— No wonder there’s a sex recession

The allure of digital relationships that can be curated and controlled comes at the expense of mutual vulnerability

By Van Badham

The western drift away from seeking moral instruction from the church is understandable; the morality plays staged every day on Reddit’s infamous “Am I the Asshole?” threads are far more entertaining.

A few weeks ago, a post went viral in which the author seeks a public verdict on the question “AITA for asking my roommates to remove their dildos from the bathroom mirror in a way that was not kind?” The young poster had responded to the presence of newly washed sex toys in a shared space with a disgusted hostility and the dildo-owning flatmate complained the poster should have requested the removal more politely.

This brash – and now VERY public – story of objects once unlikely to be mentioned outside (ahem) the most personal of circumstances appears at the same time US magazine the Atlantic has been discussing “America’s intimacy problem”.

Researchers in the US have noticed a decline in secure attachments between individuals. Growing numbers of Americans find themselves either avoiding or incapable of maintaining intimate social relationships, with the consequence being loneliness and isolation. Psychologists report that even when their clients do want the security and comfort of meaningful connections, “there’s a lot of confusion and fear in terms of how to get there”.

In a cultural moment where liberalised attitudes towards sex and sexuality have destigmatised so many forms of sexual behaviour, younger generations appear to be growing less sexually intimate.

It’s not an exclusively American problem. In Australia, younger generations have also been in a “sex recession” for years. Figures compiled in 2020 revealed 40% of people in the 18-24 age bracket had never had a sexual partner. Disturbingly, some of those who know sexual contact may not necessarily know it with intimacy, but with coercion.

Sociologists and other researchers have speculated that social media is driving this. From chat to porn, the new networks provide on-demand experiences of connection that resemble in-person interactions without sharing the awkward, human rhythms of the real-world thing. The digital allure is of relationships that can be curated, controlled and contained.

Simultaneously, the portability of image-capture technology has facilitated an era of relentless self-surveillance. Powerful forces incentivise the exploitation of the personal, from the monetisation of the influencer to the desperate social competition for online attention.

The digital paradigm has come to contain us. To admit one is messy, inexperienced, scared, human-shaped or in any way truly vulnerable is an act of trust before another person and we’ve all learned by now to never trust anything pretending to be a person on the internet. Maybe the culture of mistrust fostered on the internet is what’s bleeding into our external lives? The relentless exposure of it renders any revelation of frailty a dangerous prospect.

Meanwhile, experiments such as Arthur Aron’s “36 questions that lead to love” established that it’s the mutual revelation of vulnerability that creates our most intimate bonds.

The terror is valid. The personal cost is incalculable.

Recently I received the sad news that an old theatre friend had passed away, and far too young. We lived on separate continents and had not been in touch for quite some time.

This news of his death, though, has shattered me. The memory that replays itself dates from 19 years ago; we’d stumbled into my apartment to crash after an all-night drunken adventure, and in his besozzlement he found himself unable to remove his contact lenses. He asked for help. My careful fingers peeled the plastic droplets from the eyeballs of my prone-on-the-spare-bed, fully clothed friend and it remains one of the most intimate experiences I’ve had with another human being. It changed the channel of our relationship – not into anything romantic, but into another kind of closeness that remains tricky to explain.

The pain of loss I’m feeling now is the price humans pay for the intensity of these connections.

Restless and raging at the sky in the wake of too many recent deaths, I’m yet to be convinced that the worst flatmate or view-aggregating Tokfluencer doesn’t yearn for the intimacy of a profound friendship, or a loving family, or true romantic love.

For those who may find themselves insecurely attached and sad about it, some gentle guidance: it’s not our social performances that leave an indelible impression behind us – it’s the risk taken to trust someone else when we are in our greatest vulnerability. It’s in these moments we become immortal to each other.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!