I want to acknowledge, right from the start, that I’m writing this piece from a position of supreme privilege. I’m a straight, white, married man in the United States, and in many ways, our culture’s double standards around sexuality work in my favor.
My own casual comments or lighthearted jokes about sex rarely trigger the same judgment or social penalty a woman might face under identical circumstances. And while I’ve always appreciated how sensuality and sexuality—practiced ethically and consensually—can bring joy and harm no one, I’m increasingly troubled by the hypocrisy baked into our attitudes. Nearly everyone enjoys sex or sexiness on some level, yet the labels and moral condemnations we attach to women’s expressions of sexuality form a minefield that prevents honest discussion.
It’s precisely because I benefit from these biases that I feel a responsibility to call them out. So, while I recognize my vantage point isn’t universal, I hope this exploration of our societal contradictions—particularly regarding female sexuality—can help spark dialogue that’s more open, equitable, and respectful of personal agency.
~Dom
Janelle has a routine that most of her friends would envy. She wakes up when her body feels ready—no 6:00 a.m. alarms jarring her out of bed—pours a steaming cup of coffee, and sifts through dozens of direct messages on her phone. Then she begins her “workday.” Contrary to what she tells her family, Janelle is not an “executive assistant.” She isn’t juggling Zoom calls or coordinating a busy CEO’s schedule. Instead, she pays her bills, covers her rent, and even builds a vacation fund by running an OnlyFans account.
To her subscribers, she’s equal parts adult entertainer, online confidante, and sometimes even a virtual girlfriend. She might chat one-on-one with a loyal fan who pays extra for custom videos—sometimes involving lacy lingerie or inventive roleplay scenarios. Janelle excels at this because she genuinely delights in exploring her sexuality. She plays with different outfits, creates elaborate photo themes, and shoots content that allows her to express sensuality in a secure, creative environment. She’s in control: of the camera angles, the boundaries, and the script. That control is both liberating and lucrative.
Yet this personal power comes with a steep cost. Janelle’s elaborate cover story includes made-up details about corporate spreadsheets and scheduled meetings. She’s not entirely sure if her friends and family would disown her if they learned the truth—although she can’t rule it out—but she knows the judgment and social fallout would land with crushing force. She’s heard passing jabs about “girls who sell their bodies online,” accompanied by sneers or dismissive jokes. The same people making those comments have no qualms binge-watching TV series with explicit sex scenes or ogling the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition.
Janelle isn’t ashamed of her line of work, but she sees the obvious writing on the wall: America loves sex—we plaster it across billboards, celebrity culture, and social media—yet we shame the woman who owns her own sexuality. It’s a puzzle with a glaring solution: the real problem has never been sex itself; it’s about who controls it.
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Sex for Sale: The Mass-Market Appeal
Take a cursory glance around, and you’ll see female sexuality front and center in advertising, entertainment, and sports. The car industry has long banked on provocative commercials: the underlying message linking sleek vehicles and alluring women as parallel commodities—both to be purchased, possessed, and shown off. At boxing and UFC matches, you’ll find ring girls—scantily clad women whose only purpose is to stroll the ring, holding round placards. In professional football, legions of midriff-baring cheerleaders become part of the show, drawing camera pans from an audience that’s comfortable with female bodies in the spotlight—so long as that spotlight is controlled by someone else.
Movies and television push the envelope further: low-cut tops, exaggerated cleavage, or the infamous “sideboob” scene remain cheap, reliable methods to boost ratings. Social media compounds this trend. If you follow influencers on Instagram or TikTok, you’re likely exposed to near-pornographic visuals, barely obscured by “comedic skits” or disclaimers. While some may feign discomfort, most are unbothered—so long as major corporations and tech platforms keep monetizing those images.
Why the acceptance? Because it’s not “dangerous” when it’s sanctioned by multi-billion-dollar industries. Sex sells, and we’re complacent with the transaction if the gatekeepers are entertainment giants, ad agencies, or sports leagues.But the second an individual woman—someone like Janelle—cuts out the middleman through OnlyFans or independent modeling, she disrupts these long-standing power structures. Suddenly, she’s not a marketable asset; she’s a liability.Abruptly, she’s the “family embarrassment,” a so-called moral disgrace, or an outlier who threatens the established order.
The very culture that worships bikini-clad ring girls on pay-per-view recoils at a woman who dares to sell her image on her own terms. And even if she succeeds—if she builds a lucrative business and supports herself financially—the mere fact that she made this choice may follow her for life. Employers routinely reject candidates with any history of adult content, regardless of skill, work ethic, or time elapsed. A woman’s past decision to control her own image can make her unemployable in fields that have nothing to do with sex. Meanwhile, CEOs caught in sex scandals, male celebrities with leaked tapes, or executives with questionable behavior often recover their reputations. A woman, however, is marked indefinitely—her body, once commodified, is never truly hers again in the eyes of society.
