Everyone Is Having Sex, but No One Is Being Intimate
By Avery Wilson
By now, I’m sure you’ve heard the phrase “Everyone is sexy, no one is erotic” in reference to Gen Z and our incessant need to primp and prep our faces and bodies to a level of unnatural beauty while simultaneously having way less sex, and if we do have sex, there’s nothing remotely erotic about it.
Through the societal shift of bodies becoming optimized assets that bring a perceived value to our lives and not a vessel of enjoyment, we’ve lost the ability to build sexual chemistry and allow ourselves to be erotic. I first learned about this through a now-famous Substack essay that coined the phrase by Elle Jones; she acknowledges that her article is in line with the growing trend of discussions around Gen Z’s lack of sexuality, but she’s the first person I’ve seen mention the actual cultural contributors that led to that (social isolation caused by the pandemic, lack of birth control/contraceptives, phone-induced individualism, rise in conservatism, economic downturn… the list could go on forever!).
I wholeheartedly agree with her analysis; however, I do think that there’s something missing from these conversations that, ironically enough, no one is bringing up: intimacy.
I know that sounds obvious, especially in conversations surrounding sex and hookup culture, when you are quite literally being intimate, but I think now more than ever the ability and, more importantly, the want to be intimate is lost.
No one is having trouble getting into people’s pants, but expressing vulnerability, acknowledging, and allowing in a perception you can’t control? You have better luck at winning the lottery than breaking down that wall. Intimacy has always been difficult, but it’s a necessary part of eroticism (and human connection as a whole), which is what makes it so gratifying.
There’s a version of the self that’s on display, one that’s exposed, fragile, but you allow another person to see it in hopes that they will share that part of them with you too, and if you do that, trust is established and provides the foundation for a level of connection much more pleasurable and exciting than before. But we’ve buried this underneath the current societal state of sex, which, thanks to dating apps and hookup culture, is so routine and borderline transactional.
It’s commonplace to treat these apps like the Yellow Pages of singles in your area; you meet maybe once or twice, hook up in the most mundane and rudimentary way possible, and leave feeling unsatisfied, never to speak again… or so I’ve heard many a time. I myself am too emotionally slutty and self-important to be on dating apps. I would feel ridiculous at the thought of crafting a profile in hopes of selling myself to a suitor, but I do not shame or judge those who try.
Realistically, it makes sense: why dare to be intimate when we live in a surveillance state? Trying to exist and enjoy ourselves in the panopticon, while we are so aware of how we’re being perceived at any given moment. People are so terrified of judgment from our peers that we police ourselves both online and in person. Participating in the world now includes maintaining an image with no room for vulnerability; God forbid you do something embarrassing or abnormal, without the fear of mass viewing and permanence living inside you.
We’ve tightened the reins on our own behavior so much that there’s barely any room for another person to form an opinion before we start self-correcting. Now add in the pressure of forming a romantic or sexual relationship with someone else; it’s no shock to me that so many people have a “Let’s get this over with” attitude. We’ve completely forbidden ourselves from sitting with potential discomfort that many would rather not risk at all.
There’s a level of safety that comes with having your walls up; you feel a sense of control and power by keeping anyone out. But in doing so, you pay the price of having unfulfilling, untrusting interactions.
Can you really be enjoying yourself if the version of you present is so tightly wound? It all seems so fruitless, hence why it’s so unsexy.
Expressing and embodying your emotions is something that I struggled with for a long time; I spent so much time over-articulating my thoughts, trying to manufacture them in a way that would be succinct and understandable, that in the end I came across as awkward. But when I stopped focusing so much on how I looked and finally let myself experience my emotions as is, my life completely shifted, and so did the quality of my relationships.
It was so freeing to finally embrace the parts of myself I tried so deeply to tuck in the corner of my soul. I noticed that when I let others see this unguarded iteration of me, they soon enough would let me see those parts of them as well. We understood each other more deeply; our relationship took on greater importance because we both dared to risk judgment from one another, only to be met with an embrace.
If you stop worrying about perception and opinion and are bold enough to be intimate, you can just enjoy yourself, which is the sexiest thing of all.
