Growing up, I was taught that sex is something you experience with someone you love. The infamous “talk” my mother gave me, complete with a birds and the bees book, ingrained in my mind that the act of sex was equivocal to the idea of “making love.” I became attached to the concept of sex meaning giving a part of yourself to someone else, and that this should only be done with someone who reciprocated a deep appreciation for you.
In reality, this was a glorification of the idea of sex, influenced by mass media and popular culture. In the hyper-romantic drama of shows such as Gossip Girl and The Notebook, sex becomes a part of the plot line only once a love story is established. Hollywood portrays idealized sex scenes as of out-of-body experiences with perfect lighting and picturesque bedrooms, adorned with every little thing to make the sex appear beautiful, full of intimacy—an act of love.
Yet, as I’ve grown older and come into a world where Tinder dates prevail and random hookups are normalized and even encouraged, my perception of sex has taken a turn, as have the stigmas around sex in general. I had once viewed sex as a deeply important and sacred thing, influenced by people who believed that as well. I’d always put sex on a pedestal, treating it as a final destination in the journey of a love story. Defining sex as something intertwined with love allowed me to romanticize it, buying into Pablo Neruda’s little pink Love Poems book or Edith Wharton’s Terminus, which are both flowery accounts of romantic, sexual love.
But coming to college I’ve relinquished this fantasy, discovering that sex is not a generalized ideal but an individualized reality. My reestablished truth is that sex is defined differently by each being—and the idea that it should be one thing or another may even be antithetical to the erotic and the nature of sex itself.
Within college communities and in the broader world, sex culture can be exciting, random, inspiring, devastating, freeing, erotic, awkward or painful. The range of emotion provoked is never ending, and I believe everyone has constructed their own relationship with sex subconsciously. For some, sex may easily be separated from emotion, lacking completely in love. Maybe it’s purely an action, a mere physical connection. Friends with benefits can utilize sex without tapping into emotion, while others may find it complicated to separate sex from feeling and end up with affecting, indelible experiences. For some, the spontaneity and energy around a random sexual encounter is fulfilling, while for others this dynamic is terrifying and destructive to individual self worth. Preserving and feeding our own desire is crucial to validating sex for ourselves.
However, love is often times very absent from sex. The American Psychological Association’s Review of Sexual Hookup Culture shared that “a marked shift in the openness and acceptance of uncommitted sex” has lead to an increase in sexual encounters “among individuals who are not romantic partners or dating each other. Over the past 60 years, the prioritization of traditional forms of courting and pursuing romantic relationships has shifted to more casual ‘hookups.’” The review also included a survey of college students, 15% of whom had confirmed having sex with others after just meeting them. Growing conversations around casual sex may explain these findings; adolescents today express a willingness to take sex off the conceptual pedestal of importance I myself had placed it on. That’s not to say sex is not important, as I’m still very much aligned with the idea of it as a significant giving of yourself to another—but at the same time, I believe an appreciation for all approaches is necessary. Sex can be about experiencing romance, pursuing lust, getting in touch with your own body, or tapping into someone else’s. Whoever you can share this with, whatever can make you feel the way you want to feel, is valid for your own purpose.
Should it be a casual rendezvous or need there be something more attached? It’s up to you to decide.