A deep dive into the porn industry and the challenges and opportunities it presents for women
Yasmine Modaresi (she/her) // Contributor
Ava Shahres (they/she) // Illustrator
As a byproduct of free market capitalism, the ethics of modern-day pornography have been questioned by feminist theorists and human rights advocates alike. However, in these discussions, there is often little room left for nuance: there is a dichotomy where, within public discourse in media, organizations and individuals are pressured to divide into an extreme pro- or anti-pornography stance. Such a dichotomy can not only be counterproductive but oppressive to the idea that there is good and bad in every industry—including the porn industry.
A common sentiment on the anti-porn side of the argument is that, as a product historically created by men, for men, porn continues to perpetuate the objectification of women. The placement of women in porn, the point of view of cameras, and the roles of men in pornography have perpetuated a fantasy where women are a means to an end—man’s gratification—rather than an end in themselves. Sadly, this perforative narrative that manifests on the screen is also often a reality behind the scenes. According to human rights organizations like Exodus, a significant portion of pornographic content found on popular websites like PornHub are created by human traffickers as a way to manipulate and control their victims. Such content is sold to sites both on mainstream and underground sites, while victims are simultaneously exploited physically, through forced prostitution.
A common argument from the anti-porn perspective is that all pornography is coercive. This is a perspective that seems to only include consideration for women’s exploitation—perhaps rightfully so, but that’s a discussion for another time: even if a woman think’s she’s engaging in sex work like pornographic content by choice, there is still a degree of exploitation. After all, once that content is out in the modern wild west of the internet, there is the potential of her being immortalized as an object of sex, and being stripped of her personhood in endeavours outside of pornography.
However, despite the dark reality of porn’s proximity to various forms of exploitation, many modern porn creators are attempting to solve ethical dilemmas by cultivating spaces where autonomy is prioritized.
Back in 2014 in an interview with The Guardian, adult content creator, Ms Naughty—a self-proclaimed “ethical and fair trade” porn creator—suggested that deconstructing negative stereotypes surrounding adult entertainment creators should be prioritized over terminating pornography. Ms. Naughty acknowledges that some porn is manufactured through tragic circumstances, but also stresses that it’s ignorant to suggest that all porn is unethically produced.
It seems infantilizing to the adults involved, regardless of their sex, to strip away autonomy in relation to how one uses their sexuality. Upholding the dichotomy of pro- vs. anti-porn stances almost seems to be a politicization of sexuality itself. What seems more productive is addressing the question of how legally sourced pornography (i.e., that content that is created by consenting adults) can be made more ethical.
To gain some perspective on how sex workers believe they should be treated when participating in public adult content, two Vancouver women who work in the adult content industry agreed to engage in a short interview. (Note that for the sake of privacy, the letters “A” and “B” will be used to represent the women participating in the interview):
Q: What would you say makes you feel most safe when distributing your content and interacting with consumers?
A: “I feel safest knowing that I have control over what type of content I produce, and how I behave. If I’m going to be doing these things for strangers to watch, I still want control over what customers can access.”
B: “With the viewers I get, and how I got them, I don’t know everyone who watches my content. They see my face, and I’m sure I’d be recognizable if I ran into any of my customers because let’s face it, I’m intimate with them in a way. But I work for me. There’s nobody telling me how to pose, what to shave, how to act and if I don’t want to do something, I don’t.”
Q: In terms of the agency you have over your body, your comfort and your privacy in OF content, there seem to be some significant differences when compared to mainstream porn. Do you have any ideas on how porn can be more ethical in protecting the performers?
A: “I haven’t ever worked in porn, but I know that you’re an employee, which is pretty different from being self-employed. It’s not just about getting to choose what hours you work, but choosing what you do. I think that porn has always been more about getting men off than women—which isn’t necessarily bad, but it can hurt women in the production process. I think that there needs to be more collaboration between directors and actors. Directors need to actually care about the people doing the acts.”
Autonomy, self-determination, and collaboration between actors, directors and consumers were recurring trends in both past articles and conversations with sex workers. Porn as a profitable expression of sexuality can be made ethical, but to be ethical, industry leaders must be willing to see their employees as more than objects—more than cash cows.
