We Blame Sabrina Carpenter, But Never the Pornified Algorithm
Unpacking the mental health cost of fantasy, the silence around addiction, and the systems profiting off our disconnection
Disclaimer: I deeply respect Sabrina Carpenter as an artist. This image isn’t a critique of her, but a reflection of the cultural moment her photo represents and how it connects to the deeper conversation in this piece.
Porn is the new sugar, the new heroin, the new high that comes without a dealer because now it lives in your hand. On your phone. In your feed and for many people, in your habits.
It’s easy. It’s accessible. And it’s quietly destroying how we connect.
This isn’t a call to burn it all down. It’s a real moment to acknowledge what’s unfolding in our lives regarding the connections, creativity, and purity amongst us as a community.
Porn has always existed, sure. But the way it’s consumed now? That’s never happened in human history. We’ve normalized consumption at a pace and frequency that the brain isn’t wired for. And the younger the consumer, the more devastating the impact. Because before there’s even language for intimacy or consent, kids are watching violent, performative sex. They grasp the concept of desire and detachment before the brain even develops fully to understand sex fully.
And no one’s talking about it.
Not really.
The more I dug into this topic, the more I noticed something eerie—there’s not just a lack of research. There’s resistance to the conversation itself. Anyone who raises questions about the psychological or cultural consequences of porn is met with ridicule or labeled as insecure, prudish, or “shaming.” We attack the messenger instead of sitting with the message.
Why?
Perhaps it’s because we’re all tangled up in this in some fashion, and when we take a moment to recognize the damage, we feel implicated or even like hypocrites. We fear that it might undermine our essence as human beings.
To me, being a participant doesn’t mean we lose the right to ask questions. It might mean we need to ask more.
This isn’t just about what people are watching. It’s about what we’re normalizing.
What we’re celebrating.
What we’re silencing.
We’ll write think pieces about Sabrina Carpenter’s album cover “setting women back,” but we won’t name how the rise of daily porn consumption might be resetting our entire understanding of connection, intimacy, and sexual ethics. We won’t talk about how the saturation of sexual imagery online has changed what people expect entirely, not just in relationships, but in real life.
It’s not just that it’s available.
Rather, it’s nonstop.
And that does something to the brain.
One of the most impactful concepts in neuroscience comes from Donald O. Hebb, who aimed to bridge neuroscience with psychological theories; Hebb’s Law asserts that what “fires together, wires together.” Pornography lights up the same brain pathways as cocaine. Dopamine gets dumped, and over time, your brain builds tolerance. So, what starts as curiosity becomes habit. What starts as a habit becomes a need. What starts as “tame” becomes a spiral toward extremes.
You keep scrolling. Keep clicking. Keep chasing. Until the fantasy is no longer enough and the real world feels flat, slow, unsatisfying. This is where many people begin to develop dangerous, unfiltered, and unchecked fantasies that bleed into how they treat others, particularly in sexual settings.
Still, we won’t call it an epidemic.
Why?
The rates of sexual assault keep rising, especially among young people. The accounts get more disturbing, more violent, and more detached from empathy. Yet, while there are many factors at play, we’d be foolish to ignore how desensitization plays a role. People say porn is just entertainment, but what happens when entertainment becomes education and when porn becomes the first sexual script young people learn? There is little to no education about consent in pornography. It lacks context for communication and does not provide guidance for emotional presence. What we often see is just friction, domination, and transaction.
Young people today don’t learn about sex from their families or schools. They learn from their phones. One study showed that 73% of teens are exposed to porn before the age of 17. The average age of first exposure is age 11. That’s not sexual exploration. That’s emotional neglect on a systemic level. Some of the most comprehensive studies confirm what many already sense in their bodies regarding the use of pornography.
Many women have expressed feeling limited by the portrayals of women in adult films. At the same time, many men have faced feelings of shame and confusion when they realize that watching porn doesn't bring them the comfort it once did, but instead leads to anxiety, self-hatred, and loneliness. I've come across various comments and discussions on this topic. It’s clear that many people are hurting and struggling, but they often feel too scared to share their feelings.
Despite ongoing concerns, meaningful public discussions about health remain largely absent. There is a noticeable lack of urgency, an undefined curriculum, and insufficient support systems to assist individuals in managing sexual addiction, overcoming unrealistic expectations, or fostering a healthier relationship with their bodies.
All we have is silence.
Maybe to unpack this fully means we’d have to look at what we’re teaching, tolerating, and glorifying. It means we’d have to admit we are in a mental health crisis that is quietly sexual.
You don’t need to be “anti-sex” to recognize harm. You can be pro-pleasure and still say something about this doesn’t feel right anymore. Here’s where it connects back to Sabrina Carpenter. This isn’t about her photo. It’s about how easily we’re conditioned to consume bodies, but never question the systems that train us to. When women display sensuality, we critique their character. When men lose themselves in sexual escapism, we call it natural. But neither conversation touches the real wound: we’re starving for intimacy and settling for illusion.
In Communion, bell hooks writes, “Most women are afraid of men. We are taught from birth that men are dangerous. Even those of us who have not been physically hurt by men, who do not feel fearful in our everyday lives, are still afraid. We have to be.”
What happens when the most common entry point into sexuality is through violence, power, and performance? What happens when connection becomes fantasy, and fantasy becomes routine?
We get desensitized.
We get distant.
We get numb.
We've created a culture that takes advantage of sex while neglecting emotional safety. It encourages kinks but avoids having genuine conversations about them. It profits from women’s bodies, yet it also shames them for showing their skin.
We’re distracted by celebrity headlines while the real issue festers: an unchecked, addictive consumption of pornography that rewires how a generation connects, copes, and cares for others. If the brain becomes desensitized, where does empathy go?
And if no one is talking about it, then what kind of future are we preparing for?
The Unwind
This isn’t about shame.
It’s about sobriety.
The internet doesn’t slow down. But you can. You are allowed to step back from the algorithm, from the expectations, from the stories that taught you intimacy should feel performance or transactional.
You don’t have to agree with everything here. This is a space for real reflection, not rehearsed opinion. So if this stirred something in you, the confusion, discomfort, grief, trust me, you are not alone. This isn’t a callout. It’s a call in.
We’re living in a time where everything is on the table—bodies, minds, attention spans. Let this be a space to name what’s being lost in the noise. Or to sit with what’s been hard to name until now.
If you feel moved to share, let it sit with you. Your honesty is welcome here. The comment section is an open judgment-free zone. We’re not here to cancel each other. We’re here to see each other.
Until Next Time,
Trinity 💕