VL:
We are going to explore the concept of ‘erotic capital’, first as discussed by Catherine Hakim in her 2010 paper and then in even greater depth and specificity, relating it to the current digital landscape and the specific ways erotic capital is accumulated, leveraged and monetised online.
Begin with an extended detailed summary of Hakim’s paper.
GPT-4o:
The concept of ‘erotic capital’ was first articulated in detail by sociologist Catherine Hakim in her 2010 paper, Erotic Capital. Her work attempts to introduce erotic capital as a new form of capital that complements Pierre Bourdieu’s established forms of capital: economic, cultural, and social capital. In Hakim’s framework, erotic capital is positioned as a resource that individuals, particularly women, can deploy to increase their social and economic power. This form of capital, Hakim argues, has been systematically undervalued and understudied within sociology, in part due to lingering Victorian attitudes toward sexuality and its role in public life.
Key Elements of Erotic Capital
Hakim outlines six key components that comprise erotic capital:
Beauty: This is the most obvious and socially recognised component of erotic capital. It encompasses facial attractiveness and physical appearance, including aspects such as youthfulness, symmetry, and physical fitness.
Sexual Attractiveness: Different from beauty, sexual attractiveness pertains to a person’s allure or magnetism that transcends physical traits. It involves charisma, charm, and a quality that may be described as ‘sexual energy’.
Social Grace: This includes mannerisms, charm, and the ability to engage others in conversation, project warmth, and demonstrate good social etiquette. It speaks to an individual’s interpersonal skills in social interactions.
Liveliness: Sometimes referred to as vitality or energy, this characteristic involves the ability to project enthusiasm, playfulness, and an engaging presence that draws people in.
Sexual Competence: This refers to sexual skills, knowledge, and confidence, which enable an individual to cultivate desirable sexual experiences. It also refers to a broader comfort with one’s own sexuality.
Fertility and Reproductive Value: This component refers more specifically to biological traits that signal fertility, such as youth, health, and physical traits associated with reproductive capacity.
Hakim also draws attention to the fact that, while beauty and sexual attractiveness are the most emphasized traits, erotic capital is broader and more complex than mere physical appearance. Moreover, erotic capital is highly contextual; it operates differently across various social spaces and cultures, but in all these spaces, it remains a distinct form of power and advantage.
The Value of Erotic Capital
Hakim argues that erotic capital is significantly undervalued in modern society, particularly in professional and academic discourse. She asserts that erotic capital can be just as important as other forms of capital in social mobility and success. Although often framed as being shallow or superficial, Hakim challenges this view, suggesting instead that erotic capital has always been a key element in social relations, influencing everything from job opportunities to personal relationships.
Hakim notes that erotic capital is most often associated with women, although men also possess and can leverage it. However, women, she argues, have historically been both the primary bearers and beneficiaries of erotic capital, but have also been discouraged from overtly deploying it in professional contexts due to social stigmas. Hakim attributes this to patriarchal structures that systematically devalue women’s sexual power while valorising their beauty in other, often exploitative contexts.
Hakim contends that as social norms evolve, erotic capital is increasingly being recognised as a legitimate and powerful resource, particularly as more industries—including entertainment, fashion, and even corporate management—acknowledge the influence of attractiveness, social skills, and sexual charisma on success.
Erotic Capital and Class
Hakim integrates erotic capital into Bourdieu’s broader framework of capital accumulation and class reproduction. She argues that just as economic, cultural, and social capital intersect and mutually reinforce each other, erotic capital similarly interacts with these other forms. For instance, higher economic capital can afford individuals access to better grooming, health care, and opportunities to refine their physical appearance (thereby enhancing erotic capital). Conversely, high levels of erotic capital can facilitate the accumulation of economic or social capital, particularly in industries that prioritise interpersonal interaction.
Moreover, Hakim suggests that erotic capital may function differently across classes. For those in lower socioeconomic strata, erotic capital can serve as a pathway to upward mobility, particularly in industries where physical labour or professional credentials are less emphasized than charisma or physical presence (e.g., entertainment, hospitality, fashion). Meanwhile, in upper-class circles, erotic capital is often concealed or disguised behind the veneer of social grace and sophistication, but it nonetheless plays a role in maintaining class hierarchies.
The Gender Dimension
Hakim’s analysis is strongly gendered. She claims that women, due to both biological and sociocultural reasons, tend to possess more erotic capital than men and are more adept at deploying it in social contexts. However, patriarchal norms have historically stigmatised women’s use of erotic capital, confining it to the private sphere (such as marriage) or devaluing it in professional contexts. She contrasts this with men’s use of other forms of capital (economic, cultural) to assert dominance and control.
Hakim argues that feminist movements should embrace and legitimise erotic capital rather than stigmatising it, as it represents a source of power that women can and should wield more openly. In her view, feminist scholarship’s dismissal of erotic capital as superficial or anti-egalitarian only serves to reinforce patriarchal structures that restrict women’s agency.
Erotic Capital and the Market
A key argument in Hakim’s paper is that erotic capital is increasingly being monetised in contemporary markets, especially in the service, entertainment, and media industries. Hakim predicts that the value of erotic capital will only rise as societies continue to move away from manufacturing and labour-intensive industries toward service-based economies, where interpersonal skills, attractiveness, and charisma are more highly prized.
