Words by Jenny Southan
Design by Yosef Phelan

I am standing next to a mural in the Castro, San Francisco’s out-and-proud queer neighbourhood, waiting for someone to stop and take a video of us. I am with local sex and relationship coach Celeste Hirschman and she’s about to demonstrate her signature “Up Against the Wall” move. A couple finally agree to record us. I take two steps towards Celeste, who is dressed in a cropped red top, crimson lipstick and heels. She puts a hand on my chest and one on my back and pushes me up against the wall, staring at me intensely with a wry smile, moving her hands up my arms and caressing my face. Suddenly I hear the woman videoing us start to laugh, which makes me giggle too, and it’s a “cut!” But it’s enough to get my first taste of Celeste’s hands-on approach to “experiential intimacy coaching”.

What looks like a lesson in seduction is, in fact, an introduction to something much bigger. As Western society grapples with what many psychologists describe as an “intimacy crisis” – fuelled by a consumerist approach to online dating, the isolating effects of social media and porn addiction – Celeste believes we've lost the tools needed to form meaningful human connection. "It's about our phones. It's about being surveilled. It's about not feeling safe to go out and be ourselves and try things," she says. Celeste believes the consequences extend far beyond romantic relationships. "Intimacy isn't just with a partner. It's with our families and our friends too. A lot of things are getting in the way of that."

Importantly, Celeste draws a clear distinction between intimacy and sex. "I think of emotional intimacy and sex as two completely different things that sometimes overlap," she explains. "Sometimes it's just body parts coming together and orgasms. Some people want intimacy without sex. Some want both. They're not the same thing." Over the following days I spend with Celeste, that distinction becomes increasingly clear.

Our time is split between structured coaching sessions and exploring San Francisco together, where visits to queer spaces become an extension of our conversations. On the first evening we go to a women’s sports bar called Rikki’s, where they are screening a Valkyries basketball game, and Celeste and I share a couple of spicy margaritas. “Who’s your type in here?” asks Celeste, and I scan the room for possible candidates. It's a surprisingly difficult question to answer. Although I'm married to a woman and came out in my early twenties, I've never really experienced queer life as a single adult.