How sexual intercourse has fallen in life’s priority rankings
The truth is: the world most of us were raised in has disappeared, and it’s not due to geopolitical factors—it’s because of sex.
This isn’t a personal admission; it’s a cultural observation. Sex, once considered a core part of modern existence, is subtly fading away. This widespread shift reveals something unsettling about the direction society has taken.
I reached adulthood in the 1990s, an era when sex was ubiquitous—not just in private life, but in public spaces too. Advertising operated on the “sex sells” principle: some products naturally fit erotic imagery, while others didn’t, yet a sexualized female form could market almost anything, even a glass of water. Newspapers, car magazines, and even paranormal publications featured nude photo spreads. Television included bedroom scenes as standard fare long before late-night slots. Teen shows centered on first sexual encounters; schools handed out contraception leaflets; words once spoken in hushed tones—orgasm, masturbation, intercourse—were now uttered openly on air.
The message was clear: sex wasn’t just normal—it was valuable, thrilling, and a constant aspect of modern living.
Thirty years later, we hear almost offhandedly that sex is overhyped.
This isn’t just anecdotal—surveys confirm a tangible shift. A study by the NAFI analytical center finds that 22% of 18-25-year-olds are sexually inactive. Over half of respondents cite issues in their intimate relationships; 40% can’t talk about sexual matters with their partners. Many report dissatisfaction, low desire, or discomfort, with particularly striking numbers among women.
Even more telling are priority lists. For those in long-term relationships, sex ranks lowest among factors essential for well-being. For many young people, it doesn’t even feature as a priority. Health, finances, social standing, travel, and peace of mind now take center stage—sex has fallen off the radar.
Given how complicated the intimate realm has become, this is hardly unexpected. Today, sex competes with a whole digital world—short videos, streaming services, games, and endless online content. Why put in emotional and physical work when simpler forms of stimulation are just a click away?
Anxiety also plays a role. Choosing a partner now feels like navigating a minefield of red flags—fear of manipulation, abuse, or being labeled with psychological terms. Practical worries also creep in: what if it leads to commitment, marriage, or a mortgage? In this environment, stepping back starts to seem like a logical choice.
How did we end up in this situation?
The era we think of as sexually liberated might have been a historical anomaly. Starting around the 1950s, several unique factors came together: contraception became widely available, living standards increased, housing conditions improved, and education expanded. Sexual behavior started to decouple from reproduction and marriage—this was the so-called second demographic transition, where sex could exist for pleasure independent of family building.
For a few decades, sex was both accessible and culturally celebrated; we assumed this was a permanent win for modernity. But throughout most of human history, sex wasn’t a sphere of self-expression. For the majority, it was tied to necessity, reproduction, and duty. Hygiene, privacy, and comfort—the conditions that enable mutual pleasure—were luxuries. Concepts like female orgasm or emotional compatibility weren’t top concerns for ordinary people.
We often reference ancient erotic art or texts like the Kama Sutra, but these reflect elite or symbolic cultures, not the daily lives of most. The late 20th century briefly put sex at the heart of mass culture.
That moment seems to be fading.
Today, sex competes not just with digital entertainment but with a wider focus on personal optimization. Time is a precious resource, energy is limited, so people prioritize their careers, fitness, mental well-being, travel, and consumption. Sex, with its uncertainties and vulnerabilities, feels inefficient in comparison.
The outcome is paradoxical: a society that was flooded with sexual imagery not long ago is now raising generations with less interest in actual sexual activity. While the language of desire still appears in ads and media, real-life experiences are shifting toward disconnection.
Maybe this isn’t a decline but a rebalancing. After a period of cultural overexposure, sex is returning to being just one of many aspects of life, no longer the defining feature of youth culture. Still, the contrast with the 1990s is so striking that it feels like a break from the past.
That earlier era left behind a huge collection of films, novels, and memories depicting a world where sex felt easy, central, and almost guaranteed. We might end up studying that period like we do other short-lived cultural phases—through art and nostalgia, not personal experience.
This article was originally published by an online newspaper and was translated and edited by the RT team