Here at PornHelp, we know the frustration of trying to explain a porn binge to those who haven’t struggled with addiction. No esoteric explanation we’ve tried (“trapped in a bubble” “falling into a deep hole”) ever succeeds in describing that simultaneously intense, detached, and hellish experience.
Which is why our ears perked up when we first heard the term “ludic loop.” That’s the phrase coined by NYU professor and researcher Natasha Dow Schüll to describe the trance-like state video slot machine users enter for hours on end while their money ticks away on losing bets.
In a recent interview with Medium, Dr. Dow Schüll described a “ludic loop” as the experience of being “hooked into doing something that has no real reward, and the feeling of being trapped in that state of empty limbo becomes the reward in and of itself.” Or, as one of Dr. Dow Schüll’s interviewees for her 2015 book examining the rise of video slot machines, Addiction by Design, put it:
It’s like being in the eye of a storm … Your vision is clear on the machine in front of you but the whole world is spinning around you, and you can’t really hear anything. You aren’t really there – you’re with the machine and that’s all you’re with.
It sure does to us. Specifically, it sounds like what happens when a person struggling with porn addiction sits down with his laptop at bedtime and heads over to PornTube, and the next thing he knows it’s 4 a.m. It also sounds like what happens when you scroll through an Instagram feed for an hour without stopping, or when you fire up a gaming app during your morning commute and miss your stop by miles.
Our brain’s ability to enter a trance state is not necessarily problematic in-and-of-itself. In the Medium interview, Dr. Dow Schüll observes ludic loops can occur when you drive a car: you stay functional but achieve a pleasant, zoned out state at the same time. Dr. Dow Schüll describes this state as mildly problematic if you do nothing but drive in circles to achieve a blissful, detached high. But, as anyone who’s ever taken a long road trip knows, that same trance state occurs even when you do have a destination. Do you remember every stretch of the 100 miles you just drove? Of course not.
That’s because we humans have an innate capacity to dial-in and tune-out simultaneously while performing complex, goal-oriented functions. It’s a useful evolutionary adaptation, really. Behind the wheel, you feel detached and protected from the unpleasant boredom of driving long distance, but you also flawlessly execute the relatively complex tasks of monitoring your speed, changing lanes, keeping track of other drivers, and avoiding hazards to arrive at your destination. Hunters describe a similar experience while tracking their quarry. Researchers refer to this as a “flow state”. Athletes often call it “the zone.” Whatever you call it, our ability to focus and detach all at once can help us achieve seemingly super-human ends.
But what if you arrive at your destination and you don’t want to stop? Or you feel you’d rather just stalk a deer forever instead of pulling the trigger? Dr. Dow Schüll’s theory, paraphrased, is that when the bliss of the “zone” feels better than achieving the goal, you end up stuck in the zone’s evil cousin, a “ludic loop.”
Of course, most people don’t drive in circles forever, stalk deer forever, or (to borrow a canard porn addiction skeptics often peddle) watch cute cat videos forever. They do, however, lose themselves in video slots and internet porn and social media.
Why is that? What makes some ludic loops so much more likely than others to arise, persist, and become problematic?
To answer those questions, we’ve taken a stab at modeling the factors we believe contribute to the existence and durability of ludic loops. This model isn’t particularly scientific (not even in the “dismal science” sense), but we hope our readers will see it as a reasonably constructive first pass at bringing some order to the complex origins of porn binges and other internet black holes that resemble the ludic loops Dr. Dow Schüll describes.
For starters, let’s go back to Dr. Dow Schüll’s explanation of a ludic loop as being “hooked into doing something that has no real reward, and the feeling of being trapped in that state of empty limbo becomes the reward in and of itself.” A simple inequality reflecting that explanation might look like this:
LV > AV
Where LV (“Loop Value”) stands for the value to the user of staying in a ludic loop, and AV (“Actual Value”) stands for the value to the user of achieving the “goal,” if any, of the underlying behavior.
To add precision to this inequality, based on personal experience, we suggest inserting a second variable such that a ludic loop forms and endures when:
LV > AV + PC
where PC (“Perceived Cost”) stands for the user’s immediate perception of the cost of staying in the ludic loop. In our experience, when PC is obvious, immediate, and tangible to a user – “If I keep scrolling I’ll be late for work” – the loop can break. Even if there is no value (or “reward”) in the underlying behavior, if the user clearly perceives the cost of entering and staying in a ludic loop as greater than the value of doing so, the loop won’t occur or persist for long.
Digging deeper on the left side of the inequality, we further propose LV consists of the sum of two variables:
LV = PV + SV
Plugging that equivalence into our original inequality suggests a ludic loop will arise and endure when:
PV + SV > AV + PC
Finally, we propose that SV and PC are inversely related. The more salient the looping behavior for the user, the less likely the user is to perceive the cost of remaining in a loop involving that behavior. Users will instead tend to discount the cost of staying in a ludic loop as salience increases. This relationship might be thought of as reflecting degrees of impulsivity displayed by the user.
