In a new report that should unsettle anyone still clinging to the illusion that our species is thriving, nearly 20 percent of Gen Z respondents say they no longer believe monogamy is realistic. At first glance, this might conjure images of polyamory, open relationships, and fluid arrangements between confident, liberated adults unshackled from centuries of ideals. 

But the reality is very different, and in many ways, much more disturbing. 

Because they’re not out there with multiple partners. They’re not even out there with one. They’re alone. Not sexually liberated, not emotionally entangled — just alone. 

The retreat isn’t toward experimentation or human connection in new forms. It’s toward abstention. A voluntary, hollowing withdrawal from the entire relational project.

Gen Z isn’t “too busy for love” — they’re terrified of it. Terrified of being known, of being judged, of being needed. So they default to nothingness. To the safe sterility of solo existence.

We’re not seeing the rise of polyamory — we’re seeing the rise of polite celibacy. And that, I suggest, is a hundred times more troubling. At least multiple partners meant contact. Flesh. Friction. At least it involved the other. At least it meant being held. What’s coming now is a kind of soft nihilism: no sex, no dating, no risk, no closeness. Just the infinite scroll. The curated feed. The lonely ritual of simulated connection behind tempered glass. (RELATED: ‘Woke’ Polygamy is Coming Soon)

And if that doesn’t terrify you, you might want to check your pulse. I’m not calling for wild orgies in hotel rooms and public parks across America — but the lack of genuine human intimacy should set alarm bells ringing.

Because this isn’t just a sex recession, it’s a connection recession. A spiritual drought. A generation so ravaged by performance culture, trauma discourse, and online voyeurism that they’ve convinced themselves that it’s safer not to touch at all. Not to feel. Not to try. We told them to love themselves first. So they stayed there. Alone in the mirror.

This is not a puritan revival. It’s not about values. It’s about shutdown. Emotional, physical, existential shutdown. They say monogamy is dead not because they tried it and it failed — but because they never really entered the ring. They ghosted the entire idea of intimacy before it even began.

Swipe culture didn’t just distort attraction. It made people disposable. It trained an entire generation to believe that the next one will be better, hotter, less annoying, more aligned. But eventually, the algorithm stops serving anyone new — and you stop showing up as someone worth choosing.

Now mix in porn, isolation, pharma, identity confusion, gender disillusionment, rising antidepressant use, declining testosterone, and TikTok therapy — and what you get is a generation that’s diagnosed itself out of love entirely. Everyone’s “healing.” No one’s touching.

They’ve replaced connection with performance. Instead of affection, we get aesthetics. Instead of courtship, we get content. Instead of vulnerability, we get curated “self-care.”

Even the apps aren’t about dating anymore. They’re about validation. About metrics. The currency of desirability without the cost of intimacy. We’ve gamified attraction and removed everything inconvenient — like effort, risk, or sincerity.

We’ve created a generation that knows how to market itself better than it knows how to love. They can articulate every psychological quirk, cite their attachment style, speak in therapeutic soundbites — but they can’t hold eye contact in a café. They can type out entire essays of longing, of nuance, of heartbreak — but they can’t say “I like you” out loud. They know the language of connection but not the reality of it.

It’s easy to blame technology, and yes, it’s part of the equation. But something deeper is festering beneath it: a cultural loss of trust in the human. In risking embarrassment, in needing someone and saying so without a nervous laugh or a disclaimer, in the beautifully flawed struggle of being known by another soul.

What is a life, really, without closeness? Without another heartbeat tangled beside yours in the dark? We are social creatures. Touch isn’t just nice — it’s neurological nutrition. Babies die without it. Adults crumble without it. And yet, we are building a world in which it’s easier to have an AI companion than a human one. (RELATED: Mom, Meet My New AI Girlfriend)

There are no breakups with chatbots. No awkward silences with OnlyFans.

But there’s also no meaning. No entanglement. No life. This is not a conservative rant in disguise. This is not a call to return to the 1950s. It’s not about “going back.” It’s about going forward with eyes open — and understanding that intimacy is not optional. It’s not a lifestyle accessory. It’s the bedrock of emotional reality. And we’re pulling it out from under an entire generation. (RELATED: Marriage Is the Antidote to Societal Decay)

We don’t need to shame them. We need to reach them.

We need to start talking about connection not as a minefield or a wound but as a craft, a muscle, a risk worth taking. Because without it, Gen Z isn’t becoming freer. They’re becoming more fragile, isolated, and ghost-like in their own lives. And if we don’t turn this around, the future won’t be polyamorous or postmodern.

It’ll be post-human.

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