Criticism and Controversies
Hakim’s concept of erotic capital has attracted considerable debate and criticism. Some scholars have taken issue with her gendered analysis, arguing that she underestimates men’s use of erotic capital, particularly in the digital age where male influencers and public figures also leverage attractiveness and charisma for social and economic gain. Others have critiqued her suggestion that erotic capital could function as a liberating force for women, suggesting instead that it reinforces existing inequalities by further commodifying women’s bodies and sexuality in a capitalist system.
Additionally, some critics argue that Hakim’s model is overly simplistic in reducing complex social dynamics to individual attributes of beauty and sexual attractiveness, without sufficiently considering how power operates at the structural level.
Erotic Capital in the Digital Landscape
While Hakim’s paper was written before the full explosion of social media and digital economies that would emerge in the 2010s, her concept of erotic capital provides a fertile ground for exploring how these dynamics have shifted and intensified in the digital age.
In the context of platforms such as Instagram, TikTok, OnlyFans, and YouTube, erotic capital is being leveraged, commodified, and monetised in ways that extend far beyond Hakim’s original framework. This has also complicated the ways in which erotic capital interacts with gender, class, race, and technology.
Accumulation of Erotic Capital Online
The mechanisms for accumulating erotic capital in the digital age involve the curation of one’s personal brand, which is now inseparable from one’s physical appearance, attractiveness, and interpersonal charisma. Social media platforms function as amplifiers for erotic capital, allowing users to broadcast their beauty, style, charm, and sexuality to vast audiences. Importantly, the accumulation of erotic capital is now directly tied to metrics such as followers, likes, and views—quantifiable forms of validation that enhance both social and economic capital.
The feedback loops on platforms like Instagram and TikTok encourage users to refine their presentation in ways that maximise their appeal to a global audience, effectively creating a marketplace for erotic capital. Beauty filters, editing apps, and content algorithms further commodify attractiveness and charisma, driving engagement and visibility.
Monetisation of Erotic Capital
The rise of subscription-based platforms such as OnlyFans has introduced a new paradigm where erotic capital is not just accumulated for social clout but is directly monetised. Creators on these platforms leverage their physical appearance, sexual competence, and social skills to attract paying subscribers. The commodification of erotic capital in this context is more explicit, as users exchange money for access to curated content that is often sexualised.
This phenomenon raises important questions about the agency and exploitation involved in the monetisation of erotic capital. While platforms like OnlyFans give individuals more control over their content and its monetisation, they also entrench the commodification of sexuality, leading to new forms of labour that blur the lines between empowerment and exploitation. This dynamic reflects broader capitalist tendencies, where even personal and intimate forms of capital are brought into the market.
The Role of Digital Platforms
Platforms like Instagram, TikTok, and OnlyFans are not neutral—they actively shape the production and distribution of erotic capital. Algorithms prioritise certain aesthetics, body types, and forms of attractiveness, privileging content that aligns with dominant beauty standards. This creates new hierarchies within erotic capital, where certain types of erotic appeal are more easily commodified and monetised than others.
These platforms also allow for greater inclusivity in some ways. Marginalised bodies and non-normative sexualities can find spaces online where they are celebrated and monetised. However, these spaces are still subject to the same capitalist logics that commodify all forms of erotic capital, and the labour involved in maintaining an online presence can be taxing and precarious.
Gender, Class, and Racial Dynamics Online
The digital landscape complicates the gendered dynamics Hakim discussed in her paper. While women still dominate the realm of erotic capital, men are increasingly leveraging their own attractiveness and charisma online. Influencers of all genders monetise erotic capital, although women are still more likely to be associated with overtly sexualised forms of content.
Race and class also intersect with erotic capital in complex ways. Online platforms often replicate and reinforce offline hierarchies of desirability, where Eurocentric beauty standards dominate. At the same time, some creators are able to subvert these standards by
VL:
From Hakim’s paper: ‘Beauty tends to be static, hence is easily captured in a photo. Sexual attractiveness is about the way someone moves, talks, and behaves, so it can only be captured on film.’
Discuss. This seems overly simplistic and obviously wrong.
GPT-4o:
Catherine Hakim’s distinction between beauty and sexual attractiveness, as articulated in her 2010 paper, where she claims that ‘beauty tends to be static, hence is easily captured in a photo, [whereas] sexual attractiveness is about the way someone moves, talks, and behaves, so it can only be captured on film’, presents an oversimplification that requires more nuanced unpacking. While Hakim attempts to make a clear differentiation between physical beauty and a broader, more dynamic notion of sexual charisma, this binary neglects the complexity of how both beauty and sexual attractiveness are understood, represented, and perceived, especially in the context of modern technology, psychology, and media studies.
