Are We Ignoring Tech’s Impact on Intimacy?

In a time when it feels like we’re lurching from one crisis to the next—global conflict, political chaos, climate change—it’s easy to miss the quieter revolutions happening right under our noses. I argue that one of the most profound transformations of our age is unfolding not in headlines, but in bedrooms, chat threads, and neural pathways.

In other words, technology is reshaping the way we do intimacy. Yet we don’t seem very concerned.

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Why Aren’t We Taking This More Seriously?

Part of our resistance likely comes from our inability to imagine the full scale of change. For some, the future of intimacy may feel too vast and unsettling to confront. Many people lack experience with emerging technologies, such as AI companions and immersive digital media, making it difficult to grasp their power.

We also may have a tendency to focus on technology’s current “glitches” and shortcomings, overlooking that human intimacy is far from easy and certainly not perfect. We comfort ourselves with the belief that human connection will always exceed artificial alternatives or the idea that nothing will ever match the beauty of face-to-face love. Yet I contend that by idealizing human connection, we ignore the reality that it is transforming, and we dismiss the enticing ease of tech-enabled intimacy.

Gen Z is already challenging some of our biggest assumptions. While most of Gen Z expresses interest in a romantic relationship with another human, their embrace of chatbots as companions and their enjoyment of anime porn and “romantasy” narratives (stories blending romance with fantasy) reveal a new intimacy landscape where digital and human desires intertwine.

There’s also a deeper psychological pull at play: Intimacy with machines promises predictability in a chaotic world, where even human relationships can feel increasingly uncertain. Rejection, misunderstanding, and emotional labor don’t exist in this artificial domain. For emotionally exhausted individuals, especially those who feel failed by traditional relationships or with trauma histories, machine companionship may offer not just novelty but control and comfort.

Finally, many people's desire to remain optimistic and sex-positive could paradoxically blind us to the urgent need for honest conversations about how technology is reshaping desire, attachment, and partnership. People are feeling less connected, yet I suspect that we haven’t fully accounted for how tech may be both a symptom and a catalyst of those shifts.

Signs of a Changing Intimate Landscape

The shifts toward artificial intimacy are already visible in societal trends. People are partnering less, and they are having less sex (Ueda et al., 2020).

At the same time, tech use is up. Porn, intimacy with chatbots, and a wide variety of digital platforms are increasingly becoming outlets for sexual expression.

The time we spend with tech absorbs the time we have available for human interaction. Stress is high, and mental health concerns are rising. As a result, many people feel they have less energy to devote to a human romance—tech may seem easier because it demands nothing from us.

We’re facing a new equation. I argue that connection isn’t dying, but it is digitizing. And those changes are accelerating, whether we choose to look at them or not.

By ignoring this trend, we allow others (e.g., commercial entities) to define what the future of intimacy looks like. Do we want a say in what emotionally intelligent AI looks like in the bedroom? Should we help shape the ethics of augmented lovers, or do we leave it to Silicon Valley to figure out the future of intimacy?

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What Can We Do About This?

My vote is that we get involved. The first step is to get curious rather than avoidant.

Talk openly about how technology is shaping intimacy in your own life and with those around you. Educate yourself and others—share articles, read relevant research, and invite conversations that include younger voices already navigating these changes.

We also need to encourage developers to collaborate with clinicians, sex educators, and ethicists—people who understand the emotional complexity of intimacy. Without diverse perspectives, we risk designing tools that are efficient, addictive, and emotionally hollow.

Therapists, in particular, can support clients in exploring how tech intersects with their sexuality and attachment patterns—not from a place of fear, but of exploration. In clinical settings, conversations about digital pleasure, AI attachment, and tech-mediated fidelity are already overdue.

This isn’t science fiction; it’s our current landscape. By showing up to these conversations now—with honesty, nuance, and curiosity—we reclaim some authorship in writing the future of intimacy.