sex education, pleasure and ethical erotics on Instagram

The (persistent) limits of formal sex education

A recent study of young people’s experiences of Australian high school sex education found that 69% of (8263) students reported negative sex education experiences that lacked comprehensive and diverse content (Waling et al. 2020). Students felt the information they received was limited and lacking in discussion of sex-positivity, pleasure and communication (Waling et al. Citation2021). Similarly, a recent US study with college students found that young people reported the sex education they received was awkward, unhelpful and commonly used scare tactics (Astle et al. Citation2021). These findings are not new; researchers have highlighted the missing discourse of desire and pleasure in sex education for over three decades (Fine Citation1988; Fine and McClelland Citation2006). Yet a focus on feminine sexual desire and or pleasure remains missing from Western school-based sex education curricula (Waling 2020). Instead, women’s sexuality is often framed within discourses of victimisation, reproduction, disease and morality as schools continue to adopt a disembodied and de-eroticised approach (Allen Citation2004; Waling et al. Citation2021).

Bodies within sex education are also often portrayed as clinical, anatomical representations without mention of the corporeal and emotional pleasures of sexual activity (Allen Citation2004). For instance, the clitoris remains unmapped on many biological illustrations and its function unexplained by educators in some curriculum illustrations of female anatomy (Rice and Watson Citation2016), with female bodies portrayed as bereft of bodily pleasures, sensitivities and responses (Allen Citation2004). As a result, women and researchers have trouble locating the ‘physicality’ of feminine sexual desire and pleasure within hetero-sex, and there is a lack of available discursive language for women to articulate what feels sexually pleasurable for them (Holland et al. Citation1998; Farvid Citation2014). Furthermore, these biologically essentialist, heteronormative approaches to sex education ignore and marginalise the educational needs and lived experiences of diverse gender, sex and sexuality minorities (Hunt Citation2022).

Ethical erotics

Allen and Carmody (Citation2012) have called for the inclusion of a discourse of erotics within sexuality education to provide the kinds of information and skills that young people need to negotiate pleasurable and ethical sexual intimacy. This would involve the acknowledgement of all young people as sexual subjects with the right to experience sexual pleasure and desire while also incorporating the embodied practicalities of these experiences (Allen Citation2004). Pleasure-positive sex education may enhance women’s ability to articulate their desires, know their sexual selves, and increase their chances of having satisfying sexual experiences (Edwards Citation2016). If women are taught that they are capable of deriving pleasure from their bodies and communicating this to their partners, they may be more likely to explore what does and does not feel pleasurable for them (Farvid Citation2014). Providing women with the language to talk about pleasure via a discourse of erotics may offer women a standard against which to make decisions about whether they wish to engage in sex and what kinds of sex they want to engage in (Allen Citation2004; Farvid Citation2014).

Carmody (Citation2005) later developed the concept of ‘ethical erotics’ to reconceptualise anti-rape education arguing that to shift sexual discourses of risk and danger that place the responsibility of refusal on women, young people should be given the information and skills to ‘negotiate pleasurable, ethical sexual intimacy’ (Carmody Citation2005, 478). Carmody found from interviews that partners’ negotiation of ethical sex involved acknowledgement of the ‘fluid and dynamic nature of sexual pleasure’, whereby ‘power relations shifted between partners regardless of gender or choice of sexual partners’ (2005, 475). A discourse of ethical erotics therefore involves acknowledging the sexual subjectivities of young people, their capacity to experience pleasure, and their ability to communicate this in their relationships. Subsequently, Sweet and Glenn (Citation2022, 1) have called for the teaching of the navigation of emotional risks rather than their avoidance to acknowledge the ‘psychological complexities of intimacy’ and pleasure. They also argue for the need to address the interplay between relationships and their sociocultural contexts, and to understand how gender, race, class and disability shape power dynamics in intimate relationships (Sweet and Glenn Citation2022).

Drawing on Carmody’s concept of ethical erotics, we consider if and how sex-positive, feminist discursive constructions of the sexual and erotic on Instagram may work to centre women’s pleasure and more ethical sexual practices, expanding the who, what and how of ‘acceptable’ women’s sexuality (Jolly Citation2010). We focus on how a particular mode of text-based Instagram posts in the form of info-graphics – combining illustration and text – communicate critical, instructive sex education messages and information. We explore how these illustrated infographics are being used to rectify the invisibility of women’s pleasure and desire, and the embodied messiness of expression and negotiation in intimate sexual encounters in mainstream sex education. To do so, we consider how the key messages presented differ from and disrupt those embedded within traditional, formal sex education and mainstream representations of feminine sexuality as passive.