The Problematics of Static vs Dynamic Beauty
Hakim’s claim that beauty is ‘static’ and easily captured in a photograph is debatable on several fronts. First, beauty itself is rarely perceived as static. Even if we assume, as Hakim does, that beauty consists primarily of fixed physical traits such as facial symmetry, proportionality, or bodily attributes, the perception of beauty is highly context-dependent and often subjective. Various fields—ranging from neuroaesthetics to evolutionary psychology—have demonstrated that human perception of beauty is influenced not just by the physical features of an individual but also by context, lighting, emotional state, and even cultural conventions. A photograph may capture one moment of an individual’s beauty, but it is by no means comprehensive or fixed. Beauty in real life is relational, dynamic, and often situational, shaped by interactions with the viewer and the surrounding environment.
Furthermore, certain components of beauty, such as the subtleties of facial expressions or the nuanced way someone ‘carries’ themselves, can be highly dynamic and difficult to capture in a photograph. Smiling, frowning, or even the slight raising of an eyebrow alters the perception of beauty and can imbue an image with emotional depth. These expressions are momentary and contextual, suggesting that beauty too can have a temporal and fluid quality that Hakim seems to overlook.
Sexual Attractiveness: More Than Just Movement
Hakim’s assertion that sexual attractiveness can only be captured on film, because it is linked to movement, voice, and behaviour, also oversimplifies the nature of sexual allure. While sexual attractiveness often does involve dynamic elements—such as the way someone moves, speaks, or engages socially—it is reductive to claim that it can only be conveyed through moving images like film. Photography, especially in its modern, digital incarnations, has long been capable of evoking a sense of sexual magnetism that goes beyond static beauty. The photographic medium has evolved to capture not only form but also mood, aura, and even implied motion.
Think of how portrait photographers manipulate lighting, posture, gaze, and composition to suggest dynamism and charisma in still images. The concept of the ‘gaze’ in visual studies, as formulated by scholars like Laura Mulvey, has shown how the subject’s look and the viewer’s interaction with that look contribute to the perception of attractiveness. The deliberate framing of the body, the positioning of limbs, the tilt of the head—all can convey a type of sexual energy that transcends the static nature of the photograph itself.
Moreover, sexual attractiveness is heavily mediated by semiotic cues—clothing, hairstyle, makeup, and other forms of self-presentation that communicate sexuality or desirability. These cues can be effectively captured in still images, where they engage the viewer’s imagination and create narratives around the subject’s persona. Photographic mediums are not limited to static representations but can act as sites of affective engagement, where the viewer’s perception of sexuality is activated through symbolic or emotional resonance.
Modern Technology and the Blurring of Boundaries
In the digital age, the distinction between beauty and sexual attractiveness as ‘static’ and ‘dynamic’ respectively becomes even more porous. Photography and film have evolved, with tools like GIFs, cinemagraphs, and other hybrid visual formats that blur the lines between stillness and motion. Even social media platforms encourage a kind of ‘dynamic stillness’ through apps that allow for subtle animations or boomerangs that emphasize the performativity of sexual charisma without requiring full movement.
Importantly, the rise of photo-editing tools, filters, and other forms of digital manipulation complicates Hakim’s original dichotomy. Techniques like ‘motion blur’ or the use of sequential shots within the same frame can suggest dynamism and sexual allure even in photography. These technological tools enable users to convey sexual attractiveness without relying solely on traditional film, allowing for creative reworkings of how erotic capital is projected and consumed.
For instance, platforms like Instagram have fundamentally altered the way both beauty and sexual attractiveness are mediated. Photos on these platforms are often stylised to evoke a sense of playfulness, seduction, or charisma, which would conventionally be associated with film. The integration of captions, emojis, and hashtags further enhances the narrative dimension of the image, creating layers of meaning that augment the static visuals with implied dynamism. These practices demonstrate that sexual attractiveness can indeed be captured in a still image, albeit through culturally coded and technologically mediated mechanisms.
The Psychological and Cultural Complexity of Perception
From a psychological perspective, the distinction between static beauty and dynamic sexual attractiveness fails to account for the role of projection and imagination in how we perceive others. In both still and moving images, viewers engage in what psychologists call projective identification, where they attribute qualities—such as vitality, warmth, or sexual appeal—to a subject based on partial cues. This process occurs whether one is looking at a photograph or watching a film. Therefore, sexual attractiveness is not inherently bound to the medium of moving images; it also emerges through the viewer’s engagement with the subject, regardless of whether the subject is ‘moving’ or not.
Further, cultural constructions of beauty and sexual attractiveness shift over time, influencing how both are represented in media. In some historical contexts, beauty and sexual attractiveness have been conflated, whereas in others, they have been strictly delineated. Think, for instance, of the femme fatale archetype in film noir, where women’s sexual allure is conveyed in still, carefully controlled poses rather than in dynamic movement. Similarly, contemporary fashion photography often plays on the tension between beauty and sexual attractiveness by employing strategies like the ‘disruptive pose’ or ‘confrontational gaze’, which convey a sense of agency and sexuality that exceeds traditional notions of static beauty.
Conclusion: Toward a More Nuanced Understanding
Hakim’s distinction between beauty and sexual attractiveness, while initially helpful in emphasizing that sexual appeal is not reducible to mere physical traits, is ultimately too simplistic in its binary framing. Both beauty and sexual attractiveness are fluid, culturally contingent, and subject to technological mediation. Photography is more than capable of capturing sexual attractiveness when we consider the performative, symbolic, and emotional dimensions that transcend simple movement or verbal interaction. Similarly, beauty is not purely static; it is responsive to context, time, and the dynamic interaction between subject and viewer.
