We're 40 minutes into the Blockbuster Movie: our impeccably sculpted heterosexual protagonists emerge, gasping, from a bout of vigorous pork-swording; skin aglow and hair un-matted. Resplendent in tousled bedding, they loll in Dionysian bliss, sharing poignant childhood anecdotes and spoon-feeding each other gold-flecked creme brûlée.

Real life, alas, is not so, but a recent Instagram trend has tapped into just such a desire to bathe audiences in the afterglow of your joyous lovemaking. Couples are now taking post-coital selfies and captioning them with the hashtag #AfterSex. Some snaps are sweet, some are gross, and some are clever enough to make your whole body quiver with pleasure.

Reactions have been mixed, to say the least. Nerve inquired about the trend last month, then TIME fretted that we'll soon be "consciously staging our most uninhibited moments," while E! Online got right to the point: "Not to sound judgmental, but we're judging you."

Reactionary scolding aside, any millennial savvy with the cropping tool and emoji selection would tell you that post-sex Instagrams are already everywhere, hidden in plain sight. Whether it be a Valencia'd shot of attractively scattered party wear or a woozy portrait of your paramour reading the Sunday Times on his iPad mini, these subtle hints at intimacy are an unwritten "Cool Instagram" rule. In an age where we can share links to our favorite PornHub videos on Twitter, it's coolly subversive to offer a peek, but not the full monty. #AfterSex breaks the fourth wall and shatters the mystery. It isn't so much that it's indecent—it's just too obvious. What's next, #AfterBirth?

Despite what pearl-clutching columnists might have you believe, the ever-smudging line between public and private life is as ancient and natural a phenomenon as bragging about gettin' nasty. French cubist Roger de la Fresnaye's Married Life stares brightly at a living room piled with books and food—he's reading and she's smoking in the nude, their satisfaction palpable. Man Ray's frank pictures of his painter companion and lover Alice Prin ooze with a revelatory pride that's reflected just as much in her eyes as in the gaze of the photographer himself.

In the sex tape/ultimate boink boast that made Kim Kardashian a star and Ray J "that guy in Kim Kardashian's sex tape," the camera lingers on her monumental posterior, as noble and vital as the heaving hills of the great American West. That Kardashian christened her daughter North further justifies looking into whether she is, in fact, Mother Earth.

And three years ago, SNL-approved joke rappers The Lonely Island dropped "I Just Had Sex," their triumphant ode to telling the entire world about a recently completed orgasm. Eventually, as the gang divulges the horribly depressing circumstances of the intercourse ("She kept looking at her watch;" "But I cried the whole time"), each confession is negated by the undeniable refrain: "Doesn't matter, had sex."

There's nothing more irksomely obvious than two people in love (or like-like). No matter how low-key you keep things, your friends will give you shit about all your couple's-nights-in, Buzzfeed will rattle off as many marriage-breeds-death-and-misery listicles as its readers demand, and editors will wax philosophical on the Doomsday implications of your selfie'd sex hair. Whatever—you're still getting it on the regular from someone who's game enough to deal with your questionable social media habits! If you're happy and you know it, Instagram. But maybe let the #Afterglow speak for itself.