When the Real Issue Is Not Enough Sex, Not Too Much Porn

There’s no shortage of conversation about the dangers of pornography and how it distorts perceptions, sets unrealistic expectations, and, for some, creates unhealthy compulsions. That’s a real concern, particularly for young people who are still developing their understanding of sex and relationships.

But this post is about adults. And for adults, the real issue often isn’t just what people are watching, it’s that too many people are engaging with sex as a spectator rather than a participant.

The Digital vs. Physical Divide

This problem mirrors a broader trend: over-reliance on digital spaces at the expense of real-life interactions. We see it in social media, online gaming, and digital friendships. Some people become so immersed in virtual experiences that their relationships, physical surroundings, and sense of community suffer.

Fantasy itself isn’t the issue, nor is immersion in digital worlds. It’s natural and even healthy to engage in fantasy. But fantasy should complement reality, not replace it. I’ve written before about how people with rich digital lives need to balance them with in-person relationships to maintain perspective, emotional intelligence, and meaningful connection. The same applies to sex.

Online interactions strip out much of what makes human connection rich—nonverbal communication, body language, and the subtle ways we physically inhabit space with others. Video calls, for example, compress data, blurring nonverbal communication and subtle facial cues.

These digital modifications strip away important interpersonal signals that shape how we understand and relate to each other.

This isn’t always a problem. Technology can enhance communication in many ways. But when digital interactions lack real-world context or grounding in physical relationships, they can warp our perceptions of connection, intimacy, and even ourselves.

Sex, in particular, involves a level of social and biological feedback that simply doesn’t translate into pixels.

Porn Isn’t the Problem, Isolation Is

Some of the criticism aimed at porn suggests it’s ruining sex lives. But the bigger problem might be that many people aren’t having enough sex in the first place.

Yes, pornography can shape expectations, sometimes in unrealistic ways. But the best antidote to that isn’t restriction, it’s experience. People learn the nuances of sex not by watching, but by doing. Real-life intimacy provides critical context, teaching us about pleasure, consent, emotional connection, and the art of exploring fantasies together, rather than just replaying the same scenes in isolation.

If someone’s primary sexual experience is solo, screen-based, and optimized for passive consumption, they miss out on this essential learning. They may start to see sex as a performance rather than an interaction, or as something that happens to people rather than between them.

Algorithms, ads, and digital platforms may reduce sex to just another form of content, but that doesn’t mean we have to see it that way. It is our decision and responsibility to resist turning intimacy into just another passive distraction in our own lives.

Fantasy and stylized versions of sex can fuel creativity and spark imagination, but they work best as optional and complementary to real-world intimacy, not a substitute.

The Strange Economics of Porn

There’s another kink in the system of digital economies: the kind of porn that most people consume isn’t necessarily reflective of broad human desires. Research suggests that the people who pay for pornography tend to have more extreme tastes. And since most online content is monetized through paid subscriptions (because free content gets pirated and shared), the industry caters disproportionately to this niche audience.

This creates a skewed feedback loop, influenced by both the long tail effect and the impurity spiral. The long tail effect, a concept from digital economics, explains how niche markets can thrive online because digital platforms allow for unlimited inventory, catering to even the most specific tastes. In pornography, this means that content appealing to small but highly engaged (and paying) audiences can dominate production, even if it doesn’t reflect the desires of the broader population.

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Meanwhile, the impurity spiral describes how escalating exposure to extreme content can shape and reinforce consumer preferences over time. As people repeatedly engage with more novel or intense material, their baseline for what is “desirable” or "normal" shifts. Because the most commercially successful content is designed for those already deep in this spiral (people who pay for porn), the broader population gets exposed to an exaggerated, stylized version of sex that is increasingly detached from how most people actually experience intimacy.

The Real Solution: More Sex, More Connection

The takeaway here isn’t that porn is inherently bad. It’s that real-world sexual experience is irreplaceable. Just as social skills erode when people engage primarily through screens, sexual confidence and understanding suffer when people don’t engage physically with partners.

There’s plenty to debate about the effects of pornography, but policymakers are unlikely to meaningfully curb its widespread availability. The style and content of porn will continue to be shaped by those who pay for it

Instead of worrying about what to ban, we should be thinking about how to have better sex: building real connections, deepening intimacy, and remembering that great sex, like anything else, gets better with practice, communication, and real-world experience.

The problem usually isn’t that people are watching too much sex, it’s that too many people aren’t having enough.