We’ve all experienced the quintessential brunch gathering with friends, where the conversation inevitably turns to dissecting every tantalizing detail of last night’s escapades. Was he charming? Did he know what he was doing in the bedroom? These are the questions that get answered over a round of avocado toast.

Gentlemen, brace yourselves. When it comes to sharing stories, we don’t hold back, and the conversation is as rich as the coffee we sip.

Truth be told, there is a certain thrill in listening to these tales. The vivid, sometimes graphic details can make one grip their mimosa as if they’ve just been entrusted with classified information. It’s a delightful mix of bonding and entertainment that few would admit to disliking.

However, the landscape of sharing has dramatically shifted.

What was once intimate chatter reserved for close friends has evolved into a spectacle of public oversharing, becoming a sort of social currency. The latest cautionary tale brings together the worlds of the NFL, podcasting, and legal battles.

In a notable twist, former NFL player Matt Kalil is reportedly pursuing legal action against his ex-wife, model and influencer Haley Kalil, for her public remarks about his anatomy. The viral audio reveals that she didn’t exactly leave much to the imagination.

On a podcast appearance, she described his manhood as being like ‘two Coke cans… maybe even a third.’

No nudge or wink about it – Haley just served us a full-blown visual.

What used to be private chatter over avocado toast, has morphed into a new form of social currency: public oversharing

And just like that, the kind of detail normally reserved for a trusted group chat became the subject of a legal dispute.

Now, before anyone accuses me of clutching my pearls, let me say this. Would I have listened? Obviously. Did I lean in? Yes. Was there a split second where I thought, wow, she really went there? Absolutely.

But this story isn’t about whether her comments were funny, flattering or toe-curlingly awkward. It’s about whether certain intimate details should ever leave the group chat at all.

Some people have called Kalil’s reaction extreme. But maybe he’s just clocked something the rest of us are still dancing around. Because what counts as oversharing today isn’t posting a picture of your brunch. It’s turning someone else’s body into content, pressing publish, and letting the internet feast.

And if you think this is just a rogue sports story, think again.

Pop culture has trained us to believe that emotional transparency equals authenticity. No one has shaped that idea more than Taylor Swift, whose lyrics are famously dissected for clues about her real-life relationships.

Fans comb through her songs, analyzing lines about intimacy, chemistry and desire, often assigning those details to real men who never volunteered to be supporting characters in her back catalogue.

I’m not suggesting Taylor is slipping measurements into her lyrics (although the track Knock on Wood sure does come close) but the way we collectively decode art into assumed sexual facts says a lot about how hungry we are for access. We want to feel in on it. We want every juicy behind-the-scenes detail.

Oversharing used to mean telling your best friend a bit too much over a bottle of rosé. Now it can mean millions of strangers hearing about someone’s body, abilities or private moments, with no filter, no nuance and absolutely no rewind button.

And if anyone thinks men secretly enjoy this kind of attention, let’s talk about Pete Davidson.

You might remember when Ariana Grande made a casual public comment about Pete’s anatomy while they were engaged. When a fan tweeted, ‘How long is Pete???’ in relation to Grande’s 2018 track, ‘Pete Davidson,’ she replied: ‘Like 10 inches?…oh f-k… i mean…like a lil over a minute.’

It was playfully offhand. Probably meant to live and die in the moment.

Instead, it followed Pete for years.

That one remark snowballed into memes, jokes and the internet crowning Pete the accidental face of ‘Big Dick Energy.’ A phrase that was never meant to be literal but somehow became aggressively so.

Pete has since admitted the fixation made him uncomfortable. He’s said it hurt being reduced to a punchline. That instead of being known for his comedy or his work, he became ‘that guy’ everyone sniggered about.

Interviews, meetings, stand-up gigs, it followed him everywhere. And while the internet framed it as flattering, he’s been clear that it didn’t feel that way at all.

Which is where this gets uncomfortable for all of us.

Because even when it’s positive, complimentary even, sharing intimate details about someone’s body without their consent can feel invasive.

Former NFL star Matt Kalil is reportedly taking his ex-wife, model and influencer Haley Kalil, to court over comments she made publicly about his penis size

You might remember when Ariana Grande (pictured with Pete Davidson in 2018) made a casual public comment about Pete’s anatomy while they were engaged

And yes, I hear the hypocrisy as I type this.

I’ve sat at that brunch table where sex is dished out like hors d’oeuvres. Where we ask, ‘Was it big?’ ‘Was he good?’ because that’s how women process intimacy, disappointment, curiosity and self-esteem all at once. It’s how friendships bond. It’s how we work out what we want, and what we absolutely do not.

My male friends, by contrast, keep it brutally efficient. ‘Did you get some?’ ‘Yep.’ ‘Was it good?’ ‘Yep.’ End scene.

The difference isn’t gossip versus silence. It’s private versus public.

Sharing stories with friends is a time-honoured ritual. Broadcasting them to the world, or to a monetized audience, is something else entirely.

That’s why the Kalil situation resonates, even if part of us can’t look away. It’s not about fragile egos. It’s about whether we’ve completely lost our grip on privacy in the age of clicks, likes and hot takes.

Because gossip and emotional honesty are human. They’re fun. They’re messy. They’re part of life.

But once someone’s anatomy ends up in headlines for entertainment, it stops being cheeky oversharing and starts edging into exploitation.

And maybe the real question isn’t whether we enjoy listening.

It’s whether we know when to stop.