Is Porn Quietly Rewriting What Young People Think Sex Should Look Like?

If you’re a parent, educator, or anyone who cares about young people’s sexual health, this question should make you pause. The answer, based on what we’re seeing in classrooms and in clinical practice, is a resounding yes—and it’s creating a crisis of confusion, shame, and disconnection that we need to address urgently.

As a urologist and pelvic health expert, I’ve spent years helping patients navigate sexual dysfunction, shame, and unrealistic expectations about what “normal” sex should look like. But I’m increasingly concerned about what’s happening to Gen Z—a generation that’s having less sex overall, yet when they do have sex, it’s significantly rougher and more extreme than previous generations. And there’s a direct line connecting this paradox to one major culprit: pornography as their primary sex educator.

The Paradox: Less Sex, But More Extreme

Here’s what’s shocking: only about 45% of college-aged students (18-22) report being sexually active. That’s far less than previous generations at the same age. And yet, among those who are sexually active, approximately 80% report engaging in sexual choking during their most recent hookup.

Think about that. We’re not talking about occasional interest in rougher sex. We’re talking about a generation where choking has become as routine as kissing—what used to be considered distinctly kinky is now perceived as vanilla baseline.

This isn’t because young people have suddenly become naturally drawn to extreme sexual practices. It’s because porn has become their primary source of sex education in the absence of comprehensive, medically accurate instruction.

Porn as the Default Sex Educator

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: the United States has no federally mandated sex education requirement. Even when states do require it, it doesn’t have to be medically accurate or comprehensive. Some states actually mandate teaching information that’s factually incorrect or not medically sound.

So what do curious young people do? They go online. And when they’re looking for answers about what sex “should” look like, what bodies should do, and how to respond, they’re finding pornography—which is specifically designed for entertainment and arousal, not education.

Porn isn’t a documentary. It’s a highly stylized, often extreme performance that bears little resemblance to what pleasurable, satisfying sex actually feels like for most people. Yet for many young people, it’s their only reference point.

The Gender Divide: Why Women Are Opting Out Entirely

Here’s what concerns me most as a physician: when young women engage in these porn-influenced sexual practices—especially ones like choking that involve real physical risk—many report feeling scared, not excited. They describe the experience as something they tolerate rather than enjoy.

Recent qualitative research by Dr. Debbie Herbenick found that women being choked weren’t experiencing pleasure; they were experiencing fear. Men, often stronger than their partners, were choking women for 8-10 seconds at a time, sometimes multiple times in a single session. The women’s response? “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m okay with it.”

That’s not consent. That’s compliance born from shame and pressure.

And here’s the real tragedy: when young women realize they don’t actually enjoy porn-style sex, many conclude that sex itself isn’t for them. Rather than feel empowered to seek out sexual experiences that do feel good, they’re opting out entirely. They’re labeled “vanilla” or “boring” if they’re not interested in choking and extreme kink, so they choose celibacy over shame.

We’ve created a system where young women feel they have only two options: perform pain you don’t enjoy or don’t have sex at all.

The Shame of “Vanilla” in a Porn-Saturated World

Let me be very clear: there is nothing wrong with wanting to have gentle, intimate, non-kinky sex. There is nothing shameful about preferring connection over performance, tenderness over pain, slow exploration over scripted aggression.

Yet that’s exactly what’s being shamed in this generation.

The irony is devastating: in a culture where we claim to have “sexual liberation,” young people feel less free to want what they actually want. If what you want is missionary position, eye contact, and emotional intimacy, you’re boring. If you want to explore your pleasure gradually without extreme acts, you’re inexperienced or prudish.

This is the opposite of liberation. This is a new form of sexual coercion dressed up in the language of freedom.

The Larger Crisis: Dating Apps, Disconnection, and Loss of Development

The porn problem doesn’t exist in isolation. It’s compounded by several other forces reshaping young people’s sexual and romantic development:

• Dating apps create a “tyranny of choice.” When there are seemingly infinite options available through apps, it becomes paralyzing. Young people compare every person in front of them to the imagined possibilities still on their phone. They never fully invest in actually getting to know someone because their brain is always wondering who else might be out there.
• COVID robbed an entire cohort of developmental time. Gen Z missed crucial years of in-person interaction during formative teenage years when they would normally learn to flirt, read social cues, and navigate romantic interest. That’s not easily recovered.
• Phones and social media make everything about appearance. Dating apps gamified attraction into a two-dimensional photo. This has spawned new anxieties like “looksmaxing”—extreme measures young men take to make themselves more physically “optimized” for apps—because in that medium, your appearance is literally all you have.
• Anonymity removes accountability. When our parents dated, there were social consequences to treating someone badly. Friend groups overlapped. Word got around. Now, apps make it easy to ghost, manipulate, or harm someone with zero social repercussion.

What We Need to Do: Reclaiming Authentic Sexuality

As a physician and as someone who cares deeply about sexual health, here’s what I believe we need:

• Comprehensive, medically accurate sex education that starts early. Young people will be curious about sex—that’s normal and healthy. We need to be the ones answering their questions, not pornography. This education should include information about pleasure, consent, communication, and what healthy sexuality actually looks like.
• Normalization of “vanilla” sex. We need to actively counteract the shame around wanting gentle, non-extreme sex. Intimacy, vulnerability, and tenderness aren’t boring—they’re beautiful and deeply human.
• Teaching young people that great sex is awkward, messy, and involves failure. The porn version shows perfect bodies, perfect timing, perfect everything. Real sex involves miscommunications, awkward moments, bodies that don’t cooperate, and times when things don’t go as planned. That’s not a bug—it’s a feature. It’s part of the learning process, and it’s actually where real connection happens.
• Encouraging communication and consent conversations. Young people need to learn that asking “What do you like? What feels good? Is this okay?” isn’t unsexy—it’s essential. Vulnerability in communication is where real pleasure lives.
• Creating space for young people to feel empowered, not pressured. The goal isn’t to make everyone have the same kind of sex. It’s to create a culture where people feel free to want what they actually want, to say no to what they don’t want, and to explore at their own pace without shame or pressure.

The Bottom Line

Porn isn’t going anywhere. But we can’t let it be the default educator for an entire generation. Young people deserve accurate information, compassionate guidance, and permission to want what they actually want—even if that’s just regular, tender, intimate sex with someone they care about.

They deserve to know that the hottest sex isn’t always the roughest sex. That connection beats performance. That their pleasure matters. And that opting out entirely is never the only option when they’re feeling pressured.

This is a critical moment. Parents, educators, healthcare providers—we all have a role to play in helping young people develop a healthy, authentic sexuality that isn’t dictated by what they’ve seen on a screen.

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