It's just another level of liberty. A level we finish sitting in the corner without the trophy princess and a bag of wisdom we wish we could empty.
Schnitzler’s La Ronde can't be read as a joyous feast of lust anymore. Neither as a refreshing breath, breaking the chains of a moralizing society. Today promiscuity is not a pre-sexual revolution liberation act, rather a neurotic side effect of detachment and consumerism spreading on amorous organs.
The deep fresh breath deformed into hyperventilation, sexual liberty turned into a futile surrogate for the lack of substantial relationships. It ends up reduced to a mere antidepressant while hope for full recovery is long given up. Love hungry stray hounds, leg humping Olympics.