it’s 10 p.m. and i’m lying in bed, music playing low in my ears, half-ignoring the stack of studying waiting for me. my screen lights up on tiktok, with a quote that stops me mid-scroll:
“sex is the closest you’ll ever get to someone’s soul and people turned it into a hobby.”
and it hit me because it’s true. and it’s terrifying.
in my experience as a gay man, it feels like intimacy has been stripped of its meaning and repackaged as casual convenience. i can’t count the number of times a date turned into a hookup, and that was it. that was all. you go in with hope for something more, maybe a real connection, a conversation that lasts beyond a night, but it ends in silence, maybe a follow on instagram, maybe not even that.
and it’s not just me. i’ve talked to friends, seen the patterns, watched as vulnerability gets replaced with performance. the expectation now is that sex is the default, not the result of something deeper. why is that? why have we made something so intimate so… casual?
i think part of it is that hookups feel safer.
dating, real dating, is scary. putting your heart on the table is terrifying. a hookup though? it’s simple. it’s safer. you don’t have to talk about your childhood trauma or the fact that you haven’t felt truly seen in years.
for a lot of queer people, especially, this is also about catching up.
our teenage years weren’t filled with crushes, proms, or awkward first kisses. we were hiding. now in our 20s, we’re trying to explore and figure out what we like, who we are. and often the only place that feels available is the surface-level kind of intimacy.
and yeah, we’re more open about sex now, which is a good thing.
but we’re still not really talking about what it means. we’re not having conversations about the loneliness that follows, or how easy it is to confuse feeling desired with feeling loved.
i’ve woken up the next day feeling more alone, not less. like my body had been close to someone’s, but my soul hadn’t. and that’s the part that aches.
we crave connection. we want to be wanted. but in a world where marketing is designed to make us feel not enough, how can we believe we’re worthy of genuine love?
because it’s not just products they’re selling anymore. it’s beauty standards. it’s bodies that don’t feel real. it’s curated lives we compare ourselves to endlessly. and in the gay community especially, with its layers of hypersexualization and performative masculinity, it can feel like you either keep up or disappear.
so we chase a moment of feeling seen.
even if it only lasts a few hours. even if we know it’ll leave us emptier.
and maybe that’s the ultimate dissatisfaction
we’re looking for things we’ll never find because we’re looking for them in the wrong places.
i don’t have a perfect answer
i’m still figuring it out too. but maybe it starts with honesty. with naming what hurts. with unlearning the belief that our worth is tied to how many people want us or how many nights we can forget ourselves.
because you deserve more. i deserve more. we all do.
if you successfully manage to read through all of this, thanks for being here. this post is part of a larger journey i’m on, one about my identity, healing, queerness, and figuring out how to move through a world that keeps telling us we’re not enough. if you’ve felt this too, or just want to talk, my dms are open. luv u <3
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