As more studies suggest, we are living through a moment where sex is happening less, anxiety around intimacy is rising, and more and more young people are choosing celibacy or solitude—not always out of peace, but sometimes as the only way to cope. Intimacy seems to be undergoing a profound crisis, echoing from the depths of the dopamine hole. Afling. No strings attached. Intimacy without commitment (probably my favorite, for how it holds both emotional truth and absurdity). “Friends with benefits” already feels dated. Yesterday, someone was the most beautiful, sensual lover; today, they’re just a (fucked) body. There’s a term for every possible constellation of connection, but somehow all of them still fail to hold the weight of real feeling.
The rise of “situationships”—those blurry, undefined in-betweens—has made everything even messier. Nothing’s clear, and that not-knowing can feel quietly brutal. Research confirms what so many of us are sensing: people stuck in unstable or non-committed dynamics report more romantic loneliness than those in stable relationships. We are freer than ever, and maybe lonelier than ever, too.
We speak freely about sex—often it’s the topic of the first date. Not as flirtation, not to inject erotic undertones into conversation, but as a site of intensity, sometimes even a battleground. It is political. Yet what seems absent from these exchanges are the kinds of questions that truly pierce the surface, questions that mark a moment of self-awareness. Do I actually want this? And if yes, then why? This isn’t about moralizing desire or invalidating even self-destructive impulses, but rather about recognizing, normalizing, and integrating them within the self.
I projected this idea into customized condoms, each individually printed with fragmented text exploring post-romantic intimacy. The packaging transforms an object associated with intimacy and protection into a medium for existential reflection and ironic detachment, confronting the intersection of vulnerability, desire, and self-awareness. The text—ranging from poetic to post-ironic—turns the condoms into both a conceptual publication and an artifact of modern dating culture.
