Content warning: this article discusses sexual violence and gender-based harm.

We’re told that porn is just fantasy, harmless, private, even empowering. But the truth is more complicated. Mainstream online porn has become one of the biggest influences on sex in our generation, shaping how people think about desire, power, and consent. And what it’s teaching isn’t healthy.

When violence becomes “normal”

Porn today is more accessible than ever, and much more violent. Between 2004 and 2016, the number of people viewing porn online rose by over 300%, while its content became “increasingly violent, degrading, and misogynistic” (Bertin, 2025). Studies show that nearly 90% of popular scenes contain physical aggression, and almost half include verbal abuse, with women depicted as accepting or enjoying this treatment (Bridges et al., 2010).

This normalisation of sexual aggression matters. When acts like choking, slapping, and “forced” sex are presented as erotic, they reshape what viewers see as acceptable. Over time, violent porn teaches that domination is sexy and that women’s pleasure lies in submission and aggression.

Feminist theorist Andrea Dworkin argued that “the major theme of pornography is male power”, that women’s degradation exists to celebrate male dominance (Dworkin, 1981). Porn’s repetitive framing of female submission reinforces patriarchal beliefs that men are entitled to control, and women’s value is in their availability.

Rape myths and the culture of consent

These ideas feed into what sociologists call rape myths: false but deeply rooted beliefs that excuse and justify sexual violence. Myths such as “women say no when they mean yes” or “she asked for it” persist because of how porn portrays sex.

Decades of research show that consuming violent porn increases rape myth acceptance and sexist attitudes (Suarez & Gadalla, 2010; Villena-Moya et al., 2024). When viewers constantly see coercion framed as desire, they learn to read non-consent as part of sex. For young people who rely on porn for “sex education” (Lofgren-Martenson & Mansson, 2006), these scripts can directly shape their expectations of intimacy.

Feminist psychologist Gail Dines argues that mainstream porn’s “rough sex” aesthetic (slapping, hair-pulling, spitting, and extreme penetration) is not niche, but the industry standard. It eroticises humiliation and teaches boys and men that women enjoy being violated (Dines, 2012). When such acts are so easily accessible on major sites, they blur the boundary between desire and abuse.

UK Pornography Law

You might think the government has addressed this. But in the UK, the Online Safety Act 2023 (OSA) barely scratches the surface.

The OSA treats pornography only as a child-protection issue, ignoring how it fuels gender inequality and rape culture. The law focuses on age verification and “user empowerment,” not on the nature of the content itself.

This reflects the UK’s neoliberal policy approach, one that emphasises personal responsibility and corporate self-regulation instead of structural reform (Gamble, 1994; Jessop, 2015). The OSA allows porn companies to decide what counts as “harmful,” protecting freedom of expression but not women’s safety.

Meanwhile, other forms of online harm, such as terrorism or child sexual abuse material, are tightly controlled. Violent porn, which research links directly to rape myth acceptance, remains legally available. As feminist scholars like Clare McGlynn and Erika Rackley argue, UK policy continues to “normalise sexual violence as entertainment” by refusing to name it as harm (McGlynn & Rackley, 2009).

Whose voices count?

Moreover, feminist and survivor perspectives are largely excluded from online safety policymaking. The OSA’s consultation process included industry leaders but sidelined women’s rights organisations, despite their long-standing expertise on gender-based violence (End Violence Against Women Coalition, 2024).

While Ofcom has promised to work with the Victims’ and Domestic Abuse Commissioners on future guidance, there’s still no guarantee that feminist insights will shape the law itself. This exclusion perpetuates what feminist theorist Sandra Harding calls “policy silence”, when governments claim neutrality but ignore the gendered and patriarchal power structures that make women unsafe (Harding, 1986).

Beyond Censorship

Critics often say that feminists want to ban porn. But this isn’t about censorship, it’s about education, accountability, and consent.

1. Comprehensive consent education:
   The UK has begun teaching consent in schools (Department for Education, 2021), but we need to go further. If porn is our generation’s default sex education, platforms should be required to include visible resources about consent, boundaries, and respect.
2. Platform accountability:
   Companies that profit from violent porn shouldn’t be trusted to regulate it. Independent oversight, informed by feminist research, must define what counts as harmful and require platforms to remove or restrict that content.
3. Feminist policymaking:
   Laws like the OSA should treat porn as a form of gendered harm, not a neutral “adult choice.” Policymakers must listen to survivors, feminist academics, and women’s organisations who understand how porn sustains coercion and violence.

Porn and power

Pornography doesn’t just mirror culture, it moulds it. In a world where violence against women and girls has been officially declared a national emergency (NPCC, 2023), ignoring porn’s role in that violence is dangerous.

When sexual aggression is projected online as “rough sex,” and women’s pain is sold as pleasure, the result is a society that doesn’t understand the meaning of consent. The OSA’s silence on porn’s cultural harms reinforces patriarchal power and legitimises an industry built on women’s subordination and harm.

To truly tackle gender-based violence, we need policies that do more than block under-18s. We need an honest national conversation about what porn teaches, and whose power it serves.

A call for change

The UK says it wants to end violence against women. That must include challenging the online culture that normalises it.

It is time to stop pretending porn is just fantasy. It is an education system, one that teaches women’s submission and men’s entitlement. And as long as governments ignore that lesson, the harm will continue.

Because when something shapes our understanding of sex and relationships as much as porn does, silence is not neutrality; it is complicity.

References

Bertin, B. (2025) *Independent review of pornography

Sun, C., Bridges, A., Johnson, J.A. and Ezzell, M.B. (2014) Pornography and the Male Sexual Script: An Analysis of Consumption and Sexual Relations – PubMed

Dworkin, A. (1981). Pornography Men Possessing Women. Penguin.

Suarez, E. and Gadalla, T.M. (2010) Stop Blaming the Victim: A Meta-Analysis on Rape Myths – Eliana Suarez, Tahany M. Gadalla, 2010

Löfgren-Mårtenson, L. and Månsson, S.-A. (2010) Lust, Love, and Life: A Qualitative Study of Swedish Adolescents’ Perceptions and Experiences with Pornography: The Journal of Sex Research: Vol 47, No 6

Dines, G. (2012) A Feminist Response to Weitzer – Gail Dines, 2012

Gamble, A. (1994) [PDF] The Free Economy and the Strong State by Andrew Gamble, 2nd edition | 9780333593332, 9781349233878

Jessop, B. (2015) Margaret Thatcher and Thatcherism: Dead but not buried | British Politics

McGlynn, C. and Rackley, E. (2009) (PDF) Criminalising extreme pornography: A lost opportunity

End Violence Against Women (2024) VAWG is a national emergency, say police chiefs | End Violence Against Women

Harding, S. (1986). The science question in feminism. New York: Cornell University Press.

NPCC (2023) First national threat assessment of VAWG