To summarize, according to our proposed model, a ludic loop will form and endure when the self-regulating (PV) and attention-holding (SV) attributes of the loop together exceed the value of the “goal,” if any, of the underlying behavior (AV) and the perceived costs (PC) of staying in the loop. The greater the difference between the left and right sides of the formula, the more or less likely it is that a ludic loop will form and endure. Also, because salience and perceived cost have an inverse relationship, high salience (through any combination of its primal importance to the user, its ease of access, or its engineered design) is a reasonably good predictor of the likelihood that a ludic loop will form and become problematic.
Let’s put our model to the test with a real world example. As we noted above, Dr. Dow Schüll’s description of a “ludic loop” matches the experience of a “porn binge.” Under our model, a ludic loop based around consuming internet pornography might therefore arise because PV is high (the user has a need to self-regulate) and SV is high (sexual arousal is a deep primal mechanism and internet porn is freely accessible and infinitely variable), and though AV (achieving orgasm) may also be high, PC, as it is inversely related to SV, tends to be low (or at least lower than it would be outside of the loop).
As another example, take social media consumption. Under our model, a ludic loop based around Instagram use may especially arise in teens because PV tends to be high in that population (the need to regulate the hellish angst of adolescence) and SV is usually also high (the extreme desire for social approval and knowing what’s going on), whereas AV tends to be relatively low (there’s little genuine social connection in social media interactions), as is PC (perception of cost tends to be low in teens generally).
Through this model, we might also tease out why it’s rare (albeit not impossible) for a ludic loop to arise and become problematic around, say, looking at cute cat videos. While the PV of a ludic loop involving looking at cat videos may be high (since it doesn’t depend on the content but rather the condition the user seeks to escape), the SV of cat videos is relatively low and declines over time (because cat videos tend not to be particularly variable in their content). On the other side of the equation, the AV of looking at cat videos (getting a giggle and some warm fuzzies) isn’t especially high and also declines over time, while PC can be high (“ugh, I’m such a loser looking at another cat video”).
Likewise, a ludic loop consisting of driving endlessly in circles is comparatively unlikely because even if PV is high (it’s nice to zone out and just drive) and AV is zero (there’s no destination), SV is minimal (driving the same route over and over isn’t so interesting) and, thus, PC tends to be high (fatigue and gas expense).
The model seems to fit real world examples. So, what’s its point?
First, as we said at the outset, the proposed model is our attempt to bring a little order to the topic of porn binges by sketching out variables that affect the likelihood and durability of a ludic loop generally. All too often, we’ve heard arguments about porn addiction bog down in the inherent complexities of compulsivity and sexuality. We hope this model might spur discussion about what specific factors come into play when a person struggling with porn/internet addiction disappears into yet another self-destructive binge.
Second, porn addiction skeptics often reject the “addiction model” by saying “it’s not the porn” that’s the problem, but rather an underlying mental illness or personal moral conflict in the user. Dr. Dow Schüll observed a similar strain of “lopsided” reasoning in critics of gambling addiction. “The problem,” they say, “is not in the products [players] abuse, but within the individuals” themselves.
We don’t discount the possibility that a portion of people trapped in porn addiction also suffer from other mental illnesses or feel moral conflict with their behavior. With this model, however, we resist the idea that porn has “nothing to do with” binging on internet porn. We propose that it is the porn that, at least in part, contributes to the existence, durability, and addictive nature of a ludic loop focused on internet porn consumption. Porn is highly salient. It taps into the sex drive, is easy to access, and features infinite variety in a way that attracts and holds attention – and, we propose, blunts a user’s immediate perception of cost – in a way that no cat video or drive around the block ever will.
Third and finally, we hope this attempt at modeling porn binges and other internet-based ludic loops might help clarify the origins of problematic pornography-related behaviors. Taking a lead from Dr. Dow Schüll, we wonder whether certain porn use behaviors become addictions not simply because of the content of internet porn, or because of the particularities of the user, but because of the interaction between the two.
To be more blunt, we wonder whether a “ludic loop” may best be thought of as a “drug of addiction” that delivers a sought-after “high” for problem porn and internet users. It may not be the only “high” those users pursue, and other problem porn users may ignore its availability altogether in favor of the euphoria of reaching orgasm. But, in our experience, for many struggling with porn addiction a primary purpose of using porn is – like Dr. Dow Schüll’s video slot players – “to climb into the screen and get lost,” only to emerge when an (unwanted) orgasm or exhaustion breaks the loop and returns them to an increasingly dismal reality.
As always, we encourage constructive feedback and polite discussion in the comments section.
This week brought news the World Health Organization has officially recognized in its newest diagnostic manual, ICD-11, the diagnosable condition known as Compulsive Sexual Behavior Disorder (“CSBD”). We are heartened by this development because it takes a meaningful step toward ensuring people struggling with what we refer to as “porn addiction” receive the help they need. It also serves as a long overdue validation for anyone who felt the pain and confusion of reading, over and over, that their agonizing, unceasing compulsion to consume porn wasn’t “real.”