Instagram affordances and limits

There is growing evidence that in participatory social media sites such as Instagram, sexual information and imagery is beginning to align more fully with the interests of young people, specifically young women and gender diverse subjects (Manduley et al. Citation2018). Research is showing how through new digital platforms activists can (and are) providing radical forms of education and visibility that transgress patriarchal constructions of feminine sexuality (Retallack, Ringrose, and Lawrence Citation2016; Margaret, Ashman, and Parsons Citation2019). Fowler et al. (Citation2021, 739), for example, describe how TikTok ‘offers a novel opportunity to make up for shortcomings in sex education and convey sexual health information to adolescents’. Tik Tok is also being used as a tool in educating about and de-stigmatising abortion (Duggan Citation2022). Additionally, research has described Twitter as a potential site for improving sexual health messaging on menstruation and gender equity (Shelby et al. Citation2022), further demonstrating the affordances of participatory social media to produce new modes of progressive education about a range of sexual health issues (Duggan Citation2022).

These arguably more democratic forms of sex education are particularly enabled on Instagram due to its comparable user-oriented nature, which offers an environment in which visual representations are created ‘by-and-for’ individuals (Manduley et al. Citation2018). On Instagram, individuals can connect, share, comment on and exchange knowledge directly with one another, rather than relying on top-down information streams, thereby challenging long-held exclusionary understandings of ‘appropriate sexuality’ (Manduley et al. Citation2018; Duggan Citation2022). Research has demonstrated the way in which Instagram audiences engage with the content they consume and the potential for mobilisation of collective support and activism. Sciberras and Tanner (Citation2022) for example have shown how sex-positive Instagram posts mobilise and engage a feminist audience, critique the male gaze, and offer followers an alternative way of viewing women’s bodies. Similarly, Margaret, Ashman, and Parsons (Citation2019) have examined the use of Instagram to mobilise supporters and bolster the #freethenipple campaign. In both of these examples, the use of visuals has proved to be a powerful and effective vehicle to reach and engage audiences as evidenced by the number and frequency of followers, comments on, and sharing of posts. Toffoletti et al. (Citation2021), which focused on women’s sharing of their fitness activities, similarly demonstrates the potential of Instagram to cultivate supportive and safe communities online. Consistent with these findings, followers’ responses to the posts that make up our sample indicate a positive reception and impact of intended educational meanings, and the creation of an inclusive space for users to engage with sexual knowledge, as demonstrated in the findings discussed below.

However, it is important to acknowledge that inequalities remain and are being reproduced on the platform (Are Citation2021). For instance, research has critiqued Instagram’s tendency to further embed unrealistic expectations of how feminine beauty and body ideals should look (Lazuka et al. Citation2020). Researchers have found that women who engage with appearance-focused Instagram accounts, experience body dissatisfaction, negativity and thin-beauty ideal internalisation (Rafati, Dehdashti, and Sadeghi Citation2021). There is, however, as noted above, an alternative body of research which describes how Instagram has provided a space for the celebration of diverse bodies and their sexual empowerment (Sciberras and Tanner Citation2022; Caldeira and De Ridder Citation2017).

While activists have used Instagram to promote alternative discourses offering women the tools and knowledge to critique and oppose patriarchal constructions of bodies and sexuality (Sciberras and Tanner Citation2022; Cohen et al. 2019), to do so successfully they must contend with Instagram’s contradictory and discriminatory community guidelines, censorship policies and algorithms (Sciberras and Tanner Citation2022; Savolainen Citation2022; Are Citation2021). For instance, Instagram’s community guidelines require that women’s nipples be covered, while at the same time, pornographic, objectifying content often remains uncensored by the site (Chemaly Citation2015). Account owners must also navigate the practice of ‘shadowbanning’ whereby the visibility of certain types of content is reduced, making it more difficult for artists’, and sex and body positive accounts’ content to reach their intended audiences (Savolainen Citation2022; Are Citation2021). Instagram algorithms and platform governance also determine what kind of content is made more visible (Cotter Citation2019). Such practices usually operate to disempower feminist, sex-positive and body positive content but promote commodified representations of the female body (Margaret, Ashman, and Parsons Citation2019; Savolainen Citation2022).

It is this context of sexualisation, the objectification of women and censorship and shame, that the sex-positive activists whose posts comprise the sample analysed in this article must negotiate when promoting sex education content. A key strategy they adopt to do so is the use of text-based illustrative infographics that centre feminine pleasure and agency within a framework of ethical erotics.

