First, let’s address the elephant in the room: what was set to be the summer of roaring, unadulterated fun, may have actually left most people feeling burnt out, stressed and, to be completely honest, a little over sex and dating altogether. 

Research from sex toy brand Lelo recently confirmed that the coronavirus pandemic sparked a ‘sexodus’. Their survey had 4,000 respondents, nearly half of whom (45%) admitted to having less sex than they might have had pre-pandemic. Maybe it was being in and out of lockdowns, maybe it is the fact that the world seems to be slowly ending around us; whatever the reason, it seems that people are having much less sex than they anticipated post-pandemic, myself included.

TV shows led me to believe there would be plenty of eligible bachelors to choose from at a variety of bars on a Friday night; instead, our new and far pickier selection processes mean that we’re developing the ick before potential partners have even asked us about our chosen vocation. According to a 2021 study, those between the ages of 18 and 23 reportedly have 14% less casual sex than young adults 10 years ago.

Living alone à la Carrie Bradshaw and having as much sex as I wanted was the dream I thought I would live out in my 20s. I felt fiercely independent and as though I had my life (somewhat) together, despite the fact that I only owned 2% of my furniture (the rest was the landlord’s) and I might have been kicked out at any moment for not paying the rent on time. There was nothing my little studio flat and I couldn’t conquer, be that pissing off my neighbours while dancing alone to Luther Vandross into the wee hours, inviting men home post-date just because I could or crying loudly in the bathroom shower; together we were ‘adulting’ – my apartment and I. That was until the pandemic hit, when using my space as my solitude from other human beings became a requirement rather than a choice. 

It wasn’t that long before I forgot what other people’s facial features looked like up close rather than on a facetime screen, and I remember longing to feel the small of someone else’s back during a long embrace. The intimacy of a cuddle became a distant memory, and I did not like it at all. I had started to feel trapped rather than free in my apartment, and it would be my mission post-pandemic to touch as many humans as possible once I was released from my rented prison. Unlike the shows I turned to for comfort during lockdown made it seem, living alone became incredibly lonely, and once the world opened up again, I felt it absolutely necessary to get back on all of the dating apps simultaneously to make up for lost time and get the roaring 20s off to the start I toasted to in 2020.

It wasn’t that easy though. The world had changed, and so had I. I had spent the past 18 months mostly on my own, and mostly more anxious about the future than I have ever been. As the matches turned to messages, and the messages turned to suggestions about meeting up, I found myself more turned off than excited. The dates and hookups that I did have weren’t filled with the frisson of excitement that they once had; the promise of romance or just good sex couldn’t shift the overwhelm and sinking dread I’d feel. Feeling embarrassed and alone, I went to my favourite doctor, Google, and stumbled across the term post-pandemic dating anxiety. Still an emerging topic, it mostly contains musings on the impact Covid-related isolation and how the subsequent stress has affected our sex drives.

According to sex and relationships expert Jemma Joel, there’s a good reason for this. “The pandemic has caused ongoing stress and anxiety for so many people, and even though we’re slowly coming out of it, people are still struggling,” she explains. While our anxieties surrounding dating, sex and relationships have perhaps heightened, our reluctance to get back into a world of ‘sex now and regret later’ is also a participating factor. “These emotions can have a huge impact our hormones, thus lowering our libido and reducing our desire to have sex,” she adds. “It’s a bit of a catch-22 because having sex can actually reduce our stress levels and make us feel great, but if we’re feeling stressed or anxious, it can be difficult to get into a sexually stimulating mood.”  

Much like my experience, I know others that have felt the pangs caused by a lack of affection, followed closely by the need to fill that void immediately. But our expectations of the dating world post-apocalypse fell flat. Isolation, a different way of working and the chance to slow down caused a shift in the way we see ourselves and the world. The pandemic fostered its own wellness routine and, in the age of quiet quitting, increased desires for satisfaction across the board and a new understanding of the importance of human connection; our standards have been raised from the bare minimum (anyone who pays for dinner, essentially) to, ‘If this doesn’t serve me, then I’m out.’ This, though, means there is a lot less room for spontaneous fun..

Of course, I’m not the only one who imagined my life would be different at this point. “I thought I’d spend my 20s doing glam things like getting with footballers and falling in and out of taxis with men my friends warned me off, but instead I’ve spent most of it inside watching Indian Matchmaker,” says Annie Lord, author of the memoir Notes On Heartbreak. “But it’s just so hard to meet people nowadays. Apps give you so many options that no one ever seems like the right one; no one goes to the office anymore, and for every decent man there are 10 great women.”  

Joel, however, believes there may be a way out of the dreaded sexodus. “My biggest tip to get you in the mood again is to begin with focusing on you. Do some self-exploring and reignite with your sexual self. Remind yourself of what turns you on. This can help to build your confidence and reduce anxiety. That way, when you eventually start having sex with a partner again, it’ll be easier to get lost in the moment, show your partner what you want and focus on the pleasure.” 

One thing is for sure: I’m going to spend the remainder of the year on various dates, attempting to disprove the statistics.  

Images: Getty