Sugar Relationships and Exposure: Between the Spotlight and Secrecy

There's something paradoxical about the way sugar dating shows up online. On one hand, it has become the subject of news stories, videos, influencer profiles, and debates about relationships. On the other, people who take part in these relationships often prefer not to be recognized, avoid showing their faces, or try to keep the activity away from people they know. It's as if the phenomenon were in the spotlight while its participants tried to stay in the shadows.

That contradiction is the starting point of the dissertation Platformed Sugar Dating: Gender, Class, and Boundaries in the Digital Intimacy Economy, by Megan Sawey, submitted to Cornell University in 2025. The researcher examines how digital platforms, media, and participants shape this world. One of her central arguments is that the practice has become highly visible in public discourse but remains vulnerable to censorship and to the platforms' own restrictions, which drives a growing search for discretion that doesn't always protect those involved.

Well known, but hard to name

Sugar dating is usually presented as a recognizable kind of relationship: one person offers financial support or material benefits, and the other offers companionship in a negotiated relationship. But that description coexists with very different interpretations. For some, it's a form of dating; for others, it's closer to sex work. That ambiguity shapes how apps present themselves, which profiles they accept, and what language they allow.

Sawey notes that some platforms try to attract the sugar audience but avoid publicly owning that association, so as not to be identified with a controversial practice or invite regulatory trouble. The relationship is promoted indirectly, with words like "luxury," "success," or "lifestyle," while more explicit terms can trigger moderation or account suspension. For users, the topic is well known but can't always be named. Discretion stops being only a personal choice and becomes a requirement of the environment.

Men and women fear different things

Many of the men interviewed mentioned fearing that friends, family, coworkers, or partners would find out. Some worried about their reputation; others, especially in smaller cities, felt it would be hard to avoid being recognized. So they preferred specialized platforms that let them hide their profile or skip photos.

Among the women, concerns centered more on physical and psychological safety: harassment, violence, and exploitation. Reputation mattered too, and one participant feared that her profile being discovered could hurt her career, but safety risks came through more strongly. Some preferred mainstream apps like Tinder and Bumble, where they could better assess potential partners and decide when to reveal their interest in a sugar relationship. On specialized apps, they felt more exposure was expected of them, such as photos of their face and body.

Discretion isn't shared equally

Whoever can hide their profile protects their reputation, but may leave the other person with less information about who they're talking to. One interviewee found it frustrating to come across nearly empty male profiles, precisely because that made it harder to assess risks. The feature that protects one person can increase uncertainty for the other.

Anonymity has become more fragile

Hiding your name or using photos different from those on your social media no longer guarantees anonymity. Participants voiced concern about facial recognition tools that can link images scattered across the internet. A photo posted on an app can, in some circumstances, lead to other images and to personal information. The line between a discreet profile and a public identity becomes much thinner.

Who gets to be seen?

The bigger problem may lie in the contrast between sugar dating's public image and the actual conditions in which people try to live it. Visibility makes the phenomenon familiar to millions, but it doesn't come with recognition or protection. When participants have to rely on codes, omissions, and concealment strategies, they may become more vulnerable, because they get less support from platforms if something goes wrong.

Discretion isn't the same as shame, and exposure isn't the same as freedom. Someone may want to protect their privacy without rejecting their relationship, or speak openly about their experience without wanting photos, messages, and personal data to circulate out of their control. The point isn't to choose between secrecy and exposure, but to recognize that being able to decide what to reveal, and to whom, is part of the safety of any relationship.

The research was carried out in the United States and doesn't necessarily describe Brazilian experiences. Still, it leaves a question that applies to any connected setting: when the internet turns an intimate practice into a public topic, who gets the right to be seen, and who has to stay hidden?