Pleasure-based sex education

Pleasure-based sex education conceptualises mental, physical and emotional pleasure as central to sexual health and wellbeing (Allen and Carmody Citation2012). A key theme within the posts was that of unlearning negative social ideas about female pleasure while learning to experience pleasure and explore desire without feelings of shame. This was evident in posts’ centring (female) sexual pleasure in its many forms. One post featuring red retro font on a pink background, lists eighteen ‘common first experiences of pleasure’ for those who ‘have a vagina’, including ‘humping your pillow’; ‘having an orgasm on a bike seat’; and, ‘re-playing the sex scenes in films to get the “tingly feeling”. Compiled by the artist after being inundated with responses from followers about their first experiences of pleasure, the worded descriptions of these acts of sexual exploration and masturbation make visible and normalise embodied physical pleasure as an integral part of healthy sexual development. Followers’ comments/reactions to the post were ones of realisation, relief, reduced feelings of shame, and an increased sense of acceptance. Users replied: ‘this is making me feel so normal after years of shame’; ‘these [accounts] are so freeing to read’; and ‘I thought I was a weird child or “hypersexual”’. Followers’ responses reveal how platform-specific affordances enabling sharing and visibility alleviated deep-seated feelings of shame about early experiences of sexual pleasure.

The diverse ways in which physical pleasure can be experienced was a key theme throughout the data. For example, a post by @shrimpteeth, explicitly mentioned the different ways in which physical sexual pleasure can be experienced for those with a vulva, such as by ‘tapping, pulsing, rubbing’ or ‘slow circles around the clit’. It was accompanied by instructive visual representations of movement in the form of lines, circles and arrows. These clear descriptions of ways in which women can explore and experience sexual pleasure, disrupt the taboo surrounding women’s pleasure. A second post by @shrimpteeth takes the form of a bubble text heading that reads ‘masturbation makes you better at partnered sex’, with speech bubbles beneath encouraging the use of language such as ‘I like’ this and ‘can you please’ do this (Figure 1).

Communication and dynamic consent

Traditionally, consent education has been shaped by sexuality discourses that place the responsibility for managing sexual danger and risk solely on women (Carmody Citation2005; Emmers-Sommer Citation2022; Astle et al. Citation2021). The idea that seeking consent is more than a request one makes of another to accept or refuse, was a recurring theme in the posts analysed. Reframing consent from a question preceding sex to ongoing communication about what feels pleasurable during sex may be a more effective way of ensuring consent. In this way, consent is constructed as ongoing, while positioning women as active sexual subjects (Allen Citation2004). In line with such a perspective, Instagram posts that mentioned consent focused on the negotiation of mutually pleasurable practices and the importance of open, continuous dialogue to address both parties’ pleasure, emotions, vulnerabilities, wants and needs.

For instance, pleasure, communication, knowing one’s desires and the relevance of this to consent are mentioned in a post by @shrimpteeth with a ‘checklist’ for first time sexual encounters – telling individuals to ‘masturbate’, ‘find things you enjoy’ and ‘share’ these with your partner. In the post, @shrimpteeth links masturbation, pleasure, self- exploration and consent, to make clear that ‘consent’ as an ‘enthusiastic yes’ may not be enough unless an individual knows what is enjoyable for themselves and can communicate this to their partner. Another post by @liberaljane shows a cartoon infographic of a woman in her underwear squatting down in heels, her stretchmarks visible on her thighs, and her head turned to face the viewer. The accompanying text reads ‘sexting requires consent’. A caption also states, ‘sexting requires enthusiastic ongoing consent’. This post, along with 39 others dealing with consent that were analysed, seeks to promote mutual respect between individuals in the form of pleasurable and sex-positive, agentic sexual encounters that involve checking in with your partner, a focus on self-awareness and the ability to communicate what feels pleasurable in sex, and mutual pleasure as essential to erotic intimacy, as distinct from merely portraying the dangers and risks of sex and or sexting (Allen and Carmody Citation2012). Within these constructions of consent, the active and ongoing negotiation of pleasurable sex by (hetero)women with their sexual partners is promoted.

Sex as an experience, not a performance: the reality of sex

We extended our focus on pleasure to examin how text-based posts worked to disrupt commonly held ideas about what pleasurable sex ‘should’ look like. Such posts worked to exposure the realities of sex in opposition to the myths perpetuated by mainstream media and pornography. This exposure involved the normalisation of underrepresented behaviours that are a part of sexual intimacy and expressions of pleasure such as communication and displays of nerves or emotion during sex.