Here is how ICD-11 describes the very real condition known as CSBD:
Compulsive sexual behavior disorder is characterized by a persistent pattern of failure to control intense, repetitive sexual impulses or urges resulting in repetitive sexual behavior. Symptoms may include repetitive sexual activities becoming a central focus of the person’s life to the point of neglecting health and personal care or other interests, activities and responsibilities; numerous unsuccessful efforts to significantly reduce repetitive sexual behavior; and continued repetitive sexual behavior despite adverse consequences or deriving little or no satisfaction from it. The pattern of failure to control intense, sexual impulses or urges and resulting repetitive sexual behavior is manifested over an extended period of time (e.g., 6 months or more), and causes marked distress or significant impairment in personal, family, social, educational, occupational, or other important areas of functioning. Distress that is entirely related to moral judgments and disapproval about sexual impulses, urges, or behaviors is not sufficient to meet this requirement.
Critics of the new CSBD diagnosis hasten to point out that ICD-11 omits any mention of the word “addiction” in relation to CSBD and categorizes CSBD as an “impulse control disorder.” According to the critics, these features purportedly reflect the WHO having rejected the “addiction model” as an appropriate approach to treating CSBD. There also seems to be a vein of dismissiveness in these criticisms, as if an “impulse control disorder” is somehow less serious than diagnoses labeled “addiction” – which seems odd, considering “impulse control disorders” also encompass serious conditions like kleptomania and pyromania.
Still, clinicians who already have been treating patients suffering from “sex addiction” and “porn addiction” for years are celebrating. The lack of an “addiction” label on CSBD notwithstanding, it’s indisputable CSBD’s diagnostic criteria address the type of uncontrolled sex-related behaviors these clinicians have long been addressing, with at least some success, through addiction-related treatment modalities. Likewise, many, likely most, of those men and women who belong to sexual behavior-related 12-Step fellowships such as Sex Addicts Anonymous would easily recognize themselves and their fellow group members in the CSBD definition.
The fact is, even though the word “addiction” remains a fixture in our society, the term long ago fell out of favor as a diagnostic descriptor. For instance, clinicians today refer to the condition everyone colloquially calls “drug addiction” as “substance use disorder.” The thinking among therapists and doctors goes that the label “addiction” stigmatizes patients (although, ironically, it’s not unusual for patients to take comfort from that word…but that’s a topic for another day).
It’s also worth noting that the CSBD criteria flat out reject the tired canard that religiosity alone motivates people to seek help for “sex addiction” and “porn addiction”. According to the definition above, CSBD stands apart from merely wanting, and failing, to quit porn on moral grounds. (Which is not to denigrate anyone’s religious motives for wanting to quit porn – they’re just not what qualifies as CSBD without other factors present.)
We look forward over the coming months and years to learning what percentage of prospective patients who seek help from therapists for uncontrolled sexual behaviors meet the diagnostic criteria for CSBD. We suspect the figure will be far higher than critics of the CSBD diagnosis predict. But, even if CSBD only affects 1% of the internet porn using population worldwide, that’s still tens of millions of people around the globe.
Here at PornHelp, we have our worries about the potentially harmful effects of prolonged porn use among young people. We recently heard a statistic from a credible source that only served to heighten that concern: online porn platforms estimate that 25% of their users are underage. Considering the truly massive use and visitor statistics touted by the likes of PornHub, that would suggest the porn platforms know they have millions upon millions of kids accessing their content.
That’s a huge number, but it’s probably not all that surprising. What did surprise us, though, is what our source told us next. Apparently, porn companies are also saying that they do not want young users on their platforms.
Now, you might think porn platforms would say that because, well, it’s the right thing to say. After all, across political, idealogical, and methodological spectra, there is nearly universal agreement that it’s not a good thing for children to have unfettered access to pornography. But, that isn’t what we heard from our source. Instead, porn platforms make a business case for why they don’t want young users.
As readers of this blog know, today’s internet porn sites are principally advertising platforms. The argument from the porn platforms apparently goes that underage users are not good sales leads. Advertisers trying to appeal to an audience with ready access to a credit card to purchase “premium” content will pay less per ad click if they know that roughly a quarter of those clicks are by users too young to have a credit card.
Fair enough. We’ve seen Glengarry Glen Ross. Bad leads are the cancer of any sales operation.
But, we have our doubts about the sincerity of the “kids are bad leads” argument. After all, we used to watch Saturday morning cartoons. Our parents weren’t watching Power Rangers. They weren’t seeing the ads for Go-Gurt. They weren’t digging on the newest My Little Pony accessory.
If advertising to children wasn’t profitable, Saturday cartoons wouldn’t exist.
