India’s Pleasure Paradox: Is Sexual Wellness Finally Becoming Part Of Modern Day ‘Love Marketing’?

Last Updated:February 14, 2026, 18:33 IST

As per an IMARC report, India’s sexual wellness market, which stood at $1.4 billion in 2024, will have grown to $2.5 billion by 2033, with a growth rate of 6.20%

Women, long sidelined in pleasure narratives, are leading the charge comprising the majority of users reclaiming agency in a society where the “orgasm gap” remains stark (Image: Canva)

Imagine, just five years ago, whispering to a friend in a crowded Delhi café about the wild notion of a vibrator arriving at your doorstep in under 10 minutes, packaged like everyday groceries. The idea would have elicited eye rolls, perhaps a nervous laugh after all, in India’s bustling metros, sex was still a shadow play, confined to hushed bedrooms or the occasional bold Bollywood scene. Fast-forward to Valentine’s Day 2026, and that fantasy is routine. Platforms like Blinkit, Swiggy, and Zepto have turned sexual wellness into an impulse buy, delivering “massagers” and lubricants alongside chocolates and roses, no questions asked.

This year, as India embraces a bolder, cheekier approach to self-care, the topic once shrouded in taboo has exploded into a billion-dollar industry, weaving itself into the fabric of modern love marketing. Yet, beneath the glossy campaigns and quick-commerce convenience, gaps persist: cultural silences, uneven access, and a commercialization that sometimes prioritizes products over profound intimacy. As per an IMARC report, India’s sexual wellness market, which stood at $1.4 billion in 2024, will have grown to $2.5 billion by 2033, with a growth rate of 6.20%.

The transformation has been swift and seismic. In 2020, the sexual wellness market in India hovered at around $1.15 billion, but latest projections in 2026 peg it at $2.09 billion by 2030, growing at a compound annual rate of about 5-6%, with e-commerce segments surging up to 24% through 2029.

In 2024, Google searches for vibrators and massagers in India had ballooned to nearly 20 million, 10 times the previous year’s volume and more than double the total from the entire 2010s. What was once relegated to dingy pharmacy corners or shady online sites is now normalized, thanks to a cadre of women-led brands like Leezu’s, MyMuse, That Sassy Thing, and Sangya Project, which blend cheeky marketing with educational content. These companies, often bootstrapped or venture-backed, have raised millions—MyMuse, for instance, secured $2.7 million in pre-series A funding while partnering with influencers to dismantle shame.

How Has Love Marketing Evolved to Include Sexual Wellness?

Sexual wellness influencer Leeza Mangaldas is a sexuality educator and author, considered one of the pioneers of sex-positive content creation in India. Her content has prompted conversations that are inclusive, body-positive, and sex-positive. Reflecting on this shift, Mangaldas says, “I think we’ve just stopped being coy. For the longest time in India, romance marketing was limited to roses, teddy bears, candlelight dinners. The deeply natural human desire for a joyful sexual life was rarely ever acknowledged, in fact it was often as if sex didn’t exist. Now there’s far less pretending.

Leeza adds, “People are openly gifting pleasure products. Couples are talking about compatibility. Even self care has expanded beyond skincare and spa days to include masturbation and body literacy. And I actually think that shift reflects something deeper. We’re finally accepting that intimacy and pleasure are not the embarrassing neighbours of love, they’re an essential part of it. Sometimes they’re the soul.”

This mainstreaming owes much to marketing psychology’s playbook, reframing pleasure as empowerment, not indulgence. Brands use social media’s algorithmic intimacy—reels with quirky taglines like “Own Your O” to target Gen Z and millennials, who make up the bulk of buyers. Quick commerce has supercharged this, turning hesitation into instant gratification; conversions have spiked over 400% as deliveries shrink to 10-20 minutes. Demand isn’t confined to metros like Mumbai, Bangalore, and Delhi; orders now flood in from Tier 2 and 3 cities, from Kashmir to the Andamans, fueled by UPI, COD, and EMIs that democratize access.

Women, long sidelined in pleasure narratives, are leading the charge comprising the majority of users reclaiming agency in a society where the “orgasm gap” remains stark, with 70% of women not climaxing consistently during partnered sex.

What Do Real Stories Reveal About The New ‘Love Marketing’?

For all the buzz, personal stories reveal a more nuanced reality. Take Priya and Arjun, a married couple in their early 30s living in South Mumbai (names changed for privacy). Last Valentine’s Day, amid the predictable roses and dinners, Arjun suggested browsing Blinkit for something “fun.” They settled on a couples’ vibrator, delivered in 12 minutes amid giggles and mock secrecy. “It was awkward at first,” Priya recalls, “like admitting we needed a boost after seven years together. But it opened doors—literally. We talked about what felt good, what didn’t, without the usual ego dance.” For them, the toy wasn’t just a product; it was a catalyst, easing the inherited silence around desire in Indian marriages.