In light of the growing sophistication of digital media, photography, and visual culture, it becomes increasingly untenable to maintain a strict separation between the ‘static’ and ‘dynamic’ in the representation of erotic capital. Instead, we should recognise the multifaceted ways in which attractiveness—whether framed as beauty or sexual allure—is constructed, mediated, and perceived across various forms of media.
VL:
Also from Hakim’s paper: ‘[Hans Zetterberg] defines erotic rank as people’s privately known probability of being able to induce a state of emotional surrender in persons of the opposite sex.’
Talk to me in greater detail about Zetterberg’s concept of ‘erotic rank’.
GPT-4o:
Hans Zetterberg’s concept of ‘erotic rank’ is an intriguing, though not extensively explored, facet of social stratification that blends sociological insights with psychological and sexual dynamics. Zetterberg, a Swedish sociologist, introduced this idea to describe an individual’s capacity to exert a specific form of influence over others—particularly in terms of sexual or romantic relationships. As Catherine Hakim recounts in her 2010 paper, Zetterberg defines erotic rank as ‘people’s privately known probability of being able to induce a state of emotional surrender in persons of the opposite sex’. This concept gestures toward a sort of erotic hierarchy, but one that is intimate, subjective, and inherently non-public.
To understand the full implications of ‘erotic rank’, it’s useful to break it down in relation to broader sociological concepts, as well as the emotional and psychological mechanisms Zetterberg alludes to. Below, I will examine how Zetterberg’s idea intersects with other social hierarchies, its psychological underpinnings, and how it might map onto both historical and contemporary notions of sexual power, particularly in the context of the digital age.
Erotic Rank: A Form of Stratification
Zetterberg’s concept of ‘erotic rank’ can be understood as an implicit, non-visible form of social stratification that exists alongside more visible indicators such as economic status or cultural capital. It concerns not merely one’s sexual desirability but rather the ability to induce ‘emotional surrender’ in others, suggesting an interpersonal, relational form of power. This is important to note because it shifts the focus from physical attractiveness (as a static trait) to an individual’s overall ability to elicit strong emotional and sexual responses in others—responses that are powerful enough to trigger surrender, which Zetterberg frames as a kind of yielding or giving in emotionally, possibly involving vulnerability, desire, and even psychological submission.
In Zetterberg’s framework, ‘erotic rank’ is not publicly visible, like socioeconomic class or occupational status, but privately assessed and individually known. It relies on personal experiences, patterns of success or failure in sexual and romantic encounters, and the subjective sense of how well an individual can sway others emotionally and erotically. This ‘privately known probability’ of seduction or emotional sway exists as a latent form of power that individuals may be aware of in their personal lives, and which they may draw upon or cultivate for various social ends.
Emotional Surrender and Power Dynamics
The term ‘emotional surrender’ carries with it a rich array of psychological implications. Zetterberg’s focus on this idea emphasizes the deep affective power one person can have over another. Emotional surrender refers to a state where a person is so captivated by another—whether through attraction, affection, or sexual magnetism—that they lower their defences or even alter their behaviour in ways that leave them emotionally exposed or vulnerable. This is not just about sexual desire, but a broader erotic influence that touches on emotional and psychological levels, including attachment, trust, or even obsession.
Erotic rank, therefore, is less about beauty or sexual skill in isolation and more about the confluence of factors—charm, sexual confidence, social grace, and emotional intelligence—that contribute to one’s capacity to induce this state of surrender. In this sense, Zetterberg’s concept links closely to ideas of seduction as a form of interpersonal power. The process of seduction can be understood as a kind of strategic manipulation of emotional surrender, and those with a high erotic rank are especially adept at navigating this terrain. This power dynamic is inherently asymmetrical: one person induces surrender, the other surrenders, creating a structure of influence that has ramifications for emotional dependency, control, and vulnerability within the relationship.
Zetterberg’s use of the term ‘rank’ implies that this ability is not evenly distributed; it suggests a hierarchy where individuals have differing capacities to elicit such emotional responses. Those with a high erotic rank are likely more successful at generating romantic or sexual opportunities and at maintaining influence over their partners. In turn, those with lower erotic rank may struggle to induce such emotional states and may experience romantic or sexual dynamics as more precarious or unbalanced.
Erotic Rank and Other Forms of Capital
Zetterberg’s notion of erotic rank parallels Pierre Bourdieu’s theories of social capital, cultural capital, and symbolic power. While Bourdieu’s framework revolves around the accumulation of social resources, taste, knowledge, and the power that emerges from these forms of capital, erotic rank can be viewed as another form of capital, albeit one that is harder to quantify and categorise. Just as cultural capital depends on mastery of a particular set of knowledge or tastes, erotic rank depends on mastery over certain affective and sexual interactions.