Now, we acknowledge that the mode of advertising during Sponge Bob was different than what we’d expect from a porn platform. Sponge Bob’s advertisers were hoping we’d badger our parents into buying fruit snacks and G.I. Joes. Obviously, kids aren’t going to be asking their parents to please buy them a subscription to Brazzers. But still, there are plenty of advertising relationships that could be profitable for an online business with a captive audience of millions of under-18s. Video game and app producers. Social media platforms. Energy drinks. Etc.
So, when we hear that porn platforms say they don’t want the 25% of their users who are underage, we’re skeptical. Call us cynics, but we suspect porn platforms are monetizing young users just like any other advertising cohort. If you know a quarter of your audience is between the ages of 8 and 17, you’ll sell access on your site to advertisers who want to target that audience. Not only that, assuming you can reliably identify underage users on your platform, you’ll track their behaviors on your site and collect behavioral data that you can further turn into dollars. If you are vertically integrated, you will produce more of the porn content that your data tells you those users like.
In short, you’ll treat that 25% of your audience as an asset, just like the other 75%.
We recently had an unpleasant Twitter exchange with two prominent porn addiction critics. We don’t need to go into the details (if you’re interested, see here), but it ended with one of them challenging us to “show our commitment to inquiry” by describing any, even just one, “positive effect”of “sex films”. Our critic presented this as something of a litmus test to determine whether or not we were “trolls”, and promised to send us research if we could deliver.
Now, we don’t feel much need to defend ourselves against attacks on our intellectual honesty. Our blog posts speak to our commitment to inquiry quite adequately, thank you very much. Also, since our founding one of our organizing principals has been that we avoid making black or white pronouncements about pornography use. It’s not that we don’t have views on this issue (see below). Rather, we think it’s best not to stake out hard positions lest we be seen mistakenly as judging porn users and thereby deter people struggling with porn from finding help on our website. We’re here for anyone who feels their porn use is problematic, no matter the cause. We suspect some of our users love porn but can’t control how they use it, some hate porn and want to eliminate it from their lives, and most are probably somewhere in between.
And yet, it’s undeniable that our Twitter feed betrays some pretty clear beliefs. Most of the research and commentary we share in one way or another reflects views that put us pretty squarely in the corner of porn skeptics. To wit:
So yes, we are highly porn skeptical here at PornHelp.org. But we also don’t like to back down from a challenge. The “spirit of inquiry” does require us to look at problematic porn use from as many perspectives as possible. That includes, today, the perspective of those who view pornography as a social benefit.
So, for the sake of provoking searching (and respectful) debate, and to respond to anyone who might otherwise consider us “trolls” merely because of our strong porn skepticism, here are some ways in which we’re able to conceive that “sex films” - i.e., modern streaming internet porn - may have a “positive impact” (which, just to be clear, is not to say that we believe these effects result in a positive net impact).
Ready? (Deep breath.) Here goes.
For starters, internet pornography constitutes a comprehensive visual compendium of human sexual practice, from the mundane to the highly niche. This sort of visual library of sexuality sheds light on, and facilitates the study of, the human condition. We value study and debate on all topics, including historically taboo areas like what goes on in people’s bedrooms and what triggers people’s sexual response. So that’s something positive that porn - however unintentionally - can lend to the world of knowledge.
Next, we acknowledge it’s not just researchers who may find value in the internet’s endlessly diverse collection of porn videos. Consenting adults can use “sex films” as a source of mature, responsible sexual stimulation, and as a way to explore - and affirm - their sexuality in relative privacy and safety. To be sure, we don’t think the intense stimulation and mind boggling variety (not to mention the 24/7 accessibility) offered by internet porn are inherently positive attributes (for many who seek help on our site, they decidedly are not), but we recognize they potentially can be for some people.
Finally, we recognize the possibility of certain positive impacts from producing pornography. Porn is a big business, and in cases where its labor force is healthy, safe, consenting, and justly compensated (which is not the norm), and where its consumers acquire their porn through distribution channels that pay producers for their creations (also not the norm), the broader economy can benefit. Also, porn-producing adults may derive sexual pleasure or emotional satisfaction from being filmed in a sex act, or in treating their pornographic creations as a form of artistic expression. That's not our jam, but we're not going to judge.
So there you have it. Not just one, but at least three ways in which our spirit of inquiry compels us to contemplate positive impacts from “sex films.” We’d say that pretty definitively takes us out of the realm of troll-dom, even if it doesn’t make us any less skeptical and concerned about porn’s overall human impacts.
To anyone who would say that we’re betraying our mission by acknowledging potential counterpoints to our beliefs, we invite (respectful) debate in the comments section. We think intellectual candor is the cornerstone of any honest debate, so we feel confident our readers will understand the purpose in our willingness to go through the looking glass today. We’re somewhat less confident that our Twitter antagonists will ever send us that research they promised, but there’s always hope…
One last thought in parting. At the top of this post, we rejected absolutism about pornography use. We did that in service of a mission in which we are absolutists: our guiding principle that people who feel porn is interfering with their lives and want help, deserve to find that help no matter how or why concern about their porn use arises. Period. Maybe some of those people will find their porn use isn’t personally problematic after all. We suspect many more will come to the opposite conclusion. But in either case, we will take pride if they were able to find the help they needed here on PornHelp.
