Should we be reconsidering our porn habits?
A fun thought exercise for you reader: rule #34: if it exists, there’s porn of it. This rule was something I discovered during a tedious German grammar lecture in Heidelberg when I unwittingly opened a group chat with two of my closest friends as they were jokingly engaging in sharing illustrated pornographic images of beloved cartoon characters in a game of who could find the most disturbing cartoon on the internet: suffice to say I will never be able to look at Sonic the Hedgehog in the same way again. Shockingly, Srinivasan herself sadly does not engage in the ethics of furry based pornography in her chapter, despite having famously written on the taboo subject of bestiality, but I truly believe she would have some compelling thoughts on the moral dilemma posed by Zootopia smut.
Amia Srinivasan’s collection of feminist essays in ‘The Right to Sex’ was published in 2021 and eagerly consumed by me (actually, wolfed down and then recommended to every woman I know) in the summer of 2022 on that typical quest to rediscover my womanhood through feminist critique after a difficult breakup; “I got dumped ok,” I exasperate at the woman in Waterstones who won’t stop making quizzical looks at my heap of Simone de Beauvoir, Betty Friedan, Toni Morrison, and Sylvia Plath lying on the counter. The bold title which dares to question whether we are ‘entitled’ to sex and demands that we reconsider and reflect upon the choices we make in our sexual behaviours, preferences, attitudes, and our conditioning towards sex called out to me amongst the shelves. As a Professor of Social and Political Theory at the University of Oxford, however, I have to say one of my main points of contention with Srinivasan’s writing was what felt at times a disappointing lack of conclusion, or even solution to the ethical conundrums posed by feminist philosophers throughout history. Personally when recommending the book to others I have taken to describing Srinivasan’s work as a nuanced investigation into the evolution of feminist discourse which, with its use of striking intellectual wit, impressively lays down the framework for incorporating discussions of the past into the present and introducing a new generation of feminists to the work of their predecessors, for example projecting the anti-pornography/abolitionist movement led by radical feminist Andrea Dworkin in the 1970s onto the ‘Internet generation’ of the twenty first century. It is not, however, a definitive answer to these discourses and if you are searching for these ethical answers then I highly recommend reading the works of the philosophers Srinivasan touches upon.
Yet, ‘Talking to my Students about Porn’ and the key discussions it provokes on whether pornography can ever truly be ‘ethical’, ‘feminist’, or even ‘positive’, is, in my opinion, Srinivasan’s strongest chapter. Her realisation when teaching her Gen-Z students that they belong to one of the first generations to be ‘raised’ on internet pornography struck deep as I reflected on the ubiquitous nature of online pornography and its accessibility for young people, who mainly have ‘come of age sexually’ through the internet – most likely searching for answers to the questions they are too anxious to ask their parents. The harsh reality we live in is that this ease of accessibility means that the age in which parents feel it is appropriate to broach the taboo subjects of sex, pornography, or masturbation is certainly not the age in which their child has been impacted by the screen, in fact according to CEASE (Centre to End All Sexual Exploitation), ‘The majority of children’s first time watching pornography was accidental, with over 60% of children 11-13 who had seen pornography saying their viewing of pornography is unintentional’. The most devastating blow as a member of this internet generation which forced me to re-evaluate my past sexual experiences was found in these 3 sentences: “Almost every man in that class would have had his first sexual experience the moment he first wanted it, or didn’t want it, in front of a screen. And almost every woman in the class would have had her first sexual experience, if not in front of a screen, then with a boy whose first sexual experience had been. In that sense, her experience too would have been mediated by a screen: by what the screen had instructed him to do.” Interestingly, fanfiction/smut which is a genre that is primarily consumed by young women, shaping romanticised expectations of sex and relationships, isn’t incorporated into this chapter, in contrast to the denigration, hyper sexualisation, and subjugation of female ‘sluts’ of all races, shapes, and sizes: teens, MILFS, stepdaughters and stepsisters all depicted under a male gaze for, who the feminist Laura Mulvey describes as, the ‘screen surrogate’. As adults we are acutely aware that ‘porn is not pedagogy’, yet for younger people, specifically teenage boys aged 11-18, it functions as an educational tool. In an enlightening report which took place in 2013 by the UK Office of the Children’s Commissioner, some of the boys stated that ‘You get to see the way it’s done, and the way people do it … you have a kind of idea of how you might be able to do it … as you’re watching you pick up different things, things you don’t really know about. You just pick up things and you learn more things’ supporting Middlesex University’s 2021 study which troublingly stated that over half of the 11-16 boys interviewed believed that porn was ‘realistic’. Linking back to how young women are indirectly shaped by the screen, this belief in the ‘reality’ of pornography alters the perception teenage girls have of their bodies: hair or no hair? Are my tits and ass too small? Men themselves can use pornographic videos as a form of ‘training’ where they can rewind, pause, and relish in the visual images, matching their orgasm with the vital final cum shot.