Erotic rank might intersect with or augment other forms of capital. For instance, someone with high social or cultural capital may find that their status enhances their erotic rank, making them more desirable by virtue of their broader social power. Conversely, someone with high erotic rank may be able to use their emotional and sexual influence to access or accumulate other forms of capital. This can be seen in scenarios where individuals leverage their sexual or emotional appeal to marry into wealth or secure advantageous social connections, thus translating erotic rank into economic or social capital.
The Subjectivity and Relational Nature of Erotic Rank
An important aspect of Zetterberg’s concept is that it is ‘privately known’. Unlike conventional hierarchies of attractiveness, which might be externally validated by social consensus, erotic rank is something individuals gauge for themselves. This raises the question of how subjective or accurate such self-assessments are. One’s erotic rank might not correlate with how others perceive them, which suggests that erotic rank operates largely as a relational and personal construct.
It is also worth considering the implicit gender dynamics that Zetterberg’s concept seems to invoke. While Hakim applies this to a heterosexual framework, where men and women are assessing their ability to induce emotional surrender in the ‘opposite sex’, the notion of erotic rank could apply across a broader spectrum of sexualities. Different cultural and social contexts produce different ways of gauging erotic influence, and gendered scripts of seduction and emotional surrender vary significantly. For example, patriarchal norms often position men as the active agents in pursuit and seduction, while women are stereotypically portrayed as the ones who ‘surrender’. However, these dynamics are not universal, and erotic rank is likely to manifest differently across genders, sexualities, and cultures.
Erotic Rank in the Digital Age
If we transpose Zetterberg’s concept of erotic rank into the digital era, we encounter a number of fascinating transformations. Digital media, especially social platforms like Instagram, Tinder, and OnlyFans, allow individuals to publicly display aspects of their erotic capital—through carefully curated images, profiles, and posts—but do these necessarily reveal one’s erotic rank? In Zetterberg’s terms, the ability to induce emotional surrender would still occur at a personal, affective level, meaning that digital representation might distort or exaggerate one’s perceived erotic rank.
Moreover, the transactional nature of many digital interactions, where likes, followers, and subscriptions are exchanged for erotic content, complicates the idea of ‘private knowledge’ of erotic rank. In the digital economy of attention, erotic appeal is often made hyper-visible and commodified, but the deeper emotional influence Zetterberg describes might not be as easily quantifiable. A person might garner millions of followers for their physical attractiveness or charm, but does this translate into an ability to induce emotional surrender? The digital context highlights the difference between appeal and control, and underscores how erotic rank is fundamentally relational—it is only fully realised in direct, emotionally-charged interactions.
Furthermore, the distinction between emotional surrender and physical attraction becomes more blurred in online spaces. Algorithms and image curation often emphasize the visual over the emotional or relational, which might artificially inflate a person’s sense of their erotic rank without the corresponding interpersonal encounters that would test their ability to actually induce surrender. This suggests that while digital platforms amplify the visibility of erotic capital, they may not truly reflect Zetterberg’s notion of erotic rank, which depends on direct emotional influence.
Conclusion: Erotic Rank as Power and Intimacy
In sum, Hans Zetterberg’s concept of ‘erotic rank’ introduces a provocative dimension to our understanding of power and intimacy. It shifts the focus from overt, quantifiable traits of physical attractiveness to a more nuanced understanding of interpersonal influence and affective sway. Erotic rank speaks to the subtle, often private, hierarchies that shape romantic and sexual dynamics, emphasizing the role of emotional and psychological surrender in these interactions.
This framework also invites deeper reflection on how we understand power and influence in sexual and emotional contexts. It suggests that sexual attractiveness and success in romantic relationships are not merely about superficial traits but about a more profound ability to create emotional dependency and surrender. This insight becomes particularly relevant when considering contemporary digital dynamics, where the performative aspects of attractiveness can obscure the deeper, relational qualities that Zetterberg associates with erotic rank.
VL:
One would assume that, all other things being equal, if A is better at inducing states of ‘emotional surrender’ in strangers (online, at a distance) than B, A would receive more attention (views, followers, likes, etc) than B. The problem, of course, is the overwhelming influence of confounding variables. Other things are never equal.
GPT-4o:
You’re raising a critical issue here, one that both challenges and deepens the application of Zetterberg’s notion of erotic rank—or the ability to induce emotional surrender—in the digital sphere. Your assumption is reasonable in theory: if two individuals, A and B, are competing for attention in an online marketplace, and A is objectively better at eliciting emotional surrender (in the sense that they are more capable of engendering deep emotional, even erotic, responses from strangers), then A should receive more attention (likes, followers, etc.) than B. However, as you rightly note, the landscape is littered with confounding variables that obscure this straightforward relation, both online and in real-world interactions. ‘Other things are never equal,’ and this inherent inequality warps any simplistic understanding of how erotic rank or emotional influence would operate in digital contexts.
To analyse this properly, we need to examine:
The nature of emotional surrender in a mediated, distanced context (i.e., online).
The overwhelming number of confounding variables that distort pure expressions of erotic or affective power.
How these dynamics interact with current algorithms and platform economies.