Having struggled with problem porn use, we’ve done a lot of thinking about the nature of our addiction. We’re not researchers, at least not at the moment. What we’re talking about is the time we’ve spent peeling back the layers of the proverbial onion to identify, understand, and manage the thoughts and behaviors that caused us and our loved ones so much pain.
Our personal exploration has taken us through numerous levels of discovery. When we were starting out, we focused narrowly on our compulsive porn viewing, and tried to identify strategies for interrupting that specific behavior. When we managed that, we turned to look at how our addiction might come out through other (non-porn) behaviors. That led us to realize that while obsessive porn use was the flavor of compulsive, reward-seeking behavior we’d latched onto, it wasn’t necessarily the only way our addiction could interfere with our lives. As we developed a sense of all of the ways in which we were at risk of compulsive, reward-seeking behaviors - exercise, overeating, social media, etc. - we also began to focus on root causes. We tried to identify trigger points and moments in time when we felt compelled to “escape” into those behaviors, and then to explore what it was that we were trying to escape from.
If this is starting to sound like a rabbit hole, well, yeah, that’s exactly what it is. We now realize there aren’t necessarily answers to some of the questions we’ve been asking ourselves - at least, not definitive and “correct” ones. Instead, to paraphrase a tired cliche, at some point we concluded that recovery from addiction is principally about the journey and practice of self-awareness, and not about the destination of finding all the answers.
Which is all well and good. Except for this one teensy problem:
We can’t trust our own thinking.
Thinking led us deeper into the morass of addiction in the first place. It wasn’t just that we told ourselves that this would really be the last time, and that if we just tried a little harder we could kick porn on our own. It’s that those thoughts were actually part of how our addiction thrived. Compulsive, reward-seeking became so engrained in our lives, so much a part of who we were, that we would unconsciously sabotage ourselves in order to have a reason to “escape” into our addictive behaviors. Addiction tainted even the changes we tried to make on our own to address our addiction.
Which brings us to the one piece of advice we feel comfortable and qualified giving to anyone - anyone - trying to kick porn out of their lives. If you’re going to go down the rabbit hole of exploring your addiction, make sure you take a fellow rabbit with you. Someone you trust, who gets what you’re going through, who won't judge, and who can provide an independent, neutral perspective on the thoughts and observations that you think are so clever, but might actually just be more self-defeating nonsense.
You can get starting finding a fellow rabbit here. Hop to it.
Here at PornHelp, we run across statistics relating to porn use pretty frequently, and they’re often troubling. But the problem with statistics is that they often get tossed around casually without context, and so, they tend to provoke a certain cynicism. Look hard enough, the saying goes, and you can find a statistic to prove just about anything.
Which is why we thought it might be a good idea to put one popular statistic in context for you. It’s this one, which we’ve seen before, but that this article in The Telegraph called to our attention again recently: the number of porn videos viewed on a single popular “tube” site, PornHub, last year was over 92 billion. Yes, that’s billion with a “B”.
When PornHub released that statistic, many were quick to point out that it represented 12.5 porn videos viewed annually for every person on Earth. That’s eye-popping, but it doesn’t mean much. Why? Because the internet porn use is more concentrated.
To begin with, not all of the world’s approximately 7.3 billion people use the internet. According to statistics from the International Telecommunications Union cited here, there were approximately 3.4 billion internet users globally in 2016. Also, internet porn use is not evenly distributed by gender. According to the public research firm Barna Group, in the U.S., “twice as many male teens and young adults use porn [at least monthly] than female teens and young adults (67% compared to 33%), and four times as many male adults 25+ use porn than female adults (47% compared to 12%)”.
Now, it’s probably the case that the age and gender of internet users, not to mention internet porn users, vary across geography. But since we don’t have the space or resources to get at those subtleties, let’s just assume that half of all internet users in the world are men and half are women. Let’s also assume that, say, 50% of those men and 15% of those women consume pornography at least monthly (which would be conservatively in line with U.S. internet porn use rates). Using those assumptions, we start to get at the real scale of internet porn’s global footprint: in 2016, approximately 850,000,000 men and 255,000,000 women potentially consuming the 92 billion porn videos on PornHub. In other words, the average internet porn user would have viewed about 84 videos per year on just that one porn web site.
Of course, these are imprecise numbers. The average would drop if global internet porn use was found to be higher than the 50%/15% gender split we assume. Not all of those users visited PornHub necessarily. And, and most importantly, we know from research that volume is an imprecise metric by which to measure whether porn use is problematic for any given user.
