For nearly a decade, a steady stream of podcasts, books, and public discussions has attempted to diagnose a persistent cultural trend: why Gen Z is engaging in less sexual activity than previous generations. Recently, the film industry seems to have recalibrated to address this perceived frigidity. While the rise of “smut” literature and the mainstreaming of OnlyFans models on television suggest a preoccupation with intimacy, indie cinema is now specifically focusing on the kink-adjacent sexual misadventures of young protagonists to dissect generational attitudes.
A core contradiction defines Gen Z chastity; despite being arguably the most sexually progressive cohort, they operate under the weight of significant sexual conservatism. The 2022 overturning of Roe v Wade, for instance, left 16% of single Gen Z adults feeling increased apprehension toward dating. This tension serves as the premise for the romcom One Night Only, which depicts a dystopian reality where Congress has banned premarital sex. The government permits a single night of legal sexual freedom annually—a concept resembling a “purge” for the single population—where characters Owen, played by Callum Turner, and Allie, played by Monica Barbaro, eventually meet.
Despite its political backdrop, One Night Only treats its dystopian premise as a narrative hurdle rather than a critique of authoritarianism. The film focuses on obstacles like the $2,000 price tag for condoms that Owen struggles to acquire, mirroring the trivial complications of 90s romcoms. Because the film provides little context regarding the characters’ lives prior to the ban, Allie’s frustrations about finding her “Prince Charming” feel generic and indistinguishable from common complaints about modern app-based dating.
The film ultimately misinterprets the current “sex recession” as a matter of libido rather than an existential crisis. Gen Z is the first generation to reach maturity entirely within the internet age, facing unique alienations exacerbated by the pandemic. The film does, however, capture the inherent awkwardness and difficulty of initiating intimacy in a digital world. Other summer releases suggest that sex alone cannot resolve the fundamental loneliness of modern life. In Gregg Araki’s I Want Your Sex, the protagonist Elliot, a studio assistant to the provocative artist Erika Tracy (Olivia Wilde), finds that his attempts at connection are stifled by his own gullibility and Erika’s worldly detachment. The film’s emotional peak occurs during a doomed threesome with his roommate Apple, which forces the characters to confront their own muddled desires and insecurities.
This dynamic—a younger, less experienced individual learning about self-knowledge through an older, seductive mentor—appears in both The Invite, also directed by and starring Wilde, and Jane Schoenbrun’s Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma. The latter film, however, treats sex, death, and art as inseparable human impulses. The protagonist, 29-year-old filmmaker Kris (Hannah Einbinder), is tasked with rebooting the Camp Miasma slasher franchise that originally triggered her “queer awakening.” She journals the word “DESIRE” in bold letters, attempting to navigate her own creative process.
Through her relationship with the original franchise “final girl” Billy Presley, played by Gillian Anderson, Kris learns that reaching an artistic or sexual climax requires surrendering control. Billy teaches her that slashers and sexual desire are both visceral, elemental experiences that defy simple intellectualization. While One Night Only uses bodily autonomy for comedic effect and I Want Your Sex features a protagonist who dismisses Gen Z “wokeness,” Camp Miasma maintains a more sincere tone. Kris eventually moves past her desire to correct the franchise’s past transphobia, finding a more authentic connection with Billy that allows her to create honest work.
These films do not offer a prescriptive guide for young people navigating sex; rather, they serve as cautionary tales that highlight behaviors to avoid. Their value lies in their willingness to return sex to the screen, complete with all its messy, awkward, and complicated realities, providing a raunchy antidote to the perceived celibacy of the current generation. The report also notes that and since then, a deluge of books, podcasts and roundtables has tried to get at the bottom of the problem: why is gen Z not having sex, the first alarm bells sounded nearly 10 years ago. The report also notes that it merely presents obstacles for Allie and Owen to overcome – such as the $2,000 price tag for the condoms Owen attempts to procure – much like the missed connection brought about by a busy phone line in a 90s romcom. The report also notes that recently it’s as though culture has been recalibrated to make up for the youth’s apparent frigidity. The report also notes that silly hi-jinks aside, One Night Only misunderstands today’s sex recession as libidinal, when really, it’s existential. The report also notes that or can’t find a man: they are the first generation to grow up fully under the influence of the internet, with its attendant alienations; worse, its youngest members came of age during the pandemic, it’s not that zoomers aren’t horny. The report also notes that let alone how to initiate sex – a process often awkward, if not outright painful, for everyone no matter their age (This much, at least, One Night Only gets right.), knowing how to relate to one another is hard enough. The report also notes that a doomed threesome with Elliot’s sexually confused roommate Apple (Chase Sui Wonders), that order is disturbed, but in the film’s best moment. The report also notes that leads Erika to lose her grip, and Elliot to rebel against his part.