OCTOBER 3, 2025 | OPINION | By Olivia Link
I’m not sure who needs to hear this, but men who regularly watch porn cannot call themselves feminists.
The idea that pornography is politically or socially neutral—or even beneficial—is not one with much grounding in reality. One 2010 article published in the journal Violence Against Women revealed that, of all the sexual content analyzed, 88.2% depicted physical aggression and 48.7% contained verbal aggression, the majority of which was committed by men against women.
Pornography is fundamentally reliant on the dehumanization of women and the commodification of their bodies, and this way of perceiving women and sex is not something that can be left behind when one exits Pornhub.
This article is admittedly heteronormative and focused on relationships between men and women, not because queer people don’t also struggle with intimacy, but because these struggles can often be divorced from broader societal power structures. Our generation’s incapability of commitment or intimacy is not as linked to family issues or childhood experiences as many argue; rather, it is the result of an oversaturation of sex.
Sex, and often neither communicative nor healthy sex, is far more available to today’s young adults than ever before. With a single Google search, one can access a bottomless pit of sexual content, much of which is either graphic or fetishistic in nature.
Sigmund Freud talks about men’s inability to see sex and emotional connection as co-constitutive in what he terms the Madonna-Whore Complex. He asserts that men separate women into two distinct and immutable categories: that of the woman he can admire and love and that of the woman he can have sex with.
Just like the desensitization fostered by porn consumption, men who—often subconsciously—view women like this can only be aroused by objectifying their partner. Sociologists William Simon and John Gagnon argue that human sexuality is acted out in accordance with a sexual script influenced by cultural and gender norms. For young men seeking guidance in a country with limited sex education, this script is inextricably intertwined with narratives presented in porn.
Operating on a sexual script gleaned from pornography can lead to rote, depersonalized, and even aggressive encounters. These websites are flush with violent, dehumanizing scripts where consent is never discussed, or where a woman’s “no” is assumed to mean yes. Studies have shown that while frequency and type of pornographic use impact outcomes, there nevertheless exists a definitive link between consumption and sexual coercion.
In most mainstream pornography, consent and communication are not a priority, and are typically omitted entirely. And yet, these are foundational to healthy sex in real life; intimacy without communication is ultimately alienating for all parties.
Men in porn are assertive, domineering and forever sure of themselves: they do not concern themselves with checking in with their partners or asking questions. Women in porn typically respond well to this lack of autonomy in shaping their sexual experiences, leading men to believe that this sexual script is something they should aspire to follow.
Rather than asking his partner what feels good to her, he assumes female pleasure to be a monolith, and one that is correctly represented in the media. Ultimately, this feels dehumanizing for the woman, for whom intimacy has been reduced to a series of mechanical acts, of words and phrases pulled directly from Pornhub, of being nothing more than a warm body in a man’s bed.
Furthermore, porn’s accessibility makes sex routine for the consumer, which often means that viewers turn to more and more extreme content to get the same effect. This escalation and desensitization translates into real life as well.
For instance, I’ve heard from several friends at CC that they’ve had men casually choke them without asking. To me, this sexualization of violence feels sinister, but to many men, it is simply a replication of the behavior they watch online daily.
On a biological level, porn consumption triggers dopamine release that, over time, necessitates novelty to reach the threshold of arousal. Not only can this lead to an increase in rough or violent sex, it can also desensitize men’s responses to real-life intimacy, which can cause sexual performance to decline. One study even found a negative correlation between repeated porn use and gray matter in the brain, meaning overexposure to sexual content can actually make you dumber.
There is plenty of literature that shows porn consumption has deleterious effects on romantic relationships. Data indicates that a male partner’s porn consumption is linked with women experiencing greater feelings of objectification, body dysmorphia and disordered eating habits.
Psychology Today reported that couples in which neither party consumes porn have lower levels of negative communication, higher sexual and relationship satisfaction, and half the infidelity rate as their porn-watching counterparts.
In an era where sexual gratification can be achieved in the click of a button, the time and energy required to establish real connections with another person may no longer seem worth it. For young men, situationships and hookup culture might sound ideal: all the rewards with none of the work.
What this reductionism often produces for women, however, is feelings of being disposable or fundamentally unworthy. Naturally, this depersonalization harms men’s mental health as well. Porn consumption, in addition to promoting unrealistic beauty standards for women, has also been linked to body-image issues in men.
The pressure to recreate pornographic scenes turns intimacy into performance; instead of risking embarrassment or asking their partner for guidance, men try to replicate the degrading language and actions they see on their screens, and in doing so, strip the humanity from one of the most human experiences of all.