The hypocrisy is undeniable: we celebrate the sexualized image of a woman so long as she doesn’t own it. But the moment she profits from herself—rather than being a product in someone else’s business model—the system retaliates.
When Reproductive Rights Become a Moral Battleground
This tension is even more glaring in the political and legislative arena, especially around reproductive rights. Across many parts of the United States, women’s autonomy over their own bodies has been whittled down under the banners of “morality” or “family values.” Despite a culture that freely sexualizes women to sell merchandise, conservative lawmakers scramble to restrict access to birth control or abortion. In some jurisdictions, a married woman seeking a hysterectomy may even need her husband’s approval—an unsettling reminder that in many “equal” marriages, some are more equal than others. At first glance, these actions seem contradictory: a nation engulfed in sexual imagery grows outraged at a woman who chooses if and when she has a child.
But if you follow the thread of control, the inconsistency unravels. It’s never been the existence of sex that sparks moral outrage; it’s who wields the power afterward. If a woman, rather than an institution or religious authority, decides the course of her sexual life, she morphs into a radical threat. She’s no longer merely an object of desire—she’s an autonomous being whose boundaries and choices demand respect. For those benefiting from patriarchal power structures, that kind of self-determination poses a direct challenge.
Consider the “family whore” label thrown around when a young woman chooses to make her own money from sexual allure—whether as an Instagram swimsuit model or through OnlyFans. Friends might quietly cheer her entrepreneurial spirit, but parents or the broader community might shame her as soon as they find out. The condemnation grows if she faces an unexpected pregnancy or contemplates abortion. Society’s message is clear: female sexuality is tolerable only if it remains in someone else’s hands. The moment a woman reclaims ownership, moral outrage descends, often ruthlessly.
The Veil of Silence and Reluctant Acknowledgments
There’s a certain irony in polite society’s approach to sex: we acknowledge it yet refuse to really talk about it. The honeymoon phase is understood to consummate a marriage; good wishes for newlyweds often come with winks and nudges. Queries about “trying for a baby” are effectively invitations into a couple’s bedroom—implying unprotected sex and specific frequencies—though these details remain draped in coy small talk.
Meanwhile, discussing a woman’s pleasure or her choices in explicit detail can draw shocked gasps. We can insinuate, but we mustn’t delve. This duality exposes how sex is celebrated if it aligns with cultural norms—marriage, procreation, or entertainment spectacle—yet is taboo if it lies outside these prescribed boundaries. The idea is reinforced by deep-rooted double standards: men are urged to “sow wild oats,” while women are praised for guarding their “purity.” The formal dowry may have disappeared, but its spirit lives on: the woman who openly relishes her own sexuality is deemed “tarnished,” while the chaste woman remains the prized gem.
Historical Precedents: Lilith, Mary Magdalene, and Geishas
This conflict isn’t unique to modern America; it resonates through countless histories and mythologies. Lilith, sometimes described as Adam’s first wife in Jewish folklore, was banished from Eden for asserting her equality and bodily autonomy. Over time, she evolved into a demonic archetype—blamed for infant mortality and twisted into a symbol of sexual evil. Her real offense? Refusing subjugation.
Similarly, Mary Magdalene earned a lasting reputation as a repentant prostitute, despite scant biblical evidence. Her story was co-opted to highlight male sin and redemption, often overshadowing her significance as a follower of Jesus and a symbol of spiritual depth. In each retelling, her supposed “sexual transgression” eclipsed her individuality or possible leadership.
Beyond Judeo-Christian narratives, the Geisha in Japan illuminates how revered cultural icons can also be sexualized and misunderstood. Though trained in refined arts—dance, music, conversation—geishas were often labeled as glorified escorts in Western imagination. The same dynamic appears with courtesans in medieval Europe or harem dancers in parts of the Middle East. Women who leveraged their allure and companionship occupied a space of precarious respect: they might hold influence in private but were vilified as morally suspect in public. Again, the friction arises whenever women channel their sexuality into personal power.
Child Beauty Pageants and Sexual Contradictions
Few examples spotlight this cultural schizophrenia as starkly as child beauty pageants. Across many regions of the United States, dressing young girls in adult makeup, skimpy outfits, and glittery bikinis is normalized, even acclaimed. Contestants blow kisses, strike flirtatious poses, and parade onstage to the applause of admiring parents.
Yet, in these same areas, you might find archaic laws restricting the ownership of sex toys or penalizing certain consensual acts between adults. This reveals a glaring contradiction: the sexualization of minors for trophies is considered acceptable, but an adult woman possessing a vibrator or selling custom photos is morally scandalous. When a corporate or institutional force choreographs a woman’s sexuality—be it pageant directors, sports leagues, or advertisers—it’s deemed permissible. The second she claims full agency, the taboo sirens blare.