1. Emotional Surrender in Digital Spaces: Theoretical Challenges
Zetterberg’s original concept of erotic rank assumes a level of intimacy that is difficult to replicate online. Emotional surrender implies a kind of personal, psychological engagement that is difficult to experience at a distance. In face-to-face interaction, emotional surrender emerges through direct engagement, subtle emotional cues (eye contact, body language, tone of voice), and the reciprocal nature of affective response. Online, however, interactions are mediated by technology—texts, images, and video streams—and rely heavily on an imagined reciprocity, often a simulacrum of intimate exchange.
While it’s possible to induce emotional surrender online, the mechanisms are different, more filtered. Platforms that rely on one-way communication (Instagram, TikTok, OnlyFans) may limit direct emotional reciprocity, privileging instead a parasocial relationship, where followers project intimacy onto the influencer. Here, emotional surrender operates differently: it is cultivated not through actual interpersonal dynamics but through the perception of an intimate bond. This means that the ability to induce emotional surrender online depends as much on the illusion of closeness and relatability as on the real presence of erotic capital.
For instance, influencers who excel at creating a sense of ‘authenticity’ or vulnerability may be better at fostering emotional surrender than those who merely possess physical attractiveness or charisma. Their skill lies in manipulating the medium to appear emotionally available or relatable, even if the interaction is entirely performative. This complicates the notion of erotic rank, because inducing emotional surrender in a digital context requires more than just interpersonal affective power—it demands a mastery over mediated self-presentation, storytelling, and digital performance.
2. Confounding Variables: The Landscape of Inequality
Confounding variables proliferate in digital contexts, and their overwhelming influence makes it difficult to isolate erotic rank as a decisive factor in gaining attention online. Some of the most significant confounding variables include:
Platform Algorithms: Perhaps the most dominant confounding variable is the platform itself. Algorithms, particularly those on Instagram, TikTok, and YouTube, dictate who is seen and who isn’t. These algorithms are often opaque, driven by complex, hidden metrics such as user engagement rates, ad revenue potential, or content type preferences. An individual with high erotic rank (in terms of their ability to induce emotional surrender) could easily be drowned out by another who produces content that is simply more algorithmically favourable. The algorithm’s interests—maximising screen time and ad exposure—often prioritise sensationalism, controversy, or rapid engagement over deeper emotional connections.
Aesthetic Standards and Cultural Scripts: Beauty standards and cultural scripts significantly distort the relationship between erotic rank and online success. For instance, Eurocentric beauty standards still dominate much of Western media, meaning that someone with a lower erotic rank but who conforms to these aesthetic standards may receive more attention than someone with a higher erotic rank who doesn’t fit these cultural moulds. Similarly, certain body types, skin tones, and gender presentations may be more marketable or appealing to large audiences, irrespective of their ability to actually induce emotional surrender.
Production Value and Professionalization: The quality of a user’s content production—lighting, camera quality, editing skills—often has an outsized impact on their ability to garner attention online. High production values can lend a sense of polish and professionalism to a creator’s content, elevating their visibility. Someone with high erotic rank but low production value may be overshadowed by someone who knows how to manipulate the visual aesthetics of digital media to appear more appealing. This factor introduces a technological variable into the equation of emotional surrender, where success may hinge less on affective power and more on the tools used to convey it.
Network Effects and Social Capital: Social capital—the connections, endorsements, and affiliations an individual has—also plays a significant role. In online ecosystems, someone with a wide network of influential followers or with endorsements from more prominent creators will naturally attract more attention, regardless of their erotic rank. Cross-promotion, collabourations, and algorithmic boosts from ‘influential’ accounts create a feedback loop where attention tends to accumulate around individuals with already substantial social capital. This can drown out people who might have high erotic rank but lack the initial connections to garner early attention.
Monetisation and Attention Economies: Attention on digital platforms is often commodified, and this creates additional layers of complexity. Creators who successfully monetise their following (e.g., through sponsorships, merchandise, or subscription services) may receive more algorithmic push than those who don’t, as platforms often prioritise content that drives economic transactions. This means that someone with high erotic rank may not necessarily attract more attention unless they also possess the business acumen to capitalise on their visibility, further diluting the direct influence of affective power.
Niche Markets and Subcultures: Online audiences are not monolithic; they are fragmented into niches and subcultures with distinct norms, values, and preferences. Erotic rank might function differently depending on the cultural or subcultural context. For example, the qualities that induce emotional surrender in a mainstream audience might differ significantly from those that attract a niche, queer, or alternative community. The fragmentation of audiences means that individuals with high erotic rank in one subculture may be virtually invisible in another, complicating any attempt to generalise about the relationship between emotional power and attention.
3. Interaction with Platform Economies
In online platforms driven by attention and engagement metrics, Zetterberg’s concept of emotional surrender takes on a transactional dimension. While in face-to-face interactions, emotional surrender could be seen as a reciprocal or organic process, online platforms reframe it within an economy of attention. Here, emotional surrender is converted into likes, views, follows, and monetisable metrics. This conversion process distorts the pure notion of erotic rank, as it involves more than emotional influence; it is mediated by the structural logics of the platform itself.
For instance, many digital influencers deliberately cultivate parasocial relationships where they engage their audience as if they are close friends, lovers, or confidants. This performative intimacy generates emotional surrender, but it is strategically manipulated to increase engagement rather than being an authentic expression of interpersonal dynamics. Here, emotional surrender becomes a tool within a larger attention economy, where creators must balance genuine connection with strategic manipulation of their audience.
