This feature references image-based abuse.
I fixated my gaze on the phone screen that was framed by the tight, white grip of my knuckles and restarted the video for the fourth time, listening attentively to each word that told the story of my most painful, personal moments. My voice was trembling with a mix of adrenaline, anger and fear as I spoke into the microphone, sharing the multiple instances of image-based abuse I had been made to experience with the silent crowd that stood in front of me – and with a final click of the ‘post’ button – with the internet too.
The video captured my speech at Cardiff’s Women’s March, which gained momentum as it spread through TikTok’s algorithm, the views quickly building in pace along with my breath as I watched the comments roll in:
Don’t take photos of yourself then?
So she allowed all photos to be taken?
Lol shouldn’t send nudes when you’re a kid.
At 15, that was your fault.
The first time my intimate images were shared without my consent was when I was fifteen years old. Private photos I had shared with a boy I fancied spread across my school like an uncontrollable bush fire that jumped the school gates and landed in the phones of grown, adult men in my hometown. That was my fault, he said.
The younger kids who had seen my photos would high-five me in the school corridor with the air of meeting a local celebrity, while the boys in sixth form slid into my inbox with their slut-shaming comments, “I didn’t think you were that type of girl”. Both responses felt equally as humiliating as a teenage girl trying to grapple with the overt sexualisation I had faced because of my developing, womanly body and the innocence I was still expected to carry. Unlike maths class, there was no textbook that taught me how to navigate Freud’s ‘Madonna/Whore’ complex at an age when I hadn’t quite grasped the value of Pi.
Over the next fifteen years, image-based abuse would become a common occurrence in my life. A guy I was hooking up with took a photo of me while I was asleep, naked, and shared it with a lad’s group chat. My intimate photos that were posted behind a subscription paywall during my years as a model were traded in online forums, used in catfishing scams and to advertise escorting services including ‘rape roleplays’. While men would document themselves ejaculating over my images and upload their semen photos, they named ‘tributes’ to the internet. Through online misogyny and the many sub-cultures of image-based abuse that have mutated over the years, I have lost total control of my digital footprint; That was my fault, he said.
The Justice Minister shouted out GLAMOUR's campaign in parliament today.
For too long, I carried the soul-crushing weight of society’s judgment that hung heavy over my head for the crime of daring to take an image of my body, or share it with others. But it was not my shame to carry. Instead of succumbing to a life sentence of shame while the multiple men who stole my content and my consent walked free, I decided to investigate the extreme misogyny that thrives online, which has allowed their harmful behaviours to go unchecked and unaccounted for. Turns out it was never my fault; it was always the perpetrators.
Diving deep into the manosphere forums where their depravities were laid bare, I skimmed through threads that housed millions of non-consensual intimate images of women that were being traded and shared without their consent and clicked through the rotating pages of deepfake ‘porn’ requests that featured women that the men knew personally, including their family members. With a lump in my throat, I read through the sick rape fantasies they would each take turns to write and observed their online ‘games’ which saw them ‘risk’ women’s intimate images and personal details as currency.
Then when I’d finally seen enough I played the UNO reverse on them; learning about their twisted part-time activities, their sleuthing tactics and secret websites I pulled all this information together in a book that acts as a handy toolkit to arm women with the knowledge of what is unfolding in these online spaces in the hope of galvanising them to demand better from the tech platforms, the government and the men in their lives.
Each chapter concludes with accessible tips to help women don their own sleuthing hats and better protect themselves from the harms of online misogyny, while we wait for legislation and societal attitudes to catch up.
He believes there is a conspiracy against men, that our societies are not patriarchal and never were (because the very concept of patriarchy is a fabrication), and that women should not be allowed to have an abortion without a man's consent.
As Gisele Pelicot defiantly said, shame must change sides – and that goes for all victims of image-based abuse. While I almost lost myself in the darkness, not one of the multiple men who have removed my consent digitally and physically over the years has ever apologised. Society has failed to make them feel it’s needed; tech platforms have failed to hold them accountable.
I was done carrying the shame that was dumped on my back, and I wanted other survivors to feel that sense of relief too, which is why I wrote my book. No One Wants To See Your D*ck is an investigation into online misogyny and includes my own deeply personal experiences, along with interviews with incredible survivors, campaigners and experts of image-based abuse, including Glamour's Lucy Morgan, Professor Clare McGlynn and Elena Michaels from Not Your Porn.
It’s time we call out the deep-rooted misogyny that thrives online, that threatens to radicalise an entire generation of men through ‘masculinity’ grifters with podcast microphones, and call in parents, platforms and politicians to take a stand against the epidemic of violence against women and girls that is rampant in the digital world.
With Amnesty International UK’s recent polling finding 73% of Gen Z social media users have witnessed misogynistic content online and a fifth of female users having avoided or left social media platforms altogether due to the impact of online misogyny, it is vital that the UK government introduces Glamour’s comprehensive Image-Based Abuse law to better protect women and girls online and hold perpetrators to account.
Women should not have to accept or expect online misogyny in exchange for their digital citizenship.
Glamour is campaigning for the government to introduce an Image-Based Abuse Bill in partnership with Jodie Campaigns, the End Violence Against Women Coalition, Not Your Porn, and Professor Clare McGlynn.
Revenge Porn Helpline provides advice, guidance and support to victims of intimate image-based abuse over the age of 18 who live in the UK. You can call them on 0345 6000 459.