Unlike Srinivasan, I was not surprised that Gen-Z is so vigilant and passionate about the discourse on pornography, as the estimation that some of the biggest players in online porn, such as PornHub, supposedly receive around six billion visits per month emphasises the power which pornography holds in shaping sexual power dynamics. Srinivasan’s reflects on this with downright disturbing findings that correlate increased porn consumption to a relaxed attitudes towards sexual violence against women, and, more worryingly, the intent to rape. While it is important of course to be objective in emphasising that correlation does not automatically equal causation, and attitudes towards violence are on the whole linked to hardcore pornography, Srinivasan in her typical dry wit dissects the main flaw of this boundary, elucidating the controversy behind the notion of ‘ethical porn’: can we really distinguish between violent and non-violent pornography, and if so, where is the boundary set – is it whether the cum shot takes place on her face, her tits, or inside her? Is it when the sex is unprotected? Does the position change the meaning: doggy style verses cowgirl? We could be here all day considering rhetorical questions on the ‘exploitative’, yet also ‘empowering’ and ‘reclaiming’ nature of porn (the example used in the chapter of the philosopher Nancy Bauer’s female students who explained their logic in ‘giving unreciprocated blow jobs to drunken frat boys’ springs to mind: ‘You doll yourself up and get some guy helplessly aroused, at which point you could just walk away’) but Srinivasan’s most decisive and compelling conviction is that regulation, abolition, and the current state of UK sex educational programmes will do/already does more harm than good. Even the medical sitcom ‘Scrubs’ recognises the problematic nature of abolition through the character of Dr Cox, ‘I’m fairly sure if they took porn off the internet, there’d only be one website left, and it’d be called ‘Bring back the porn!’
In an ideal world, the majority of feminists like Srinivasan would like to see pornography become a thing of the past, but pragmatically, and in a rather disheartening realisation, the criminalisation of sex work and tightening of regulations on pornography only hurts the financially dependent, primarily women. Such as the 2020 pandemic mass unemployment bringing in tens of thousands new workers and content, with OnlyFans reporting that 60,000 new models had signed up in the first two weeks of March 2020. Furthermore, as Srinivasan highlights, the 2014 UK law which prohibited the following sex acts from being displayed in porn produced in the UK in an attempt to reduce hardcore pornography (female ejaculation, physical restraint, spanking, facesitting) are acts which coincidentally play a prime role in femdom porn, most notably seen in ‘ethical’ porn which puts women ‘in control’ with the banning of depictions of female ejaculation playing into the idea that porn subordinates women as female pleasure will become associated with the taboo. Solutions must be addressed, but it is up to the government to adequately address the socio-economic situation which compels women to sell their bodies. Yes, to some extent there is a choice, yet how ‘ethical’ can it be when there is a commodification of female bodies under a male gaze?
Much like Srinivasan, I believe sexual education programmes and tackling sexual stigmas is certainly the way to make progress, but the nature of this education cannot be as rigid as that of the past. We need to recognise the demonisation of female sex workers in radical anti-pornography feminist theory and understand that whilst legislation and restriction would at least work on an older audience, it is not the big players who pirate content or post free content who will be heavily hit, rather those who depend financially on it.
Apparently, only 25% of young brits reported in this chapter to having had ‘good’ or ‘very good’ sex education. Personally, mine at an all-girls school was frankly outrageously poor with the lack of LGBTQ+ inclusivity and sex being viewed primarily as a reproductive act. Do not even get me started on the STD talks and the borderline slut-shaming, a personal favourite being a ‘self-defence’ class in which the instructor implied that the clothes we wear does make a difference. I often wondered if these talks were also being held at the local boys’ school around the corner on their attitudes towards sex, most especially the influence of pornography on their sexual behaviours, such as the notable complaint discussed amongst female friends I have made throughout my life on distressing events of non-consensual choking (how hard is it to ask whether the other person minds their fight or flight response being triggered?)
The chapter’s conclusion is one I actually support: logical and pragmatic. As an individual who has been frustratingly subjected to unpleasant sexual experiences which were no doubt shaped by the screen, I would probably situate myself in the anti-pornography camp of the feminist debate, however, unlike the activists of the 1970s and 80s who were largely fighting against pornography in magazines and cinema, the pragmatist within me as a member of this internet generation who has witnessed this ubiquitous nature of online pornography firmly supports Srinivasan’s proposals of educational programmes which could deconstruct our understanding of our own sexual behaviours and preferences as having been moulded by the screen and differentiating porn as entertainment from education. Naturally, an idealistic approach, yet from the discussions included within the chapter from her students and other members of this internet generation there is clear consensus in the need to address the ways in which porn has informed and dictated our understanding of sexual practices and roles within intercourse, which has been largely dictated to us by algorithms and perhaps this new understanding could lead to an ‘ethical’ form of pornography which supports, not demonises female sex workers whose financial needs can be met.
Written by: Amelia Craik
Edited by: Madeleine Rousell