Why We Can’t Talk About Incel Culture and Online Misogyny Without Talking About Pornography
A while back I was invited to take part in a panel discussion on the subject of how best to address incel culture and online misogyny through education and policy. I’m not going to] name the event or any of the people who spoke or attended other than to state that, of the panel members, all of us were female, two of us teachers and the rest were in policy; one in a senior role within a government department. The event went fine but I left feeling unsettled, particularly by some of the discussion that took place during the Q&A. A question was asked by a delegate – If you could, would you ban pornography? I volunteered to speak first, having made reference to pornography and the pornification of culture several times during the panel discussion. I gave my opinion that pornography is inherently anti-human. In my own Relationships and Sex Education (RSE) teaching I often quote Michael Conroy and share with the children that the objective of our RSE lessons is learn how to be safe and to be safe to be around. I then add on a bit of my own: that our further objective is, in sex and relationship contexts, to ask ourselves what is the best possible way that we can treat the person in front of us? They might be under the influence of alcohol or drugs, vulnerable and not able to make decisions to keep themselves safe; wanting a relationship with us but we don’t feel the same way; we might want to break up with them. And so on. Our responsibility should always be to ask ourselves (abusive relationships aside…) how best can I treat this person in this moment? I’m not sure if any part of making or consuming porn can be considered to be treating another human in the best possible way. That’s what I mean by anti-human.
Furthermore, porn can only exist in a society that views women and girls through a lens of gender stereotypes in which there are women and girls who are valued (often in a way that is also sexist and oppressive as the property of men) and those who lack value, who deserve to be sexually exploited and are responsible for their own abuse. I was the only panellist to hold this view: the panellist who followed me offered a number of arguments against the abolition of porn, the other panellists and delegates in the chat then agreeing with her. Having already spoken I was not then in a position to respond to the many factually incorrect comments that were then made regarding the nature, significance and creation of porn.
Pornography is not a neutral or personal preference issue – it plays an active and powerful role in shaping sexual attitudes and behaviours. It normalises violence. It glamorises degradation. And it gives cultural permission for the abuse and commodification of women and girls. Pornography, VAWG, and the manosphere exist, therefore, in a mutually reinforcing cycle. Online content teaches harmful behaviours. Influencers and ideologues justify them. And platforms monetise it all. If we fail to address this intersection, we will never make meaningful progress to address these complex issues.
My fellow panellist argued that banning porn was ‘authoritarian’ and would deny people their right to sexual expression. But we need to ask: whose expression? The overwhelming majority of women in porn are not there by choice in any meaningful sense. They are disproportionately from lower socio-economic backgrounds, often in debt, care-experienced, survivors of childhood sexual abuse, or trafficked. Rarely do we see middle-class women, free from Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs), choosing to ‘express their sexuality’ on camera.
Furthermore, what we see on screen is not real [although it is, of course, real], mutual sex – it’s direction, coercion, performance. These women are being told what to do. They’re not engaging in consensual intimacy. The orgasms are not real; often neither is the man’s erection and ejaculate. Most endure repeated violence. Evidence suggests that up to 30-40% of female ‘actors’ leave the ‘industry’ in their first year due to the immense toll on their physical and mental health. That will be after making between, on average, 6 and 10 ‘scenes’. One study found that 89% of performers want to leave.
One of the other panellists – also a teacher – made reference to so-called ‘ethical porn’ as a solution – content made with consent, respect, and fair pay. One of the [few male] delegates posted a link to Erika Lust. On the surface, it sounds like the perfect solution. In practice, it’s a myth. Bonnie Blue wasn’t mentioned during the discussion but I wonder if she fits my fellow panellists definitions of ethical porn. She most definitely seems to be consenting and so do the many thousands of men who line up to have sex with her and be filmed doing so. But then people claim to consent to all sorts of things. Remember that man who responded to an advert to find someone willing to be killed and eaten? Whether it’s someone wanting to be killed and eaten or someone wanting to be choked – it’s probably a good time to ask yourself that question about what is the best way to treat someone in this moment…
The porn industry is driven by demand for increasingly extreme, violent content. This demand is not satisfied by ‘ethical’ alternatives, which either remain commercially marginal or must mimic mainstream trends to survive.
Even in seemingly better-regulated productions, the same systemic issues persist: economic coercion, power imbalances, and the commodification of female bodies. Consent in a porn context is often contractual rather than authentic. The actors perform for consumers, not for themselves.
Most importantly, ‘ethical’ porn exists alongside – and is often accessed via – the same platforms and algorithms that host violent, exploitative content. It upholds the same idea: that sex is a performance for others, something to be bought, sold, and consumed.
The panellist who was responding to me stated that pornography has existed since the beginning of time. And, yes, sexual imagery has existed for centuries. But what has always existed is not porn as we know it today—it’s the sexual exploitation of women, and in some cases, men and children.
The difference lies in scale, intent, and harm. Historical erotic drawings or art do not equate to today’s multi-billion-pound industry that profits from coercion, degradation, and abuse. Ancient pottery wasn’t monetised by tech companies, nor did it train generations of boys to view women as objects for violent pleasure.
Modern pornography is often directly linked to trafficking, coercion, and exploitation. It should rightly be recognised as a form of modern slavery. In Britain, we rightly examine and reflect on the impact of historical slavery. But we must also confront the uncomfortable reality that slavery still exists – just in new forms. We cannot address past injustices while ignoring those still playing out before us.
The other teacher on the panel suggested we should support children in developing critical skills in relation to porn. I do agree to a certain extent: my own approach to Relationships and Sex Education is porn-critical. But porn is not a book or a film – it’s a highly addictive, neurologically impactful product, designed to escalate. As Gary Wilson documents in ‘Your Brain on Porn’, repeated exposure changes brain chemistry, increasing tolerance and pushing users toward more extreme, violent content in search of arousal. The endpoint of that journey is not harmless curiosity – it is often content involving humiliation, coercion, violence, and often the abuse of children. This is not a fringe issue; it’s the trajectory of the mainstream.
While we must educate children and parents, we cannot pretend that critical thinking alone can equip a young person to resist the pull of such an addictive, damaging product. Porn is also increasingly used as part of grooming and abuse. Being vague or neutral about its harms undermines safeguarding and leaves children unable to recognise when they’re being exploited.
We need to stop pretending that porn is a personal choice, a progressive tool, or harmless entertainment. It is a central pillar in a structure that profits from the pain, vulnerability, and dehumanisation of women and girls. If we truly want to end VAWG, support safeguarding, and truly understand and interrogate the manosphere, we must speak the full truth about pornography—its production, its effects, and its cost. And we must speak it with urgency. Because the cost is far too high to ignore.
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