Can we talk about it now?
Photo Courtesy of SHVETS production- Pexels
Starting a serious conversation about pornography feels like walking onstage in a crowded auditorium and yelling obscenities. It is deeply uncomfortable and unwelcome in most spaces. Sometimes I wonder if this is because viewing porn is so widespread and commonplace that calling it out as questionable behavior will inevitably incite a defensive reaction. No one wants to be told that their actions are unethical—particularly if those actions are already wrapped up in feelings of shame or guilt.
I have hesitated to speak about our pervasive porn culture in the past for fear of being viewed as uptight, prudish, or even conservative. I don’t want to be associated with people who condemn it purely out of shame-fueled aversion to anything sexual. I also don’t want to be grouped in with those who condemn and shame sex workers. However, I find that avoiding the topic causes me more frustration than it does satisfaction. I really believe that watching porn today is morally questionable, if not condemnable.
My main concern is the well-being of those in the videos. I don’t think there is any concrete way to verify that the people you’re watching consented to 1) doing anything that takes place in the video, 2) being recorded, and 3) you consuming it for your own gratification. There are legal frameworks in place, yes, but can they adequately account for behind-the-scenes coercion and abuse? Can our contracts and identity verification systems really identify and/or prevent the trafficking we know is happening?
I have heard some potentially compelling arguments proposing that you can find content posted from personal accounts with a more homemade quality. However, I find myself hesitating nonetheless. We really don’t know the situation behind the camera. I would feel deeply uncomfortable with assuming that everything is consensual and ethical when I have no means of guaranteeing that is true.
The problem of consenting participants has become pertinent with the introduction of AI into the world of porn. We are now dealing with ‘deepfake’ pornography, wherein sexual content is generated of an individual without their consent using artificial intelligence.
As you can imagine, this has resulted in the generation of truly disturbing materials; the Internet Watch Foundation reported that in 2025, “8,029 AI-generated images and videos were assessed…as showing realistic child sexual abuse.” Their 2026 AI Child Sexual Abuse Material (CSAM) report noted that victims of child sexual abuse are being retraumatized; imagery that circulated while the abuse was happening is being used to generate additional, altered material—material that could, one victim noted, “be manipulated…[and] give the false impression it was not harmful or that I was enjoying the abuse.”
Creating deepfake content is alarmingly easy with increased accessibility to advanced technology. With just a few clicks, a few prompts, people can access fabricated sexual content of others without their knowledge or consent.
I witnessed an outbreak of attempted deepfake content around a year ago on X—people posted, and you scrolled to the replies to see a commenter summoning the AI bot ‘Grok’ to “take off her clothes.” Grok now usually responds, “Sorry, I can’t edit images to remove clothing.”
According to PBS, as of January this year, xAI (Elon Musk’s company) confirmed that it would “geoblock content if it violates laws in a particular place.” They released a statement asserting that they had “implemented technological measures to prevent the Grok account from allowing the editing of images of real people in revealing clothing such as bikinis, underwear and other revealing attire.”
You still see comments summoning Grok to create deepfakes constantly on the app, even if it is not technically a function the bot can complete. It has become, perhaps, a disturbing and twisted joke—one that I think reflects our numbness to objectifying sexual content and our inability to see the people on our screens as real.
This whole problem of AI in pornography—of nonconsensual deepfakes and the disturbing ease with which these jokes have entered the collective online lexicon—stems at least partially from the fact that there are endless videos of pornography at our fingertips if we choose to view them.
I find it hard to imagine or believe that the people watching porn online have any real regard for the people in the videos. They are reduced, in the viewer’s experience, to objects for the viewer’s pleasure. The viewer—whether consciously or unconsciously, aware or unaware—has decided that the fulfillment of their sexual desires is more important than the ethical reality of what happens on and off camera.
The experience of accessible and abundant online pornography has exacerbated numbness and distance. It has cultivated a collective expectation of instant sexual gratification. It has encouraged an attitude of willful ignorance in the face of ethical concerns. And it has sustained a culture that, when faced with a new technology, almost immediately turned to creating nonconsensual sexually explicit deepfakes.
I don’t want to sound like I am being preachy; I don’t want to come across like I think I’m morally superior. But I really encourage you not to spend your time watching pornography. I see it only causing harm: to yourself—in the form of numbness, distance, or addiction—and to anyone featured in the content who—for whatever reason—could not consent.