If you’ve ever wondered what Australians are really getting up to in bed, the latest Body+Soul “Sex Census” offers a revealing snapshot of modern intimacy—less about extremes, more about emotional connection, private pleasure, and how everyday pressures are reshaping sex lives across the country. Based on responses from more than 2,000 Australians, the 2025 edition is not a scientific census in the ABS sense, but it does function as a cultural temperature check: what people say they do, want, and quietly worry about when nobody’s marking their homework.
The headline that grabbed the most attention is refreshingly blunt. Masturbation, according to the survey’s own reporting, is the most common sexual activity in Australia right now. Fifty-one per cent of respondents say they masturbate at least weekly, with a familiar gender gap: around 65 per cent of men compared to 38 per cent of women. It’s the kind of stat that makes people laugh nervously and then nod, because it tracks with what many already suspect. When life is busy, expensive, and emotionally draining, the easiest intimacy to organise is the one that doesn’t require coordination, vulnerability, or a shared Google Calendar.
That solo trend sits awkwardly next to another figure highlighted in the census coverage: only 46 per cent of respondents report orgasming every time. Read together, the message is not that Australians are bad at sex, but that partnered sex still struggles under the weight of silence, performance anxiety, and mismatched expectations. Masturbation, by contrast, comes with fewer misunderstandings and a much lower risk of someone saying “Is everything okay?” at exactly the wrong moment.
Sex toys, too, have officially crossed into the realm of normal household items. The census reports that 43 per cent of Australians use sex toys every two to three months or more. This isn’t framed as edgy or experimental, but as practical—another tool in the kit, like a foam roller or noise-cancelling headphones. Pleasure, the data suggests, is being treated less like a spontaneous miracle and more like something you plan for, optimise, and occasionally outsource to silicone.
The wider context matters. Body+Soul’s reporting repeatedly links the findings to cost-of-living stress, work exhaustion, and the quiet erosion of time and energy. Dates cost money. Privacy is harder to come by. Emotional labour is real. Against that backdrop, it’s notable that 64 per cent of respondents still say they are satisfied with their sex lives, even though fewer report frequent partnered sex. Satisfaction, in other words, is no longer strictly tied to frequency or to one narrow definition of “doing it properly.”
What Australians say they want more of is also telling. Communication tops the wish list: how to talk about desire, boundaries, and consent without killing the mood or sounding like you’ve memorised a pamphlet. Technique ranks lower than honesty. Intimacy ranks higher than novelty. There’s a strong sense, especially among younger respondents, that many people are still unlearning sex education shaped by awkward school lessons and porn algorithms rather than real conversations.
Culturally, this all fits a broader Australian pattern. The public tone remains jokey and self-deprecating—lots of “she’ll be right” energy—but privately, people are renegotiating what sex is for. Less bragging, more practicality. Less pressure to perform, more permission to opt out, slow down, or go solo. In a country that prides itself on being relaxed and no-nonsense, the most radical finding of the so-called sex census may be this: Australians are increasingly defining good sex not by how impressive it looks, but by whether it actually works for them.
Not flashy. Not scandalous. Just honest—and, for once, not pretending otherwise.
Ah, finally—something pleasant to read. Pun fully intended. The Australian Body+Soul “sex census” lands like a sigh of relief in a world that usually swings between panic and prudishness when it comes to pleasure. Masturbation? Fine. Sex toys? Be my guest. Honestly, Auntie is a big fan of both—especially on nights when there isn’t a nice companion in her bed, and yes, sometimes even when there is.
What I love most about these findings is how utterly un-dramatic they are. No moral meltdown, no “what is society coming to?” hysteria. Just people quietly admitting that, in 2025, a lot of intimacy is practical, self-directed, and refreshingly free of performance anxiety. When half the country is exhausted, broke, and emotionally wrung out, the idea that pleasure should still involve Olympic-level stamina and perfect communication feels… ambitious. Sometimes you just want reliability. Sometimes you want silence. Sometimes you want a guaranteed orgasm and an early night.
And let’s talk about sex toys without whispering, shall we? If nearly half of Australians are using them regularly, this is no longer a “spicy secret”—it’s a household appliance. Somewhere between the electric kettle and the phone charger. The pearl-clutching era is over. Silicone doesn’t steal husbands, ruin relationships, or turn people selfish. If anything, it teaches people what actually works for their bodies, which is more than many partners ever bother to ask.
The hand-wringing about masturbation being “more common than sex” misses the point entirely. This isn’t a rejection of intimacy; it’s a recalibration. Solo pleasure is not the enemy of partnered sex—it’s often the foundation of it. Knowing your own body is not antisocial behaviour. It’s basic literacy. Frankly, the fact that so many people still struggle to orgasm every time says less about laziness and more about how little honest, unembarrassed conversation we’ve allowed ourselves around desire.
What also made Auntie smile is the quiet shift away from bragging rights. Less emphasis on frequency. Less obsession with what counts as “real sex.” More interest in connection, communication, and not feeling like a failure if you’re not in the mood. That’s not decadence; that’s emotional maturity. Or at least its flirtation.
So yes, Auntie approves. Touch yourself. Buy the toy. Use it alone, use it together, use it as foreplay, use it as a backup plan. Pleasure does not need permission, and it certainly doesn’t need to look impressive. In a world determined to stress us all into numbness, choosing joy—however you get there—is not indulgent. It’s survival.