By 2026, such experiments have become commonplace, with brands reporting that 60 percent of purchases at Leezu’s are by men, often for shared use, signaling a subtle shift toward collaborative intimacy.

Not everyone navigates this landscape so smoothly. In Bangalore, 28-year-old software developer Neha (names changed for privacy), single and navigating post-pandemic dating, turned to Zepto for her first “massager” ahead of a solo Valentine’s retreat. “Growing up in a conservative family, pleasure was this dirty secret,” she says. “But scrolling Instagram, seeing influencers like Leeza Mangaldas talk about it like skincare, made me curious. It arrived in plain packaging, no judgment from the delivery guy. That first time? Liberating. It helped me understand my body, set boundaries in dates. But honestly, it also highlighted the loneliness, apps sell the tool, but not the education on emotional stuff.”

Neha’s experience highlights a broader trend, while 80% of Indians hadn’t tried pleasure products before brands like MyMuse entered the fray, nine out of 10 now express interest, yet many first-timers grapple with internalized shame.

Then there’s Vikram (names changed for privacy), a 32-year-old queer graphic designer in Delhi, who ordered app-controlled toys via Swiggy for a low-key Valentine’s with his partner. “It’s great that these platforms exist—discreet, fast, inclusive vibes in the marketing,” he shares. “It spiced things up, made long-distance play possible when work travels. But gaps? Huge. Most products are hetero-normative; queer-specific options are rare, and rural access? Forget it. Plus, the ads are cheeky, but society still whispers ‘shame’ for non-straight folks.”

Vikram’s story underscores the market’s inclusivity shortfall, where LGBTQ+ needs often lag behind, despite brands like Sangya Project (founded by a poly family) pushing boundaries.

Has Intimacy Become a Marketed Lifestyle Accessory?

Industry voices amplify these tensions. Mangaldas weighs in on the commodification, “Sure, intimacy products may now sit alongside scented candles and floral hampers on Pinterest worthy gift guides, or come in aesthetic colors and packaging like cosmetics or chocolate. But what’s far more exciting for me is the sheer fact that today you can order a condoms or a vibrator on quick commerce apps along with your daal and atta, nation wide, at an affordable price, and get it within minutes. And that so many customers want these products, that the sexual wellness category sits on their homepage. I think this is amazing. It signals that pleasure isn’t taboo. It indicates that pleasure ought to be safe and gender equal. It makes it so much easier for the consumer to access products that enable safer, more comfortable and more enjoyable intimacy.”

Mangaldas highlights ongoing exclusions, “So many. There’s still so much shame around women wanting pleasure for its own sake. Not for procreation. Not to keep a husband happy. Just because it feels good. On the other hand, a lot of men grow up with zero vocabulary for pleasure beyond size, timing, body count, ‘performance’. Society and the media also largely still pretend desire expires after a certain age. In short that desire is generally to be represented by the heteronormative, the young, and the able bodied. Mainstream marketing has widened, yes. But it’s early days still. At Leezu’s we are looking forward to driving change!”

Shweta Sangtani, CEO of The Sangya Project, founded by Tanisha RK, Sangtani, and Aashish Mehrotra as a queer and poly family who started as a sex education platform before manufacturing pleasure tools. They had apprehensions about reception but have been surprised by the love garnered.

Sangtani addresses the capitalist capture and education gaps, “The conversation is very much about how capitalism has captured more of the companies and of course they should be responsible but once the product is out there it has to be marketed for profit. Sex education is important but what someone in a metro hub would know about sex and pleasure would not be the same for someone sitting in Karnataka or in Odisha. There is definitely a gap in terms of structured sex education in India because even if the gig economy talks about sex and sells intimacy via products and ads it is nothing like a big brand campaign which might establish some care and responsibility with that.

The Sangya Project was established out a need to establish consistant sex education and awareness among people who knew less about pleasure and more about sex. To this Shweta adds, “You see with sexual wellness products what is not sold or shared in awareness is how a 13 year old might use/experience these products with regards to a 37 year old using them. They don’t talk about good touch bad touch or essentially make open conversations about pleasure.”

“Yes marketing is out there and very open which in a way expands the horizon for a lot of people to know about the sense of sexual wellness in terms of pleasure and not just about reading on how to pleasure your boyfriend/husband. How such marketing and products increase sexual agency among women and queer communities is that they understand that these products aren’t something that cause any harm and pleasure should not be primarily about giving and kept hush-hush.”

