The first time I heard friends talk about pornography, they focused on similar questions: Is it a private issue? Is it empowering? Isn’t it just entertainment? However, very few considered what it means for the girls and women affected by it—the ones who do not choose the stories, do not own the platforms, and do not control how their bodies or cultures are shown. This piece is for them.
In a workshop about media and power, a participant named Leila did not speak much; instead, she drew. On her page, she sketched a vending machine: when you press a button, a woman drops out. “This,” she said, “is how it feels when choice is the only story people tell.” Leila was not criticising anyone’s choices; she was pointing out a system. Research has shown for years that when people are treated like products, exploitation is part of the business model. Platforms take a cut, managers gain power, and top creators act as gatekeepers. Newcomers come in hoping to have more control, but many find themselves in a marketplace designed to keep them dependent. This cycle repeats.
You don’t have to look far to notice a recurring theme: scenes that insult, belittle, or present harm as entertainment. When humiliation is packaged as fun, it spreads quickly. This teaches the audience what to laugh at, what to desire, and what to excuse. Over time, that language seeps into hallways, comment sections, and social interactions. Leila articulated it more directly: “If the joke always targets girls, eventually it becomes a rule.”
Empowerment stories are attractive because everyone should have control over their body, work, and future. However, empowerment needs context to be fully understood. It does not consider the factors that lead vulnerable people into risky situations. It also does not address how algorithms often promote shocking content instead of caring content. This issue particularly affects younger audiences, who can start to see sexual performance as the fastest way to feel valued.
The text overlooks the pressures that influence people’s decisions, such as unpaid rent, rising bills, and the temptation to make quick money suggested by a partner or a friend who says, “everyone is doing it.” It also includes social media that makes leaving the situation feel like a failure. While these factors do not take away personal choice, they serve as a reminder to recognise the environment in which choices are made.
The harms of this situation go beyond the performers. They affect classmates who compare themselves to edited bodies. They influence boys who learn to see disrespect as normal flirting. They impact girls who feel they need to fit into stereotypes to be noticed, or they risk being called prudish or boring. These issues also affect everyone when public discussions dismiss criticism as moral panic instead of recognising it as a call for dignity.Three words help name the problem. Commodification: turning people into products invites exploitation, especially the young and economically insecure. Normalisation: repeated degradation bleeds into everyday attitudes and behaviour. Backlash: when stereotypes are profitable, pushback against women’s freedom is easily marketed as “protection.”
In our workshop, students designed “counter-algorithm” posters for corridors and community centres. They weren’t about banning the internet. They were about media literacy and care: ask who profits from what you watch; notice when a joke makes someone smaller; don’t confuse visibility with freedom or virality with safety; if you need money, you deserve options that don’t risk your dignity or your future. We also drafted a simple duty of care for platforms: clear consent standards, fast takedowns, tools to block scraping and abuse, human moderation that doesn’t outsource harm to the least powerful workers, and independent audits of recommendation systems.
Before we left, Leila redesigned her vending machine. The buttons were still there, but the glass front was removed. Inside, people stood instead of products, holding signs that said: “Pay fairly. Ask first. Stop when I say stop. Don’t sell my shame.” Above the machine, she wrote: “If the rules change, the choices change.”
That’s the main point. We don’t need louder debates about purity or permissiveness. We need steady work: teaching young people about power, offering them economic options, demanding platforms that respect consent and safety, and discussing dignity as a right for everyone.
Pornography is not just a private matter; it is a public conversation about what bodies are for and whose voices matter. If the costs are public, the discussion should be, too.
Afra Bhuiyan