Emer O’Hanlon
Pornography lies behind rough sex fad
THERE was a time, and it wasn’t so long ago, when showing concern at the sight of a woman’s body covered in bruises inflicted by her boyfriend would have been considered normal and uncontroversial. Increasingly these days, however, the right to beat up your partner is not seen as an abomination, but the sign of a mutually beneficial (if a little risque) sexual relationship.
In a new TikTok challenge, women are even sharing post-coital videos of their bruised and cut limbs, in an attempt to emulate the recent Netflix kidnap-porn film, 365 Days. These aren’t small wounds — sometimes bruises are larger than the women’s handspans, as well as cuts that definitely go beyond surface level. One such video went viral across social media last week, and has been viewed more than 33 million times with nearly six million likes.
Why has this video resonated with so many people, or, at the very least, been considered entertaining enough to like? It’s merely the latest manifestation of a growing cultural feeling that ‘vanilla’ sex has passed its heyday, and that getting rough is the best way to curb boredom.
‘Rough’ here doesn’t mean using handcuffs or role-play, all of which are starting to seem a bit passe, but anything from slapping and spitting in your partner’s face, to hair-pulling, choking, and much worse. This, it seems, is the new normal.
Studies and anecdotes both confirm that violence during sex is on the rise, particularly in casual encounters. A 2019 study found that almost a quarter of adult women in the US have actively experienced fear from the violence inflicted on them during sexual encounters with men, while a third of women in the UK have experienced unwanted spitting, choking, or slapping.
Irish women report many of the same disturbing experiences. Many men seem to consider rough sex such a common part of a normal sexual experience that they no longer feel it’s something for which they even need to ask consent.
It’s obvious that this new proclivity for rough sex comes from the rise of internet porn. Sites such as PornHub routinely upload videos advertising the fact that the women in them are crying, in pain, or ‘broken’. ‘Destroy’ is now virtually synonymous for penetration. It only takes a few seconds to find footage of women (in many cases, teenagers) screaming or whimpering in pain, while men hit them, choke them, pull their hair, and worse.
That’s to say nothing of the extreme racism that’s also present. In porn, black men are often portrayed as particularly willing to ‘destroy’ waifish white women. Feminist academic Robert Jensen described porn as “what the end of the world looks like”. He’s right: some videos are genuinely dystopian.
One defence of pornography is that the performers have all consented, and that it’s just fantasy. Both these views are often wrong.
Writer and activist Rose Kalemba has bravely spoken about videos of her own rape, uploaded on to PornHub without her consent when she was 13. Despite this, it took months for them to be removed, and new copies are still uploaded years later.
Female performers increasingly suffer vaginal and/or rectal prolapse from filming such rough scenes. Given the ubiquity of internet porn, it’s not surprising that these trends have moved out of the online recesses and into plain sight. Media outlets such as Men’s Health,
Vice, and Refinery29 have run articles explaining how to ‘safely’ incorporate strangling into your sex life. It even features on the renowned reliable medical advice-site Healthline. Most medical experts will tell you that there is no ‘safe’ way to strangle someone, but exploring new acts seems to be part of the ‘sex-positive’ outlook that many women now proudly claim to possess.
Willingness to accept violence from your partner has become a badge of honour, proof that you are a ‘cool girl’, while sticking to boring, old ‘vanilla’ sex is now seen as a bit prudish. It’s stunning how much the word ‘vanilla’ is now thrown around casually to describe anything that’s a bit dull or lifeless.
It’s heartbreaking that women, particularly younger ones, are being groomed to be proud of their bruises in order to escape the label. When I started secondary school, ‘frigid’ was thrown around as one of the most shameful insults. It had little to do with actual sexual experience or curiosity, but was used to single out any girls who seemed at all prudish or stand-offish. I got this one a lot, because I was a bit quiet and bookish. Hearing ‘vanilla’ as an insult creates instant deja-vu for me.
It’s a vile way of othering and dismissing women who want respect in their sexual relationships.
Adults should be entitled to a private sex life, but encouraging violence during sex is just an insidious new form of victim-blaming, dressed up in liberal trappings. Reassuringly, there is a new wave of women writers tackling this difficult subject, from Sally Rooney’s nuanced portrayal of Marianne’s desire to be hurt during sex in Normal People, to Michaela Coel’s recent triumph I May Destroy You, about the aftermath of a hook-up gone wrong.
Crucially, these narratives never blame the women for their sexual desires, but rather the culture which allowed them to be hurt in the first place. Bringing this conversation into the mainstream can only be a good thing. It should never be controversial or ‘kink-shaming’ to question why someone makes the decision to hurt their partner. Violence is violence, and no amount of doublespeak about sex-positivity will change that.
‘‘‘Vanilla’’ is a vile way of othering women who want respect’