The dating app is an incredibly strange thing when you sit and think about it. Horny strangers drawn together by a dopamine-triggering interface that hides—behind a veneer of thirst traps and inane aphorisms—a web of surveillance data and complex maths. Romance, once performed publicly and usually in smoking areas, is now often performed alone in dark, screen-lit rooms. The general consensus is that we all hate it. And despite their continual widespread use, ‘the apps’ have now been declared as not only dead but even worse: cringe.
The work of Jeremy Chih-Hao Chuang—a Taiwanese artist based in London—speaks to the strange moment we find ourselves in. For the last two years, he has been photographing the men he’s met via dating apps, creating an archive of fleeting connections: intimate yet vulnerable images that truly encapsulate that feeling of romantic alienation.
Each photograph follows a similar pattern: Chuang fully clothed while his subject poses next to him in the nude, often engaged in some everyday activity or hobby in the privacy of their own home. It’s almost as if they are briefly living out a daydream of their future life together, despite the fact that they will almost certainly never meet again.
We caught up with Chuang to chat about his work.
VICE: Where did the idea for ‘Ephemeral Intimacy’ come from?
Jeremy Chih-Hao Chuang: From my own experience growing up in a pretty conservative family in Taiwan. Where I’m from, we are expected to follow a traditional, heterosexual path when it comes to relationships. But when I moved to London, everything felt different. I started using dating apps, not just to meet people, but as a way to explore who I am.
I began dating guys and realized, wow, they all had such interesting and unique stories. It really opened my eyes. At the same time, London moves fast. As a foreigner, it can feel hard to form deep, lasting connections. So I used dating apps as a way to both explore the city and connect with the queer community here. That’s where the idea of Ephemeral Intimacy came from, those brief but meaningful moments you share with someone, even if they don’t last.
“Hookup culture creates these strange but intimate moments. You find yourself in a stranger’s bedroom within minutes of meeting… or sometimes without even meeting in person at all.”
The photos have a careful and considered format. They are all black and white, shot in the home, you’re always clothed and your subjects are always nude. How did you decide on this aesthetic?
Honestly, the aesthetic came about quite naturally. I didn’t start with a strict plan, but through experimentation, important decisions and artistic choices crystallized. Firstly, I discovered that I need to feel the space I’m in when I visit someone’s home, to learn about the person by slowing down, being present, really absorbing the atmosphere of their home. This quiet observation is a central starting point; it allows me to understand a person without them even speaking. The silence is powerful; I learn so much about the men through the small things: their choice of clothes, the food that’s in their fridge, how they organize their belongings. All of these things start to percolate in my mind and inform the crafting of my images.
Being clothed in the images became symbolic. Clothing is my armor. It gives me a sense of power, control, and dignity, but at the same time, it conceals something too: my sexuality, my vulnerability. There’s a quiet tension there, between being visible and being protected.
As a Southeast Asian person dating in a Western city, you start to feel the unspoken dynamics, the subtle, sometimes not-so-subtle, power imbalances or stereotyping. There’s an invisible hierarchy, and I wanted to confront that head-on by making it visible through the art work. It also felt important to include myself in the frame. I didn’t want to stay behind the camera, as just an observer. These are real, intimate encounters with people I’ve connected with emotionally, physically, or both. I’m not documenting from a distance. I’m part of the story, not just telling it, but living it.
How do you persuade your hookups to take part in the project?
It really depends on the person. Sometimes I’ll mention the project and guys might say something like, “Yeah, I’m up for a shoot, but only if you have sex with me first.” That kind of thing happens, and I just have to decide how to handle it. Other times, people are actually really into the idea. They find it interesting and want to be part of it, no strings attached.
I genuinely appreciate all the men that allowed me to go into their homes and photograph them naked, that takes a lot of trust. People think it might be easy, but honestly, getting a man to take his pants off for anything other than sex… It’s actually quite hard.
All of the photos take place in the home of the person you’re photographing. It made me think of the aspect of app-based hookup culture, in which we often end up inviting complete strangers into our most private spaces quite quickly.
Yeah, that’s something I think about a lot too, how hookup culture, especially through dating apps, creates these strange but intimate moments. You find yourself in a stranger’s bedroom within minutes of meeting… or sometimes without even meeting in person at all beforehand.
I’m actually a very private person, so I never invite anyone into my own space for this project. I always go to theirs. There’s something powerful about being in someone’s home, it tells you so much about who they are. The way they decorate, the objects in the room, what’s left out, what’s hidden, it all becomes part of the story. It also means I can’t plan anything in advance. Every shoot is spontaneous. I arrive, take in the space, feel the energy, and go from there. That unpredictability keeps the work alive. It keeps it honest.
Your subjects are usually doing everyday activities like folding clothes, cooking, and cleaning. It made me think of those daydreams we sometimes have in our heads, where we imagine our entire life playing out with someone we’ve only just met.
I’ve always liked imagining futures, little daydreams of what life could look like with someone you’ve only just met. Being in a stranger’s home makes that feeling even stronger. There’s something thrilling about stepping into their world, even for a short time.
When it comes to the activities in the photos, it’s all very organic. We usually spend time talking, just getting to know each other. I listen to how they live, what they do when they’re alone, what brings them peace. One guy told me he does play-doh as a form of self-therapy, so I photographed him while he was working with clay. Another was really into classical music; he started playing pieces for me and explaining them in this incredibly detailed, passionate way.
Those everyday moments—folding clothes, cooking, cleaning—feel honest and full of quiet intimacy. They’re not staged fantasies, but they still carry a sense of imagining something deeper: a shared rhythm, a possible life together, even if only for a moment.
This word, “ephemeral”—as in temporary, short-lived, or transient. Are you trying to say something about our modern experience of sex and dating?
Yeah, 100 percent. That word, “ephemeral,” really captures the feeling. London moves fast, and so does its dating culture. A lot of people seem more focused on collecting experiences than on building something lasting. It’s easy to find sex but hard to find love.
Everything is so quick and superficial; technology exacerbates this and makes it so overwhelming. On the one hand, I feel this work captures what seems available… the easy, fleeting connections. But on the other I’m saying: ‘Will I ever find love?’
Find more of Jeremy Chih-Hao Chuang’s work on Instagram @jeremyhao.chuang
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