An important aspect of revealing the reality of sex, and promoting awareness of ‘realistic’ sexual experiences, was the normalisation of sex as ‘an experience not a performance’ (Figure 2).

A post by @shrimpteeth provides an illustration of two people kissing on a bed, cross legged and facing one another, with a written bubble text above them saying ‘sex is an experience not a performance’ against a pink background. The caption mentions the pressure to act, look or sound in particular ways and reminds followers that their presence and pleasure is important – arguably cutting through embedded patriarchal cultural norms. Such messaging promotes a focus on embodiment and real pleasure, and the emotional vulnerability of subjects rather than on imitations of what sex and pleasure ‘should’ look like as portrayed in porn, film and television.

An illustration by @hazelmead entitled, ‘Things you don’t see in mainstream porn’, and depicting multiple couples and single persons in various sexual positions and scenarios, also speaks to the broader theme of ‘realistic’ sexual experience. The post aims to normalise hidden but common experiences during sexual encounters including ‘leg cramps’, ‘pets watching’, ‘falling off the bed, ‘banging heads’, ‘awkward position changes’, ‘sweat’, ‘farts’, ‘shyness’ and ‘laughter’. This arguably works to distinguish between performance and real life in line with a feminist sexual ideology (Liberman Citation2015). Furthermore, the illustration provided stresses the materiality of women’s body (by reference to ‘period sex’ and ‘queefs’) as part of sexual activity. This is significant as sexualised media often fails to portray women’s bodily processes, emotions, or vulnerability between partners in sexual encounters so as to uphold male fantasies of feminine desirability. The caption accompanying @hazelmead’s post asks followers if they are ever ‘nervous during sex’, stressing the normality of being nervous before or during sex. Together, these posts position individuals as emotional, messy beings rather than passive sex objects thereby normalising the embodied realities of sexual experience. They also emphasise mutual understanding and the affective dimensions of sex as key to realising and achieving intimacy between partners.

A further example of how these posts address and disrupt stereotypical representations of ‘good’ sex as portrayed in mainstream constructions of sex and pleasure is captured in @shrimpteeth’s lists pictured in Figure 3. The written bubble text details what good sex ‘does need’ in the form of ethical and pleasure-based concepts such as ‘communication, pleasure, trust and vulnerability’, and what good sex ‘does not need’, as often portrayed in mainstream representations and porn, including ‘orgasms’, ‘penetration’ and ‘perfect bodies’. By so doing, this sex-positive feminist messaging acknowledges the diversity and ‘reality’ of sexual experience and pleasure. It encourages and enables sexual subjects to think in more diverse ways about what sex is, and what it looks and feels like.

Challenging hetero-sexed norms and scripts: queering sex education

As an extension of the above ideas, representations of sex within the data worked to expand the range of sexual practices beyond a focus on penile-vaginal sex. Images of partnered sex made visible alternative forms of intimacy, decentring the orgasmic imperative, challenging the dominance of penile-vaginal sex, and promoting foreplay as ‘real’ sex. For example, the text and images in @ruby_rare’s post (Figure 4) describe penile-vaginal sex as exclusionary and overvalued, stating that ‘it’s not all about penetration’. By disrupting the linear heterosexual script that leads inevitably to penile-vaginal sex, opportunities are created for discussion about what people in sexual encounters may actually find pleasurable.

Another post, by @hazelmead, entitled, ‘Sex is so much more than penis in vagina’, encourages followers to open ‘up (their) minds’ to the diverse variety of ways in which sexual pleasure can be explored, such as ‘massage’, ‘kissing sesh’, ‘sensual bath’, ‘fun with food’, ‘role play’, ‘oral sex’ or ‘watching porn together’. The caption of the post states that ‘sexuality is far more expansive’ than penile-vaginal sex. Such a post constructs pleasure as more variable and inclusive of gender diverse intimacy. Decentring penile-vaginal sex and emphasising the importance of foreplay and mutual pleasure also contrasts with common portrayals in pornography which unrealistically present women as immediately ready for penetrative sex.

Collectively, a number of posts sought to challenge the notion that foreplay alone is not a valid form of sex and instead commonly presented foreplay as ‘real’ sex, rather than as a prelude before the ‘main event’ of penetration (Sloan Citation2017). This decentring of penile-vaginal sex allows for a more inclusive understanding of heterosex and the pleasures that may accompany it. It may also provide reassurance to those who do not desire penile-vaginal sex or who find it physically and/or mentally challenging. In this way, sex is re-constructed in a less rigid manner and in a way that centres, rather than denies, women’s choice, pleasure and agency.