In the 2010s, sex and relationship advice was obsessed with “spicing things up in the bedroom.” In every listicle—nestled between revolutionary tips like “try using a finger during oral sex!”—you could find the cheeky advice: give him a lap dance. And while lap dances still technically exist buried deep inside 27-step guides to “reignite the flame,” they no longer carry the cultural weight they once did. In fact, Google Trends shows that since 2022, searches for lap dances have hit their lowest point in the past 20 years.
It’s tempting to chalk this up to the natural death of a trend—one that, if we’re being honest, most people probably weren’t doing anyway. But I’d argue the disappearance of the lap dance from the cultural zeitgeist points, at least in part, to something bigger: the current state of erotic intimacy and romance. As we all know, it’s abysmal. And our reluctance to do silly, intimate, and selfless acts for our partners is feeding into this. But it’s not just about the dance itself—what did we actually lose when we stopped dancing for someone?
We exist in a timeline where vulnerability is in fact a weakness, and the idea of loving someone so brazenly that it might move you to dance is practically shameful. Having a boyfriend is considered embarrassing, we’ve begun caring about “swag gaps,” and women’s reluctance to open up to partners is ascribed as “black cat girlfriend energy.” And these things make sense. In an era where forfeiting independence is being packaged to women through trends like “trad wife” and “soft girl” lifestyles, the only rational response seems to be to put your guard up. I mean, who wants people to know they’re into a man when the current demographic is seemingly red-pilled? Here lies the issue, though. The PR for men may not be at an all-time high at the moment, but what does that have to do with your specific partner who loves and adores you? When we fixate on how attachment looks and live in constant fear of “looking stupid,” we flatten intimacy. In protecting our image, we’ve quietly starved love and romance of the vulnerability they need to survive.
In her viral essay “everyone is sexy and no one is erotic,” Elle Jones explains that in the pursuit of aesthetic perfection, we’ve lost sight of the truly erotic. There is this desire to be pristine and polished at all times (think: exhaustive skincare routines and a “boss babe” mindset) and as a result, our romantic and sexual lives have diminished. How much pleasure can be had when you’re consumed with worry about never messing up? I raise that lap dances—although not an all-encompassing solution—are a step in the right direction.
A lap dance is potentially one of the most intimate, exposed, and oddly tender acts you could do for a partner. Unlike partnered sex, there is no mutual rhythm to fall back on. Even oral sex has an ebb and flow of focus. The performer is fully on display—awkward angles, nervous laughter and all. Having an audience for body movements only your bathroom mirror typically sees can be nerve-wrecking, and yet, it’s the indulgence and servitude of the act that appears to be the most cringe by today’s standards.
We should all be more cringe in our relationships. We should all give more lap dances and we should all be more vulnerable with the people we love who love us back.
That vulnerability is what so many people describe when they talk about actually giving a lap dance. Kai, 31, says embarrassment was unavoidable the first time he danced for his partner—but so was the release. It felt freeing, he explains, because of “everything happening beneath the surface.” Sarah, 30, remembers dancing for a blindfolded boyfriend and feeling unmistakably desired, even without eye contact. Zach, 34, puts it more simply: “it was fun.”
A lap dance can feel like an overwhelming burden for connection—but we lose nothing by bringing more eroticism into our romantic lives. Professional dancers know this better than anyone.
Clu, who’s been dancing in strip clubs for five years, says people fixate on looking sexy when what really matters is intention. Laughter, she says, is normal—even welcome. “You gotta break the ice,” she explains. “Laugh it out. Take the edge off.” Comfort, not perfection, is what lets the erotic take over.
Meilani, another dancer, says it’s a give-and-take of intention and choreography. Surprisingly, she said it’s less about your lower body and more about your hands. “You could really just be straddling them,” she says. “But what are you doing with your hands? That’s where the connection is.”
And the connection is exactly what we’ve lost. In our obsession of being palatable and impossible to embarrass, we’ve drained intimacy of its risk. You know what could be at the end of a momentarily silly lap dance? Some really great sex. You know what could be at the end of loving someone wholly and unrestrainedly? A really great relationship. Sure, you might run the risk of embarrassment—but so fucking what?