Breaking the Spell: Why We Fear Women’s Autonomy
So what’s the real issue if it isn’t sex itself? The answer is evident: control. Autonomous female sexuality rattles the foundations of any society hinged on hierarchy. When women assert their sovereignty—over finances, relationships, or, most threateningly, their own bodies—they destabilize decades (if not centuries) of patriarchal rule. Their ability to say “no” or “yes” on their own terms changes everything.
Reproductive rights are a prime example. When a woman can decide if and when to have a child—or whether to terminate a pregnancy—she holds far-reaching power over her future. That terrifies those who prefer a social order where men or institutions dictate the parameters of women’s lives. Cloaked beneath slogans like “sanctity of life” or “moral decency,” a more primal fear emerges: What if women become truly ungovernable?
The Human Cost of Repression
For women like Janelle, exercising sexual autonomy can exact a high price. Families might grow distant; friend groups can turn cold; reputations can be demolished by rumors. The emotional burden translates into stress, anxiety, and potential financial hardship if support systems fall away. And in regions with strict sexual conduct laws, women can face legal troubles on top of social ostracism. The message is distressingly consistent: Dare to own your sexuality, and brace for repercussions.
But perhaps the most insidious punishment isn’t immediate at all—it’s the long shadow cast over a woman’s future. Even those who leave the industry often find that society refuses to let them move on. Their past is dredged up in job interviews, whispered about in professional circles, and wielded as a weapon in custody battles or legal disputes. A hiring manager who privately consumes explicit content may still deny a woman a position based on her prior involvement in it. Banks may shut down her accounts without warning. Politicians with personal sex scandals are often re-elected, but a woman who once profited from her sexuality—on her own terms—remains permanently disqualified from ‘respectable’ society.
Meanwhile, subtler but daily humiliations also occur—from co-workers whispering about someone’s revealing blouse to online harassment targeting women who post bikini photos. Our culture has normalized these microaggressions so thoroughly that many barely register them. Yet they reinforce a punishing code: stepping beyond prescribed boundaries draws swift, punishing attention.
In stark contrast, men often consume sexual content—whether it’s subscription-based adult sites or risqué magazines—without enduring similar condemnation. It’s rarely questioned why these double standards persist, especially in a society that prides itself on championing “modern” values.
Confronting the Veil and Moving Forward
Recognizing these blatant contradictions is our first step toward dismantling them. It’s time to confront the elephant in the room: society doesn’t fear sex; it fears women who control their own sexuality. Whether you’re discussing ring girls at a pay-per-view event or a mother of two who opens an OnlyFans to boost her family’s income, the real question we must ask is: Why do we cheer on corporate profiteering of female bodies yet denounce women who profit from themselves?
- Protecting Reproductive Rights – Comprehensive sex education, unhindered access to birth control, and safe abortions empower women to decide how their sexuality and reproductive choices intersect.
- Challenging Cultural Norms – Entertainment industries should evolve beyond hypersexualized female portrayals designed solely for male consumption. Equally crucial is resisting the urge to shame the woman who embraces her sexuality on her own platform.
- Support Systems and Legal Protections – Laws rooted in moral policing—like bans on certain sexual devices or consenting adult acts—need reevaluation. Women must also feel safe in their communities, without stigma or economic retaliation if they choose to capitalize on their own image.
- Shifting the Conversation – We need frank discussions about consent, pleasure, and power. Why do we place a premium on female bodies only when corporations package them for mass consumption? What are we so afraid of losing when a woman declares that her body is hers alone to monetize, celebrate, or protect?
Ultimately, this confrontation with hypocrisy and contradiction could unravel the false assumption that sexual liberation endangers society. The greater threat lies in denying half the population true sovereignty over their own bodies.
A Final Reckoning
None of this is a new debate. The struggle over women’s sexual self-determination has raged for centuries—encoded in folklore, whispered through religious texts, and reverberating in modern laws. Though the packaging has changed across generations, the core tension remains: we claim to embrace sexual freedom and champion “equality,” but we cling stubbornly to mechanisms that ensure control stays in familiar hands.
From Lilith’s exile to Mary Magdalene’s tarnished legacy, from misunderstood geishas to today’s OnlyFans creators, the same thread appears: female autonomy is perceived as disruptive, even dangerous. Every time a woman claims her sexuality—on her own terms—she forces society to confront its own deep-seated hypocrisy. We will applaud a commodified female body on our screens yet demonize the self-directed woman who profits from her own allure.
So here’s the ultimate question: Do we continue to hail the corporate-sanctioned image of the scantily clad woman while condemning the real woman who dares to profit from that same image herself? Or do we finally accept that a woman’s sexuality—like a man’s—belongs solely to her, free from external judgment or permission? The answers will differ depending on who you ask, but one undeniable truth emerges: It was never about despising sex—it was about despising the loss of control.
And the moment we lay this truth bare is the moment we can start building a culture where women are no longer punished for taking ownership of their own bodies, their own desires, and their own destinies.
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