In March 2020, COVID-19 forced people indoors, online and away from human connection.
During the pandemic, dating apps surged in popularity and consumption of pornography increased, with traffic on sites like OnlyFans and PornHub spiking.
Amid this shift to virtual intimacy, “Normal People” (2020), a television show based on the novel of the same title by Sally Rooney, was released. The series quickly garnered attention for its sensitive portrayal of love, sex and connection.
“Normal People” follows Marianne (Daisy Edgar-Jones) and Connell (Paul Mescal), two young people growing up in the small Irish town of Sligo. As the story unfolds, the audience watches how Marianne and Connell’s relationship evolves throughout highschool and university.
While many viewers praised the series’ sex scenes for their refreshing realism, some critics have written that the scenes were overly graphic, “something you’d expect to see in a porno movie.”
Their critique begs the question: is “Normal People’s” focus on sex romantic or pornographic?
Maybe it’s neither. To me, the show reflects the complexities of first love and the emotional nuance of sexuality. In mainstream productions, sex scenes are usually meant to titillate the audience or push the narrative forward. However, “Normal People” departs from this formula by treating sex as a form of emotional connection between its characters.
The first sex scene lasts ten and a half minutes ─ one third of the 30-minute episode. The sequence unfolds slowly, allowing Marianne and Connell time to establish their on-screen chemistry. As the two become intimate, the audience gets a glimpse of the characters’ anxieties and excitement through bits of awkward dialogue, shared giggles and flushed faces.
While in many shows sex is accompanied by heavy dialogue or dramatic music, sex scenes in “Normal People” are often partly or totally silent. These quiet, still moments between Marianne and Connell allow the audience to feel the emotional weight of their connection without the distraction of external sound or plot-driven conversation. It’s within these silences that their vulnerability is most palpable.
“Sex, in this context, becomes a site of both empowerment and vulnerability”
Compared to the glossy depictions of sex that proliferate in much of our media, the sex in “Normal People” is often messy and imperfect. The couple’s uncoordinated movements and moments of hesitation mirror real life, where sex is not always a seamless experience but rather a shared process of learning and discovery.
By portraying sex realistically, the show lets viewers connect more readily to its characters, to see themselves reflected in the sex lives of Marianne and Connell.
Breaking away from attempts at perfect sex allows the series to focus on the vulnerability and authenticity of the emotions behind it rather than orchestrating visually appealing encounters.
“Normal People” examines power imbalances — differences in class, gender and social relationships — through Marianne and Connell’s sexual relationship. Marianne, who faces isolation and rejection at home, seeks control through her relationships with others, sometimes in unhealthy ways. Connell, battling his own insecurities, feels out of place in Marianne’s affluent world and at college.
Sex, in this context, becomes a site of both empowerment and vulnerability. Marianne’s relationship with sex is shaped by her trauma and her desire for approval, while for Connell, sex is often a way to connect when words fail him.
Ultimately, “Normal People” redefines the portrayal of sex in television by treating it with the complexity it deserves. It’s an honest exploration of how physical intimacy is inextricably tied to emotional vulnerability, making the relationship between Marianne and Connell feel more authentic than typical on-screen romances.
By challenging the idealized, often unrealistic depictions of sex in media, “Normal People” opens up a conversation about the true nature of intimacy—how it’s built on trust, emotional transparency and mutual care.
Anna Peterson SC ’25 is from Scottsdale, AZ. She studies politics, but spends her free time making Spotify playlists, writing Letterboxd reviews and drinking too much coffee.
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