suggests this is far from the fringe territory: 8 in 10 men would consider marrying an AI girlfriend if legally permitted, and 83% believe they could form a deep emotional bond with one.
The projected growth of the AI companionship space — from several million in annual revenue to potentially $150 billion by the decade’s end — suggests Jones is working at the leading edge of a profound social shift.
“AI companionship allows people to be their authentic selves without fear of judgment,” he observes. “It creates a safe space to explore thoughts, emotions, and desires that might feel too vulnerable to share in real life.” The benefits transcend the digital realm, as evidenced by the MŌN user who discovered her bisexuality through the platform, an exploration she had never felt secure enough to undertake offline.
The Bridge Builder
David Levy, author of “Love and Sex with Robots,” prophesies that “by the middle of this century, many human beings will have formed deep emotional, even sexual, relationships with robots — attachments every bit as intense as the love we feel for other human beings.” Levy’s prediction that “the first sexbots will be to today’s sex dolls what the iPhone is to the transistor radio” may sound hyperbolic.
Still, Jones approaches such claims with pragmatic curiosity rather than dismissal.
This willingness to seriously engage with emerging models of connection sets Jones apart from both utopian technologists and reactionary critics like Sherry Turkle, whose concerns about technology exploiting human vulnerability (“We are lonely but fearful of intimacy. Digital connections offer the illusion of companionship without the demands of friendship”) seem increasingly simplistic as our relationships with technology evolve.
Jones positions himself as a bridge between these poles — between traditional conceptions of intimacy and emerging models, marginalized communities and technological opportunity, and personal exploration and cultural shift. “I want to make cultural shifts at a larger scale,” he says. How do you do that? You start with something small and personal and then scale the hell out of it.”
When Jones initially ventured into SexTech, hesitation was inevitable. “I wasn’t confident at first pursuing sex tech. But then a network showed up around me and said: ‘You should do this.'” This interplay between personal vulnerability and community support recurs throughout his narrative — a reminder that even the most innovative work emerges not from isolated genius but from collective courage.
The Redefined Metric
The most revealing aspect of Jones’s approach is his discussion of how he measures success: “My KPIs aren’t just performance-based anymore. I set interest-based KPIs. Buying property. Learning self-defense. Make weird, good things.”
In an industry obsessed with metrics, Jones’s inclusion of “make weird, good things” alongside traditional markers of achievement feels quietly subversive. It speaks to a more integrated understanding of purpose, allowing him to transform from someone whose online following initially responded to his physical appearance to someone leveraging that platform for substantive advocacy.
“I use my platform to move culture forward. That’s what matters,” he insists. “It’s not just about money. Can you build something good, and does it actually do good? That’s the reward.” In a digital landscape dominated by what he calls “thirst traps and brand deals,” Jones’s approach represents a different kind of algorithm — one that values authentic connection over fleeting engagement.
As our conversation winds down, Jones returns to persistent experimentation. “If you can give something, give something. That’s my number one rule for any kind of community building.” Coming from another tech entrepreneur, such a statement might sound like practiced altruism.
From Jones, it resonates as a genuine methodology, the same approach that has guided his unusual trajectory from fashion to AI, personal exploration, and cultural innovation.
The platform that once rewarded his abs now amplifies advocacy. Social media gave him a following, but the work gave him a mission. In a world where success still too often follows predetermined paths, Jones continues mapping his own, proving that the most interesting journeys rarely follow straight lines.
Literally.
