There’s a current porn trend that involves real estate.

Or more specifically, real estate sales. And renting. And having sex in nice, unsold or for-sale properties.

I noticed it myself, while clicking blearily through PornHub looking for quick, convenient jackoff material. A surprising amount of THIS AGENT IS SO HOT FOR YOU and DUDE GETS LAID WHILE BUYING A HOUSE.

http://www.maxim.com/news/property-porn-2016-6

I had no idea it was such a big trend, but it makes total sense that it is. It makes almost too much sense.

Our generation is used to the economic instability at this point, especially if we live somewhere like California. Our baseline assumption is that owning a home is the exception, not the rule. Certainly owning a massive, nice, new home on premium land is the exception. There’s an economic class that gets to do that, but that is rarified air up there, the province of aspiration rather than immediate practicality.

So, of course, we fantasize about buying houses. This is just the porn extension of popular obsessions like Property Brothers and Fixer Upper. All vital cultural veins get a porn extension.

I’m not sure that the desire for shelter is less basic than the desire for sex, really.

This is the part people like to essentialize reductively as “girls like money”. No dude, we all like money. Historically, men have been tasked / privileged with doing compensated labor, but we all like money. This porn trend is proof of that. We don’t just want to fantasize about boning, we want to fantasize about boning while buying an enormous house.

We want to be safe and happy and connected and to have pleasurable experiences. This is not news. This should be the groundwork for cooperation. For what comes next. Because as we discovered last market crash, giant tracts full of Spanish revival stucco will not solve our problems as a species.

To me, there’s something beautiful and heartbreaking and tender about this trend. I imagine thousands of people in their bedrooms, rubbing one out to this bizarre whoops-we’re-having-sex-in-a-mansion pool-boy-esque story. Looking at an attractive person and wishing for that feeling of warmth and safety. Imagining a world where you biggest problem is how weird it is to be having sex with a real estate agent during a house tour.

We have much bigger problems, and much bigger fears. I think that’s almost always the point of drama in eroticism — it’s the same as when we’re playing pretend as kids. Little heroes, little stories. We want to confront problems we can solve.

I’m not immune to this. The last few years of my life have been the slow slog of building community; effort, kindness, and craft. I’m just as prone as anyone else to wish for the opportunity to drop back onto my laurels and have some sex.

The last few years have taught me, also, that we’re creating new ways to feel safe during the collapse. We DO have communities and we DO fuck each other and then lying in bed afterwards, we have these amazing conversations where we go yes, I understand, yeah cool, let’s go skinny-dipping in that hotel pool.

If later tonight you’re going to pull down your pants with the screen-glow lighting your face, just know that we’re with you. Like not in a weird way. Shut up, you know what I mean.

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