From a marketing psychology vantage, this boom exploits cognitive dissonance, consumers crave liberation but fear judgment, so brands offer anonymity as a balm. Yet, gaps yawn wide- 70% of Indians remain uncomfortable discussing sexual concerns with professionals, leading to misinformation and silent distress. The urban-rural divide persists, with Tier 3 adoption trailing despite digital inroads; education lags, focusing on risks over joy; and regulations stifle innovation, from ad bans to customs snarls.

Where Does India’s Pleasure Revolution Go From Here?

In 2026, as Valentine’s orders surged, India’s pleasure market embodies progress laced with paradox. Brands have marketed love as a deliverable commodity, but true wellness requires bridging the unspoken conversations that no app can rush. Yet, until gaps in equity, education, and empathy close, the revolution remains incomplete, a tantalizing tease in a country awakening to its desires.

The transformation has been swift and seismic. In 2020, the sexual wellness market in India hovered at around $1.15 billion, but latest projections in 2026 peg it at $2.09 billion by 2030, growing at a compound annual rate of about 5-6%, with e-commerce segments surging up to 24% through 2029.

In 2024, Google searches for vibrators and massagers in India had ballooned to nearly 20 million, 10 times the previous year’s volume and more than double the total from the entire 2010s. What was once relegated to dingy pharmacy corners or shady online sites is now normalized, thanks to a cadre of women-led brands like Leezu’s, MyMuse, That Sassy Thing, and Sangya Project, which blend cheeky marketing with educational content. These companies, often bootstrapped or venture-backed, have raised millions—MyMuse, for instance, secured $2.7 million in pre-series A funding while partnering with influencers to dismantle shame.

How Has Love Marketing Evolved to Include Sexual Wellness?

Sexual wellness influencer Leeza Mangaldas is a sexuality educator and author, considered one of the pioneers of sex-positive content creation in India. Her content has prompted conversations that are inclusive, body-positive, and sex-positive. Reflecting on this shift, Mangaldas says, “I think we’ve just stopped being coy. For the longest time in India, romance marketing was limited to roses, teddy bears, candlelight dinners. The deeply natural human desire for a joyful sexual life was rarely ever acknowledged, in fact it was often as if sex didn’t exist. Now there’s far less pretending.

Leeza adds, “People are openly gifting pleasure products. Couples are talking about compatibility. Even self care has expanded beyond skincare and spa days to include masturbation and body literacy. And I actually think that shift reflects something deeper. We’re finally accepting that intimacy and pleasure are not the embarrassing neighbours of love, they’re an essential part of it. Sometimes they’re the soul.”

This mainstreaming owes much to marketing psychology’s playbook, reframing pleasure as empowerment, not indulgence. Brands use social media’s algorithmic intimacy—reels with quirky taglines like “Own Your O” to target Gen Z and millennials, who make up the bulk of buyers. Quick commerce has supercharged this, turning hesitation into instant gratification; conversions have spiked over 400% as deliveries shrink to 10-20 minutes. Demand isn’t confined to metros like Mumbai, Bangalore, and Delhi; orders now flood in from Tier 2 and 3 cities, from Kashmir to the Andamans, fueled by UPI, COD, and EMIs that democratize access.

Women, long sidelined in pleasure narratives, are leading the charge comprising the majority of users reclaiming agency in a society where the “orgasm gap” remains stark, with 70% of women not climaxing consistently during partnered sex.

What Do Real Stories Reveal About The New ‘Love Marketing’?

For all the buzz, personal stories reveal a more nuanced reality. Take Priya and Arjun, a married couple in their early 30s living in South Mumbai (names changed for privacy). Last Valentine’s Day, amid the predictable roses and dinners, Arjun suggested browsing Blinkit for something “fun.” They settled on a couples’ vibrator, delivered in 12 minutes amid giggles and mock secrecy. “It was awkward at first,” Priya recalls, “like admitting we needed a boost after seven years together. But it opened doors—literally. We talked about what felt good, what didn’t, without the usual ego dance.” For them, the toy wasn’t just a product; it was a catalyst, easing the inherited silence around desire in Indian marriages.

By 2026, such experiments have become commonplace, with brands reporting that 60 percent of purchases at Leezu’s are by men, often for shared use, signaling a subtle shift toward collaborative intimacy.

Not everyone navigates this landscape so smoothly. In Bangalore, 28-year-old software developer Neha (names changed for privacy), single and navigating post-pandemic dating, turned to Zepto for her first “massager” ahead of a solo Valentine’s retreat. “Growing up in a conservative family, pleasure was this dirty secret,” she says. “But scrolling Instagram, seeing influencers like Leeza Mangaldas talk about it like skincare, made me curious. It arrived in plain packaging, no judgment from the delivery guy. That first time? Liberating. It helped me understand my body, set boundaries in dates. But honestly, it also highlighted the loneliness, apps sell the tool, but not the education on emotional stuff.”

