'We've all stopped having sex at bedtime and I know why.'

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The other day, I watched a reel that went for over a minute — a woman detailing her morning routine. She used gadgets I'd never seen before, took more powders and pills than I could count, and the whole thing just... overwhelmed me.

The video opened on her freshly woken face: mouth taped, gel mask on, hair in rollers, castor oil patch stuck to her belly button. It occurred to me that even in her sleep, she was working — towards clear skin, a flat stomach, and voluminous hair.

And honestly? The whole video made me feel two things: bad about myself and exhausted. Should I know what she's putting in her body? Should I be doing the same? Would I look like her if I did?

She's certainly not the only one. My Instagram and TikTok feeds are full of women investing "sleepmaxxing" — optimising their rest with gadgets, supplements, and hyper-rigid routines, all in the name of wellness.

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We're at a point where it almost feels unusual if you don't put a sheet mask on before you hop into bed, in 2025. Like somehow, you're the odd one out.

But none of it feels natural to me. Not the facial exercises, nor the rigorous skin routine and definitely not sleeping completely still because I have castor oil in my belly button and my hair carefully wrapped around silky cylinders in the hope of the perfect wave.

For me, bed has always been a place of softness. A place to rot, to watch Sex and the City, eat a hangover burger, masturbate. 

It's where I've done some of my best work and some of my most embarrassing. It's seen me get my period during sex. Bring home the hot guy from the bar. Wake up and eat leftover kebab shop chips from the night before. It's also where I've finally let go and had real orgasms with a partner. Where I've cried. Written some of my best lines. Fallen in love. Been vulnerable.

And I've got to be honest — I'm worried that, in a bid for who can be the healthiest, hottest and most efficient girl on the internet, we've turned bedtime into another job. All the while forgetting what it's really for.

We say we're tired, burned out and overstimulated — but then we carry that productivity mindset all the way into the bedroom. We tape our mouths shut, arrange our hair just right, track our sleep like it's a KPI. 

We can't just blame our nine to five for burnout, when we're creating to-do lists for the very moments that are supposed to restore us. We're filling every corner of our lives — even the soft ones — with pressure to improve. And I can't help but wonder what that's doing to our capacity for intimacy. For spontaneity. For sex.

Across cultures and centuries, the bed has held a sacred role as the site of intimacy — where lovers meet, where secrets are exchanged, where clothes are disposed of. In pre-industrial homes, beds were often shared between family members or placed in communal spaces. But as architecture evolved and private bedrooms became more common, so did the idea of the bed as a space for romantic connection.

 In medieval and Renaissance Europe, wealthier homes were built with separate "chambers" tucked away at the back of the house — out of sight, away from the noise of kitchens and courtyards — to allow for seclusion. Beds became larger, more enclosed, often surrounded by heavy curtains or canopies.

Not just for warmth, but for privacy. A physical barrier between the world and the lovers inside.

Even the design of the bed began to reflect its emotional function — the intimacy of lying beside someone, skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat. It's no accident that the phrase "sharing a bed" means more than just logistics. It implies closeness and trust. For centuries, the bedroom has been the place where we let our guards down.

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Where we stop performing. Where bodies speak a language that sometimes goes beyond words.

And despite being fairly adventurous, the most consistent place I've ever had sex is in a bed. Sure, sometimes — when you're feeling a little wild — you might have sex on the couch, in the car, maybe in a bathroom somewhere… but bed is the most comfortable and zen-feeling place to get intimate.

It's the canvas for physical intimacy in a long-term relationship. Just imagine living in a bed that only lets you sleep, not have sex. I reckon we'd all have way less of it.

Because here's the thing: intimacy needs space, in order to occur naturally. It doesn't thrive in rigid routines or perfectly timed schedules. And if our bedrooms start to feel clinical or controlled, how can we truly let go in them?

And on from that, if bed becomes a place of seriousness, or associated with wellness rather than intimacy and relaxation — might your romantic relationship suffer?

I think what worries me most is how this obsession with "sleepmaxxing" — and wellness in general — speaks to a bigger cultural mood. One where we're constantly trying to perfect ourselves instead of simply being with ourselves. Where self-care becomes self-surveillance. Where connection comes second to control.

We invest in gadgets and rituals and routines designed to help us become the most beautiful, most well-rested, most impressive version of ourselves — but to what end? We're sleeping alone in perfectly curated beds, tracking our heart rate instead of feeling it rise against someone else's. We're so busy fixing ourselves that we forget how to be with each other.

Controversial opinion, but I don't think we need all these gadgets and wellness hacks. I think we've lost touch in our pursuit of self-optimisation. Real self-care — the kind that actually nourishes us — starts with self-awareness. With being in our bodies, not constantly trying to fix them. 

So, hear me out: let's put down the mouth tape and reach for each other instead.

Feature Image: Instagram/lauraroscioli