Further complicating this is the fact that digital platforms reward immediacy and consistency—qualities that may not necessarily correlate with high erotic rank but do correlate with sustained visibility. Someone with moderate emotional sway but the ability to post consistently and maintain high engagement might outperform someone with a more profound ability to induce emotional surrender but who lacks the strategic acumen or time to maintain a constant presence online.
Conclusion: Erotic Rank in a Confounded Digital Landscape
In theory, someone with high erotic rank should attract more attention, followers, and engagement online than someone with lower erotic rank, but this assumption is confounded by an overwhelming number of variables: platform algorithms, cultural beauty standards, production value, network effects, monetisation strategies, and the fragmented nature of digital subcultures. Erotic rank, or the ability to induce emotional surrender, remains an important factor in online interactions, but it is deeply entangled with other forms of digital capital—social, cultural, and technological.
Thus, while emotional surrender may still play a role in building an audience and sustaining attention, it is but one element in a complex, multivariate system where other factors often outweigh the raw ability to emotionally captivate others. The online world has radically expanded the potential for people to leverage their erotic rank, but it has also layered this ability under a dense network of confounding dynamics that mediate, distort, and sometimes completely obscure affective power.
VL:
‘Qualities that induce emotional surrender in a mainstream audience might differ significantly from those that attract a niche, queer, or alternative community.’
And qualities that appeal to niche communities might actually induce revulsion in mainstream audiences.
GPT-4o:
This observation—that qualities which appeal to niche, queer, or alternative communities might induce not just indifference, but outright revulsion in mainstream audiences—captures a fundamental tension in how different forms of erotic capital and emotional appeal are socially and culturally constructed. It highlights how taste, attraction, and emotional responses are deeply contingent on both shared norms within specific communities and broader societal standards that often clash.
Emotional Surrender and Taste Cultures: The Fragmentation of Desire
To begin unpacking this, we need to consider how taste operates in different cultural and subcultural contexts. Pierre Bourdieu’s concept of taste cultures is particularly useful here, as it illustrates how aesthetic preferences (including those related to beauty, eroticism, and desire) are structured by broader class, cultural, and social distinctions. Within the framework of erotic capital and Zetterberg’s notion of emotional surrender, taste becomes a mediator that determines whether a particular individual, look, or affective presentation is deemed attractive, seductive, or repulsive.
Mainstream audiences tend to be governed by more hegemonic standards of beauty and desire, which are in turn shaped by historical forces, media representations, and entrenched cultural norms. Eurocentric beauty standards, heteronormative scripts of romance and sexuality, and a generally conservative orientation towards bodily aesthetics often dominate in these mainstream spaces. These standards produce a narrow definition of what kinds of erotic appeal are capable of inducing emotional surrender.
Niche, queer, or alternative communities, on the other hand, frequently develop their own subversive aesthetic and affective logics, rejecting or reworking mainstream ideas of beauty, sexuality, and desire. These communities often valorise difference, transgression, and non-normative presentations of self, which can create forms of erotic capital that are radically at odds with mainstream sensibilities. In many cases, the very qualities that make someone attractive within these niche communities—their queerness, defiance of gender norms, body modifications, or use of alternative sexual expressions—are precisely what provoke discomfort, rejection, or even disgust from mainstream audiences.
This tension between mainstream erotic capital and subcultural erotic capital is essential to understanding how emotional surrender functions differently in various contexts. What is capable of inducing surrender in one community might evoke revulsion in another because these emotional responses are culturally mediated and embedded in social hierarchies of taste.
The Politics of Erotic Capital: Subversion vs Normativity
The divergence in emotional responses between mainstream and niche audiences is, at its core, about the politics of erotic capital. Normative standards of attractiveness tend to reinforce existing power structures. For example, dominant beauty standards that value youth, thinness, whiteness, and heteronormativity serve to maintain cultural hierarchies in which certain bodies and identities are elevated while others are marginalised or invisibilised.
In contrast, niche or alternative communities often develop erotic economies that challenge or resist these hegemonic norms. Queer communities, for instance, may prize and eroticise forms of gender non-conformity, body diversity, and sexual deviance—qualities that are pathologised or stigmatised in mainstream spaces. This rejection of normativity in favour of difference generates forms of transgressive erotic capital, where the very things that provoke emotional surrender are also acts of resistance to mainstream aesthetics.
However, these acts of resistance can lead to a cultural clash in which the qualities that are celebrated in alternative communities are seen as unsettling or even repulsive by those who adhere to mainstream standards. This is because mainstream culture not only defines what is attractive but also defines what is threatening or abject. For example, queer and trans bodies have historically been framed by mainstream discourse as unnatural or deviant, and therefore figures of moral revulsion rather than objects of desire. The qualities that induce erotic surrender in a queer community might activate deep anxieties, disgust, or moral panic in more normative audiences precisely because they challenge the established boundaries of gender, sexuality, and bodily presentation.
