Fornikate

After having been recommended this for the fourth time, I thought I’d finally pick it up over the weekend and watch an episode or two.

What was supposed to be maybe an 80-minute commitment turned into a hot date with my couch, a bag of popcorn, and the rest of the first season.

Unpopular opinion—or maybe popular?…I loved it. It was that twilight kind of trashy, with just the right mix of drama, cringe, and romance so that you couldn’t look away.

Most of the show was like watching a train derail and barrel into the side of a building, but despite how irrational and disastrous some of the main character Billie’s choices seemed, I couldn’t help but feel like I related to her.

Season one of Sex/Life is basically one long “what if.” Billie, wild child turned suburban mom in Connecticut with the picture-perfect husband, Cooper, finds herself daydreaming (and journaling) about her crazy-hot sexual past with her ex, Brad. It starts as nostalgia but quickly spirals into obsession—late-night fantasies, flashbacks, and a serious case of am I missing out?

Cooper, of course, finds her journal (rookie mistake leaving it open on your laptop), and instead of shutting it down, he becomes both threatened by and curious about her old life. Their marriage starts to bend under the weight of her longing, his insecurity, and the fact that Brad is still very much around—and still very much Brad (read: rich, ridiculously hot, and very much still in love with Billie).

The whole season builds on this tug-of-war between safety and passion, stability and chaos. Billie keeps trying to reassure herself of her current life, but by the end, she’s standing at Brad’s door, choosing passion—even if it destroys the life she’s built.

Watching the show two years after its release, I was surprised by how timely it still felt. I can maybe attribute that to the fact that, like Billie, I’m also a twenty-something living it up in the big city. All the montages of Billie’s past—the wild club nights, the revolving door of love interests—felt painfully accurate to the fast-paced nature of dating in New York City, where one day you’re in and the next you’re out.

While some might look at Billie’s choices as self-destructive and immature (and, sure, they were), I couldn’t help but feel like the show was refreshing for giving us a character who was so unapologetically flawed. I think we’ve all had an ex we knew was bad for us but kept hanging onto, because as terrible as things were, they could also be just as good.

The show got me thinking: why is it that even when we crave stability, when the “nice guy” finally comes around, he’s so often dismissed? Are we just addicted to the dopamine rushes of pushing the limits and confusing chaos with passion? 

I think many of us are searching for that balance, but how often do we actually find it? Can stability and excitement really coexist, or will we always end up settling for one over the other?

I haven’t yet figured out my own thoughts on it. Maybe it’s a conversation for a therapist. Or maybe I’ll be closer to an answer after season two.