The Intimacy Recession: Why Gen Z Isn’t Having Sex — And Why That’s Okay

Desire, Rewired

I used to think wanting sex meant I was wanted. That desire — or being desired — meant I mattered. For a long time, sex was how I measured self-worth. Not intimacy. Not connection. Just proof that I was still attractive, still needed, still relevant.

But something shifted. Somewhere between my recovery, my return to Sydney, and my deeper dive into what fulfilment actually means — my sexual appetite changed. And at first, I thought something was wrong with me. But the more I read, the more I saw: I’m not alone.

The Culture of Less

We are living through what some are calling a "sex recession." Gen Z — the queerest, most connected, and arguably most self-aware generation yet — is also the least sexually active. As Jia Tolentino wrote in her recent New Yorker feature “The Case Against the Sexual Revolution?”, young people are navigating a cultural tug-of-war between hypersexual online realities and a real-world sense of burnout, anxiety, and disconnection.

Influencers joke about it, researchers are baffled by it, and conservatives are spinning it as proof of moral decay. But what if it’s none of those things? What if this is actually about values, not dysfunction?

Shifting Priorities, Deeper Meaning

I understand this on a deeply personal level. A few years ago, I was on antidepressants, carrying extra weight, and questioning my own desirability. Even now, fitter and stronger than I’ve ever been, I often feel like I’m still living in the shadow of that former version of myself — the one who used sex as validation. I still fight that voice that says I have more work to do. In some ways, that voice has kept me disciplined. In others, it’s a trap that prevents contentment.

And maybe that’s why I’m okay with having less sex these days. I don’t crave being wanted in the same way I used to. I want to feel seen, respected, and aligned. Not objectified. Not just "hot."

Sex is still important. But it’s no longer the centrepiece. And I think that’s something more and more people are feeling — especially in a generation raised in a world where sex is always available, but rarely meaningful.

It’s Not About Repression. It’s About Evolution.

Jia Tolentino captured it well: "The real problem at the heart of this matter is less about sex and more about loneliness." Even in a culture built for hyperconnection, many young people feel stranded — emotionally, spiritually, physically. The result? A drop in intimacy. A shift in priorities. A move toward self-preservation over performance.

And for queer people, especially, this shift is radical. We were raised in a world that often denied our right to desire and then overcorrected by celebrating our sexuality without always supporting our emotional health. What happens when we stop performing? What happens when we say: I’d rather be safe, grounded, and whole than validated for an hour?

That’s not repression. That’s evolution.

Listening to What Your Body Actually Needs

We need better sex education, yes. But we also need conversations about how desire works — how it changes over time, with trauma, with medication, with life. We need to stop treating low libido like failure, and instead ask: what’s your body telling you it needs?

The answer might be rest. Or nature. Or connection. Or therapy. Or maybe just more time off screens.

As Carter Sherman explored in The Second Coming: Sex and the Next Generation’s Fight Over Its Future, many Zoomers aren’t choosing abstinence out of fear — they’re doing it because they want more from life than performance. They're questioning everything: the expectations, the scripts, the porn-fuelled fantasies, the dating app fatigue. And they’re finding, slowly, that there's no right answer. Just what feels right now.

So, if your desire has changed — that’s okay. If you’re choosing to build a life that’s about more than validation — I’m with you. And if you're still figuring it out — that’s brave.

Let’s stop pathologising change. Let’s start honouring it.