Which brings us to the statistics for problematic pornography use. These tend to vary. At one extreme, this article reports a study that claims over 25% of male porn users self-report their porn use as problematic, and another study that finds over 25% of male porn users who use porn at least twice per year register as “hypersexual” under a standard testing metric. At the other end of the spectrum, this interview with a prominent porn addiction skeptic asserts that only 0.5% of porn users report problems resulting from their inability to control porn use. None of these numbers is perfect. They probably aren’t apples-to-apples comparisons, and self-reporting is notoriously subjective.
Difficult as the number of problematic porn users is to pin down, however, even the lowest estimate of porn users who report problems stemming from difficulty controlling their porn use yields materially large numbers. Sure, 0.5% looks like a small figure. But then multiply it by 1.1 billion porn users worldwide and you get 5,500,000 people around the world whose lives are being damaged by a difficulty controlling porn use. That’s a lot of people. Like, more people than live in Los Angeles.
Now consider what happens if we assume, instead, that 1.5% of porn users experience negative consequences from out of control porn use. There’s reason to think that’s a reasonable estimate, in that it mirrors the rough average rate of gambling addiction - a behavioral addiction that frequently involves a similar screen-user interface as problematic internet porn use - among gamblers. Now we’re looking at 16,500,000 problem porn users worldwide, or roughly the combined population of New York, Los Angeles, Chicago and Houston.
We are admittedly veering into semi-educated guesses here. But our basic point, which we think the broad numbers support, is this: the number of porn users in the world is huge and growing, as is the number of people who have a problematic relationship with their porn use. Simply put, there is no way to look at pornography use in the internet age and not see it as a real, immediate, harmful problem for at least millions of people.
An article recently appeared on Glamour’s web site called “Does Mainstream Porn Have a Race Problem?”. In the main, it’s a thought-provoking piece that takes a multifaceted look at the complicated intersection of racism and erotica. It discusses how porn producers profit from depicting (and perpetuating) retrograde racial attitudes and stereotypes, the race-based pay disparities among porn performers, and the “indie porn” industry’s attempts to move away from racial labeling of content.
But we were surprised at one omission from porn journalist Lynsey G.’s otherwise thorough piece. In all of its discussion of depictions of race in pornography, nowhere does the article mention the gigantic footprint of “reality,” “amateur”, or “gonzo” pornography that intentionally blurs, and often erases, the distinction between performance and coercion. These films don't just reflect racial stereotypes. They establish racial (and its close cousin, socioeconomic) dominance and exploitation as their attracting premise. Want to see a white guy purchase and inflict pain on a Bangkok prostitute? How about a porn producer talking an immigrant who barely speaks English into anal sex? All of this and more is available by the gigabyte.
Porn that explicitly benefits from the grim reality of racial and socioeconomic disparity cannot be classified as choreographed “fantasy” in the way that the Glamour pigeonholes so much mainstream content. Nor can it be credited with lampooning or satirizing racial stereotypes. No, this sort of porn would not exist but for the poverty and discrimination that its “performers” endure on a daily basis. It is “reality” porn, for sure, just not in the way its producers mean it.
Does porn have a race problem? Of course it does. And, it isn’t possible to have a conversation about that problem without acknowledging the massive, and cynically exploitative, influence of "reality" porn.
We recently binge-watched The Handmaid’s Tale on Hulu, the television adaptation of Margaret Atwood’s dystopian tale of a future in which the world’s few remaining fertile women are enslaved by a tyrannical government to bear children for its male leaders. It’s a grim vision, and one that, for the time being, fortunately resides firmly in the realm of dark imagination.
Still, we couldn’t help but be reminded of Atwood’s book when we read this article about the sexual habits of young Japanese men and women. According to a recent study reported in the article, nearly half of Japanese citizens under 30 are virgins, which has led to a severe decline in Japanese birth rates. The study offers two explanations for this state of affairs: less social pressure to marry and financial worries. But at least one survey respondent postulated a different explanation: young Japanese men are content to surf porn instead of risking an interaction with a live, human partner.
Now, that’s just one person’s theory. We suspect there are numerous interconnected factors influencing Japan’s declining rates of partnered sexual relationships and reproduction. In addition to declining social pressure and financial insecurity, perhaps Japanese culture heightens the perceived risk of rejection of sexual advances. Perhaps Japanese public health initiatives have been particularly effective in stoking fears of sexually transmitted diseases. Perhaps the listless Japanese economy creates conditions in which having children feels less desirable, or where it’s difficult to find the time and space for sustained personal intimacy. Who knows. Still, we can’t help but wonder if the woman quoted in the article is on to something when she says “I think a lot of men just cannot be bothered. They can watch porn on the internet and get sexual satisfaction that way.”
