What We Click, What We Crave, and What We’re Too Ashamed to Say Aloud
Porn is the thing everyone watches, nobody talks about, and everyone has Opinions™ on—usually in capital letters, whispered contradictions, or clumsy moral disclaimers.
So let’s be brave. Let’s talk about it properly. No shame. No performative outrage. No clickbait purity.
Just the truth.
The Ubiquity Paradox
Porn is everywhere. It is the quiet companion of insomnia, the guilty browser tab between job applications, the thing teenagers find long before they find actual intimacy. It is a $100-billion global industry with more cultural reach than Disney, more repeat traffic than Amazon, and more influence on young people's ideas of sex than any school curriculum ever written.
And yet, talking about it? Still taboo. Still awkward. Still off-limits at dinner parties unless it’s a joke.
But here’s the twist: porn is shaping our emotional and erotic vocabulary. Every silent watch, every search term, every ‘just for five minutes’ is part of a deeper human story.
We don’t just consume porn. We project onto it. We confess to it. We seek in it what we struggle to ask for in real life.
What We’re Really Looking For
Are you watching because you're horny?
Sure. But sometimes, it’s because you’re lonely. Anxious. Sad. Bored. Powerless. Curious. Grieving. Alive.
Porn, like sugar, doesn’t just taste sweet. It soothes. It rushes. It numbs. It fills—until it doesn’t.
We’re not always craving a body. Sometimes we’re craving connection. Control. Validation. A feeling of being wanted without needing to speak.
That’s not weird. That’s not gross. That’s human.
But if we pretend it's just about mechanics, or keep shoving it in the shame cupboard, we lose the ability to talk about what really matters:
How has porn influenced what we expect from sex?
Who gets to feel desirable, and who gets objectified or erased?
What messages are we internalising about power, gender, race, and pleasure?
The Fantasy Trap
Porn is curated fantasy. It is not sex ed.
But when no one teaches us how to communicate in bed—how to say “I want,” “I don’t,” “can we try”—we start mimicking the choreography of pixels instead of feelings.
We learn to perform instead of participate.
We forget that good sex isn’t a performance. It’s a conversation. A co-authored story, not a script you follow in silence while pretending not to flinch.
The Emotional Aftermath
Let’s say the quiet part out loud:
Some people feel amazing after watching porn. Others feel empty. Some feel guilty. Some empowered. Some addicted. Some annoyed. Some are detached from their own desire.
Porn affects people differently—across gender, neurotype, culture, trauma history, and values.
So if someone tells you it’s liberating, believe them.
If someone tells you it’s destructive, believe them too.
Both things can be true. That’s the problem with binaries. They leave no room for honesty.
What If We Were Brave Enough to Be Honest?
What if we created a world where you could say:
“I watch porn and sometimes it makes me sad.”
Or:
“I don’t watch porn, and that doesn’t make me prudish.”
Or even:
“I use it to explore parts of myself I don’t yet have words for.”
What if porn wasn’t our dirty secret, but a mirror we learn how to look into critically, kindly, and—dare I say it—curiously?
Final Thoughts
I’m not here to cancel porn. I’m not here to crown it, either.
I’m here to ask questions. To open windows. To whisper, maybe even shout:
You are allowed to talk about this.
You are allowed to feel conflicted.
You are allowed to take ownership of your relationship with desire.
Because at the end of the day, it’s not just about what we watch.
It’s about who we become when no one is watching.