New Year's Eve Sex: STAY HOME. GET WEIRD.

Because overpriced dinners, party horns, and existential dread are not foreplay.

If you’re in a relationship and you’re genuinely trying to have a hot New Year’s Eve—not just survive it—going out is a scam.

And not a sexy scam like “I wore lingerie under a trench coat.” A scam like “we paid a car payment for a prix fixe dinner and then stood in a crowd breathing cigar fog while a man in a novelty top hat screamed WOOOOOOO into my ear.”

Nothing about that night is erotic, wild, or romantic—it’s just loud, overpriced, and propped up by the expectation that you’re supposed to be having the time of your life because the year ended. It’s mostly just a bunch of people desperately celebrating another year on Earth in a loud public place, hoping the party horns drown out the faint sound of their mortality—while shouting unmasked in close quarters like they’re actively auditioning for a low-budget zombie apocalypse. That little tickle in your throat the next day? Maybe it’s allergies. Maybe.

Which, honestly, is relatable. But it’s not a vibe.

So here’s the Tabu take: staying in isn’t “settling.” Staying in is how you win New Year’s Eve.

We know the only ball drop you actually care about is happening at home.

Now, to be clear: staying in does not mean you’re resigning yourself to a candle-lit snoozefest where you sip something warm, talk about your feelings, and fall asleep halfway through a movie you’ve both already seen. Staying home on New Year’s Eve means you can shut the door, lock out the outside world, and behave in ways that would get you escorted out of any bar, restaurant, or public space in under five minutes: no weak drinks, no strangers filming you, no novelty-hat man screaming in your ear, just a private setting where there’s no last call, no closing time, and no one around to politely suggest you tone it down. You can eat too much, drink or swallow questionable substances, change outfits for reasons that would absolutely not survive public scrutiny, and let the night drift into “we’ll never speak of this again” territory—all without witnesses, consequences, or bail money.

It’s just you, your person, and a fresh calendar year begging to be started with zero performative nonsense and absolutely no guilt about doing exactly what you want—because you’ve graduated to the kind of grown-ass fun that doesn’t need validation.

MAKE A TRADITION THAT’S UNHINGED ENOUGH TO REMEMBER

The fastest way to ruin New Year’s Eve is to treat it like a personal growth exercise. That’s how you end up talking about goals, pretending you like champagne, and promising you’ll “do better this year” before immediately doing the exact same dumb things in January.

If you’re staying in, you might as well lean all the way into it and do something so specific, so unnecessary, and so aggressively ill-advised that it instantly becomes your New Year’s thing—no meaning, no lesson, no journey, just a decision you’ll still be laughing about (or physically recovering from) long after everyone else forgets where they went and what they paid for it.

WEIRD SEX POSITIONS

Every New Year’s Eve deserves at least one moment where you look at each other and say, “This is probably a terrible idea,” and then do it anyway. Enter the sex positions that sound less like intimacy and more like they were invented during a frat house hazing ritual: The Butter Churner. The Pretzel. The Spider. The Spork. The Snow Angel. None of these names inspire confidence, and that’s exactly why they belong here. You’re not trying to unlock a new level of athletic achievement—you’re trying to create a shared memory that involves laughter, mild regret, and at least one muscle you didn’t realize could complain this loudly. And no, we’re not even going to talk about the Dirty Sanchez. Some things should remain ungoogled.

BAD KARAOKE (WORST SONGS ONLY)

Excellent choice. Karaoke is where dignity goes to die. If you’re doing it at home, do it wrong on purpose—no crowd-pleasers, no nostalgia bangers, no songs anyone has ever requested unironically. Think the theme song from The Love Boat. Whatever your mom listens to. Or anything by Kid Rock. You take turns. You commit fully. You sing like you mean it. The goal isn’t talent—it’s psychological warfare.

COSTUME NIGHT (HEAR ME OUT…)

Some people think kinky costume play is awkwardly prancing around in a French maid outfit. Those people are probably your parents. We prefer to take a different route.

If you’ve spent any time online lately, you’ve probably seen the “Hear Me Out” trend—people confessing the wildly specific, deeply questionable things they find attractive, usually prefaced with a defensive hear me out like they’re about to testify in court. Same concept, different execution: that embarrassing, nonsensical fantasy you never fully explain? That’s the cosplay.

You can absolutely go the expected route if you want. Sailor Moon? Sure, I guess. Walking Dead's Negan? Predictable but effective. Shrek? You do you, baby. Or you can pretend to be something that makes no sense to anyone else and requires zero justification: a houseplant named Fernando, a jar of peanut butter, a malfunctioning vending machine, a traffic cone, the concept of “that one weird smell you kind of like.”

Your world, your rules, but at this point, it’s time to pull out the Polaroid.

BUT WHAT IF YOU DID?

Listen carefully: We are NOT telling you to take mushrooms, break out the conga drums, and commune with your house plants. No, we would not do that. And we would NEVER suggest putting on a white robe and referring to yourself as "Father" like you’re auditioning for a DMT-fuelled cult documentary - because that would be irresponsible. But what if you did?

Staying in removes those pesky fun-killing variables. No bartenders. No bouncers. No strangers narrating your night into their phones. Just a controlled environment where nothing is illegal if no one is watching and everyone involved is a consenting adult. What you do with that information is entirely up to you.

THE TOYS (CUT TO THE PART EVERYONE IS ACTUALLY WAITING FOR)

Let’s be honest about what New Year’s Eve is really trying to do. The expensive dinner reservations. The champagne. The fancy clothes you swear you’re comfortable in. The whole production exists for one reason: everyone is quietly hoping the night ends with great sex—the kind that briefly makes you forget you’re another year older, and the world is, objectively, a dumpster fire. That’s the fantasy. Everything else is just foreplay with a receipt.

So why drag it out? If you’re staying in, you can skip straight to the part everyone’s pretending they’re not planning around. Enter sex toys.

Because if you’re like most couples, you already know the routine. The same moves. The exact same positions that get everyone off efficiently with no surprises. It’s fine. It’s familiar. But it’s also exactly the same sex you’ve been having all year.

New Year’s Eve is the one night you’re allowed to deliberately fuck that routine up and see what happens.

This is not the time to break out the safe little couple’s kits and flavored lube. Come on. You can do better than that. (We’ve seen your favorite Pornhub searches.) Instead of cautiously dipping a toe into some unexplored fantasy like you’re testing bathwater, why not just dive in headfirst? Want to live out your full millionaire sex-castle delusion? Start with sex furniture and commit to the bit. Get turned on by the idea of being tied up and slowly repositioned like a rotisserie chicken? There’s bondage for that. Feeling ambitious, curious, or simply done pretending you’re delicate? Say hello to big toys. And if you’re ready to fully abandon shame, logic, and whatever dignity you had left before midnight, you already know where this is going: really f***ing weird sex toys. We can do that too.

Everyone else will wake up on January 1st comparing hangovers, receipts, and grainy photos of a night that somehow cost a fortune and still felt forgettable. You’ll wake up at home, slightly wrecked in a way that feels earned, maybe nursing a rope burn you don’t remember agreeing to and bargaining with an ice pack. Staying in didn’t mean doing less — it meant doing exactly what you wanted, without witnesses, without apologies, and without pretending New Year’s Eve is supposed to look a certain way. If you feel a little smug while everyone else is rehydrating and lying to themselves about how fun it was, good. You did it right.