In the spirit of Margaret Atwood, consider this dystopian thought experiment. Imagine the invention of a technology that delivered sexual satisfaction and intimacy so perfectly, so in tune with our deepest sexual desires, that it rendered moot the idea of partnered sex for pleasure. Imagine this technology was available in unlimited quantity, on demand. Imagine, in other words, a technology that made it pointless to have sex with another live human being except for the purpose of procreation. What then?
Or consider a converse scenario: a society in which the porn that exists today is sufficient to satisfy all sexual desires. A society so steeped in isolation, fear of physical intimacy, nihilism and despair that today’s porn seems far preferable to the uncertainties of interpersonal connection. What then?
We suspect that in either scenario, people would remain virgins longer. We suspect people’s sexual habits would evolve away from human-to-human physical contact toward pleasure-delivering technology. We suspect birth rates would decline. We suspect, in other words, that either scenario would foster conditions similar to those reported in the Japan study.
Could it be that porn consumption in Japan has reached this sort of tipping point? Could it be that a demographically significant number of young Japanese citizens have, due to some unique cocktail of societal and technological factors, come to prefer sexual stimulation from porn over sexual stimulation from partnered intimacy?
We doubt it. Conditioned as The Handmaid’s Tale has made us in this moment to ominous prognostication, we doubt porn is the driving factor in Japan’s declining rates of sexual activity and reproduction. But, we wouldn’t be at all surprised if porn plays a measurable role in that decline. And we’re downright certain that the porn industry is hard at work at delivering the maximum amount of pleasure possible with each new video and VR experience, and that it would love to develop an all-consuming technology to meet our every desire. So, while the the dystopian future might not be here already, it’s not fantasy to feel it creeping our way.
We here at PornHelp feel some ambivalence toward celebrities who publicly struggle with sexual addiction, porn-related or otherwise. On one hand, we empathize with anyone who has faced the abyss of out of control sexual behavior, and applaud those brave enough to shine a light on that frequently misunderstood condition. On the other hand, public declarations of sexual addiction by celebrities often sensationalize the problem, and seem calculated to sell magazines and to increase reality TV viewership rather than raise genuine awareness.
For better or worse, we’ve developed a shorthand for toggling between these conflicting inclinations. We call it the “US Weekly Rule.” It goes like this: if the first place we hear about a celebrity’s struggle with sexual addiction is in US Weekly (or a similar publication), our instinct is to doubt that it’s legit.
Here’s where we’re coming from. Addictions involving out of control sexual behaviors thrive on isolation, secrecy and shame. They often ruin lives quietly, and become public knowledge only when some cataclysm forces them into the open. Sexual addictions don’t discriminate. They afflict young and old, men and women, famous and ordinary, gay and straight. They involve unwanted, frequently compulsive behaviors that defy repeated attempts to stop. They inflict terrible consequences on psyches, relationships, and careers. In short, sexual addictions are nothing to celebrate, for anyone.
When a celebrity genuinely struggles with sexual addiction, the problem may play out in public as an inexplicable downward spiral. Though the decline itself might be tabloid fodder, the label “sexual addiction” tends not to surface right away, and is rarely offered by the celebrity himself in the moment as an explanation for what’s going on. Think of Tiger Woods, for instance, whose contrite admission of serial infidelity and sexual acting out only followed a year-long slide culminating in a car wreck. In other words, like “ordinary” sex/porn addicts, the “addiction” label usually gets applied to these celebrities only once their desperate misery or efforts at recovery come to light. Their stories make us sad as any tragedy does, but we also can’t help but feel hopeful that their telling may lead to a better public understanding of how powerful and vexing sexual addictions and related disorders can be.
Those tragic stories differ, in our eyes, from the significantly less sympathetic tales of "sex addiction" that too often grace the covers of gossip magazines. In the typical version, a celebrity is found to have cheated on his or her (typically celebrity) spouse/partner, and directly or through a publicist offers “sexual addiction” as an explanation (some may say “excuse”) for the transgression. The story breathlessly features a high-profile check-in at a rehab center. Photographs of mistresses and jilted lovers. Salacious tell-alls. The works. These stories make us roll our eyes, and invite us to indulge in a little schadenfreude.
The US Weekly Rule isn’t foolproof. That particular magazine may break legitimate news now and again, and we get that celebrities differ from the rest of us in how their lives get shared with the public. Ordinary folks don’t have reporters sniffing around our private lives for a scoop. Publicists or no publicists, Tiger’s reported battle with compulsive sexual behavior was bound to come out eventually because his downfall was just so precipitous and notable. But the guy wasn’t - and still isn’t, so far as we can tell - trying to sell that story for clicks or shout-outs.
Which is to say, the US Weekly Rule works as a general guideline because the notion of voluntarily breaking the news of a sex addiction in a gossip magazine seems, at best, highly suspicious. No recovery program we’re aware of requires, or even recommends, that a person publicly announce their struggle (certainly not until well into recovery and after serious reflection on the consequences of speaking out). Virtually no one who has endured the pain of a sexual addiction, celebrity or not, wants to offer up that agony for others’ consumption. The vast, vast majority of us are just trying to put it in the past and rebuild. And as for the few among us courageous enough to talk publicly about their sexual addiction in depth (thank you, Terry Crews), well, we see a big difference between them and tabloid speculation about affairs and betrayals.