Neha’s experience highlights a broader trend, while 80% of Indians hadn’t tried pleasure products before brands like MyMuse entered the fray, nine out of 10 now express interest, yet many first-timers grapple with internalized shame.

Then there’s Vikram (names changed for privacy), a 32-year-old queer graphic designer in Delhi, who ordered app-controlled toys via Swiggy for a low-key Valentine’s with his partner. “It’s great that these platforms exist—discreet, fast, inclusive vibes in the marketing,” he shares. “It spiced things up, made long-distance play possible when work travels. But gaps? Huge. Most products are hetero-normative; queer-specific options are rare, and rural access? Forget it. Plus, the ads are cheeky, but society still whispers ‘shame’ for non-straight folks.”

Vikram’s story underscores the market’s inclusivity shortfall, where LGBTQ+ needs often lag behind, despite brands like Sangya Project (founded by a poly family) pushing boundaries.

Has Intimacy Become a Marketed Lifestyle Accessory?

Industry voices amplify these tensions. Mangaldas weighs in on the commodification, “Sure, intimacy products may now sit alongside scented candles and floral hampers on Pinterest worthy gift guides, or come in aesthetic colors and packaging like cosmetics or chocolate. But what’s far more exciting for me is the sheer fact that today you can order a condoms or a vibrator on quick commerce apps along with your daal and atta, nation wide, at an affordable price, and get it within minutes. And that so many customers want these products, that the sexual wellness category sits on their homepage. I think this is amazing. It signals that pleasure isn’t taboo. It indicates that pleasure ought to be safe and gender equal. It makes it so much easier for the consumer to access products that enable safer, more comfortable and more enjoyable intimacy.”

Mangaldas highlights ongoing exclusions, “So many. There’s still so much shame around women wanting pleasure for its own sake. Not for procreation. Not to keep a husband happy. Just because it feels good. On the other hand, a lot of men grow up with zero vocabulary for pleasure beyond size, timing, body count, ‘performance’. Society and the media also largely still pretend desire expires after a certain age. In short that desire is generally to be represented by the heteronormative, the young, and the able bodied. Mainstream marketing has widened, yes. But it’s early days still. At Leezu’s we are looking forward to driving change!”

Shweta Sangtani, CEO of The Sangya Project, founded by Tanisha RK, Sangtani, and Aashish Mehrotra as a queer and poly family who started as a sex education platform before manufacturing pleasure tools. They had apprehensions about reception but have been surprised by the love garnered.

Sangtani addresses the capitalist capture and education gaps, “The conversation is very much about how capitalism has captured more of the companies and of course they should be responsible but once the product is out there it has to be marketed for profit. Sex education is important but what someone in a metro hub would know about sex and pleasure would not be the same for someone sitting in Karnataka or in Odisha. There is definitely a gap in terms of structured sex education in India because even if the gig economy talks about sex and sells intimacy via products and ads it is nothing like a big brand campaign which might establish some care and responsibility with that.

The Sangya Project was established out a need to establish consistant sex education and awareness among people who knew less about pleasure and more about sex. To this Shweta adds, “You see with sexual wellness products what is not sold or shared in awareness is how a 13 year old might use/experience these products with regards to a 37 year old using them. They don’t talk about good touch bad touch or essentially make open conversations about pleasure.”

“Yes marketing is out there and very open which in a way expands the horizon for a lot of people to know about the sense of sexual wellness in terms of pleasure and not just about reading on how to pleasure your boyfriend/husband. How such marketing and products increase sexual agency among women and queer communities is that they understand that these products aren’t something that cause any harm and pleasure should not be primarily about giving and kept hush-hush.”

From a marketing psychology vantage, this boom exploits cognitive dissonance, consumers crave liberation but fear judgment, so brands offer anonymity as a balm. Yet, gaps yawn wide- 70% of Indians remain uncomfortable discussing sexual concerns with professionals, leading to misinformation and silent distress. The urban-rural divide persists, with Tier 3 adoption trailing despite digital inroads; education lags, focusing on risks over joy; and regulations stifle innovation, from ad bans to customs snarls.

Where Does India’s Pleasure Revolution Go From Here?

In 2026, as Valentine’s orders surged, India’s pleasure market embodies progress laced with paradox. Brands have marketed love as a deliverable commodity, but true wellness requires bridging the unspoken conversations that no app can rush. Yet, until gaps in equity, education, and empathy close, the revolution remains incomplete, a tantalizing tease in a country awakening to its desires.

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