So look, we know we’re whistling in the wind when we say this, but we sure do wish that people in the public eye would think twice before coopting the label “sex addict” to describe their every indiscretion. Because, the thing is, every false or opportunistic celebrity claim of sexual addiction cheapens and sensationalizes the struggle of people who really do suffer from out of control, compulsive sexual behaviors. And that’s the last thing those of us who’ll never appear in US Weekly need.
Broadly speaking, we see two conversations about porn happening in the world today. One of them - the one you most often read about in the news - is a large-scale conversation about how pornography production and consumption affect society writ large. This is the controversial conversation. The one that politicians and faith leaders get fired up about. The one that provokes dueling accusations of cultural decline and “moral panic”. The one that that can get a little exhausting.
Then there’s the second conversation. You hear less about this one because for the most part it’s not happening in the open. It’s a conversation individuals are having with themselves about whether and how their own porn use conforms with their self-perception and personal needs. People having this conversation rarely speak it aloud, except perhaps in prayer, or to a therapist, or in a close, trusting relationship. And yet, despite its relative obscurity, it's this second conversation that's becoming increasingly essential to our lives.
We like to think of the distinction between these two conversations as akin to the difference between political campaign talk and personal voting choice. Yes, one influences the other, but it’s only the latter that we treat as sacred and profound. One is about how others think they know us, the other is about how we know ourselves.
Like voting choice, our own internal conversations about our personal porn use habits can involve varying considerations of personal economics, emotion, morality, ethics, and aspiration. There isn’t likely to be a one-size-fits-all factor that decides how a person feels about their personal porn use any more than there’s a one-size-fits-all reason a person chooses one candidate over another. Indeed, research suggests that porn use may affect people in varying ways.
Some people, of course, experience an overwhelming compulsion to consume porn. When these people continue using despite negative consequences and repeated, failed attempts to stop, their behavior is (or closely mimics) an addiction. Depending on their degree of self awareness, these people tend to think on some level that using porn is either really good or really bad for them. Either way, their internal conversation about their personal porn consumption often dominates their thoughts. The key for them is to find help when they realize they need it, and that's why this web site exists.
But the others - the majority for whom porn use isn’t (at least, not yet) an all-consuming obsession - are different. Porn doesn’t occupy their every thought. And yet, porn can still shape their perceptions of personal sexuality, body image, spirituality, and gender roles, to name a few. These people may not have an ever-present shouting match about porn use going on in their heads, but they may yet ask themselves questions that shape their personal porn use habits. Questions like “Does porn affect expectations of what’s supposed to happen with my sexual partner?”, “Does porn influence how I perceive my own sexual attractiveness?”, “Am I ok with consuming porn if I don’t know or can't tell whether the performers have been exploited?”, and “Does my porn use reflect my values?”.
The big, loud, public conversation about porn covers these topics and many more, and yet, like a large-scale political campaign, it often lacks the subtlety and nuance that drive personal views about porn consumption. Yes, it may be true that “porn kills love” in some respects, but there are also couples who insist they have enhanced and strengthened their intimate, loving relationships by visiting PornTube together now and again. Conversely, yes, it may possible to consume only porn that’s produced “ethically,” with well-treated, well-compensated professional performers and safe working conditions, but the overwhelming bulk of pornography is not produced to such ethically observant standards, and at its worst involves abhorrent degradation and exploitation of the most vulnerable among us.
Finding a way through these competing generalities to an informed, nuanced personal perspective about porn use requires some sustained, quiet reflection. We view taking time for that reflection to be essential for every citizen of this digital world awash in porn. It's a duty no less profound than the duty to make an informed choice in a voting booth. Porn has become far too pervasive, far too dug-in to our lives, to leave solely to the talking heads in the public conversation. Each of us must develop an informed view of if, when, and how we consume porn, or risk leaving life-changing decisions about our and our intimate partners' sexual existence to the faceless online mob.
And so, we heartily encourage all of our readers - but particularly those for whom porn use is not presently an all-consuming obsession - to dedicate some time to their own internal conversations about personal porn use. We also encourage you to dip a toe or two into the loud, public debates about porn to help inform yourself, but to do so with the critical eye of a voter during a campaign. Check your sources. Be aware of agendas. Know yourself and what matters to you. And then, take time to focus during a quiet moment - a voting booth moment, if you will - to pinpoint exactly what questions you ask yourself about porn, and how the answers affect if and how you consume it.
Finally, if you want to break the prevailing silence on your own internal "voting booth conversation" about porn, we welcome you to share the questions you ask yourself, and the insights you gain from answering them, in the comments below.
Longer-form writing from the PornHelp team on current topics relating to problem porn use and recovery.