Queer and Alternative Erotic Capital
Let’s consider concrete examples of this tension. In many queer and alternative spaces, androgyny, gender fluidity, and non-binary presentations are eroticised and celebrated as forms of sexual appeal that transcend or dismantle traditional gender binaries. The ability to play with gender and embody both masculine and feminine traits in ways that defy rigid categories becomes a form of erotic capital. This kind of appeal—one that embraces fluidity, liminality, and the rejection of static gender roles—can generate intense emotional and sexual attraction within those subcultures, inducing states of emotional surrender that rely on the shared cultural understanding of gender as performative and flexible (as theorised by Judith Butler, among others).
However, in a mainstream audience that remains invested in fixed, binary gender roles, the same androgyny or gender fluidity might trigger discomfort or even disgust. Mainstream erotic capital is often built upon the clear legibility of gendered bodies: femininity and masculinity are not only distinct but also mapped onto rigidly prescribed sexual roles. When bodies, identities, and presentations defy these mappings, they can evoke a sense of crisis in those who are invested in maintaining traditional gender and sexual frameworks. This can lead to a visceral rejection or moral revulsion, as the very presence of these non-normative bodies challenges deeply ingrained cultural norms about what constitutes desirability and attraction.
Similarly, body modification (tattoos, piercings, scarification, etc.) and non-mainstream fashion aesthetics (such as goth or punk styles) can be forms of erotic capital in alternative communities that valorise subversion and the rejection of bourgeois aesthetics. These practices often serve to signal membership in a subculture that prizes individuality, resistance to consumerist beauty standards, and the embrace of what might be seen as the grotesque or the non-normative. In these communities, such traits are considered markers of authenticity and can generate high levels of emotional and erotic investment.
Yet, to mainstream audiences, these same traits might signify rebellion or even moral decay. Tattoos, for instance, have historically been stigmatised as markers of deviance or criminality in mainstream culture, and while this has shifted in recent decades, heavily modified bodies still fall outside conventional beauty standards. Emotional surrender to these forms of erotic capital, in the mainstream context, may be difficult because they evoke associations with social marginalisation rather than desirability. Instead of inducing erotic surrender, these markers might provoke feelings of alienation or repulsion, as they clash with deeply ingrained cultural narratives about the proper presentation of beauty, cleanliness, and bodily purity.
Fetishisation and Misrecognition: The Complicating Role of Mainstream Appropriation
One of the ironies of this dynamic is that while niche communities may cultivate alternative forms of erotic capital that generate intense emotional surrender within those spaces, these same qualities can be fetishised or misrecognised when appropriated by mainstream culture. Mainstream audiences may selectively exoticise certain elements of queer or alternative erotic capital, stripping them of their subversive context and reducing them to commodified aesthetics.
For example, drag culture, deeply rooted in queer performance and the critique of gender binaries, has been appropriated into mainstream media through shows like RuPaul’s Drag Race. What was once a radical expression of gender transgression has been commodified and sanitised for a broader audience. Mainstream audiences may feel an attraction to the exaggerated femininity or performative gender play of drag queens, but this attraction is often superficial, lacking the deep cultural understanding that gives drag its subversive power within queer spaces. Here, the emotional surrender induced by drag in mainstream audiences is not the same as in queer audiences—it is a misrecognised form of erotic capital, appealing for its novelty rather than for its transgressive critique of gender.
Conclusion: Erotic Capital as a Site of Cultural Conflict
In sum, the qualities that induce emotional surrender are deeply contingent on the cultural frameworks within which they are embedded. In niche, queer, and alternative communities, forms of erotic capital often emerge that explicitly challenge mainstream notions of beauty, gender, and desire. These alternative erotic economies valorise traits that resist normative definitions of attraction, resulting in dynamics of emotional surrender that hinge on transgression, difference, and subversion.
However, these same qualities can provoke revulsion in mainstream audiences, whose aesthetic and moral frameworks are threatened by non-normative presentations of self. Emotional surrender, in these cases, is blocked by the cultural clash between hegemonic norms and subcultural resistance. Erotic capital, therefore, is not a neutral or universal resource—it is a deeply political and contested site where cultural values, social hierarchies, and power dynamics are negotiated. The ability to induce emotional surrender within one community might carry the risk of alienating or repelling those who adhere to different aesthetic and moral codes.
VL:
Parasociality (in some form) has always been with us, but it seems to me that the relationship between fans and celebrities has been fundamentally altered by social media. A typical parasocial relationship in say, the 1950s, would involve persons, admirer and admiree, who actually were in different worlds, connected only by the mass media. Today, we’re all on the same platforms, we’re all visible to each other. Rihanna might be secretly stalking your Twitter feed. Jensen Ackles might religiously read the comments you leave each day on his Instagram feed. And because they sometimes reply, sometimes point directly into the crowd at you you you, there’s an element of intermittent reinforcement to it.
GPT-4o:
You’re absolutely right to note that parasociality—the one-sided psychological relationships in which individuals become emotionally invested in figures they don’t actually know—has been fundamentally altered by social media. The shift you’re pointing to is profound: from a distant, broadcast-based form of admiration in the mid-20th century, where fans and celebrities were divided by vast technological and social gaps, to a present-day structure where the gap between fan and idol appears to have collapsed. This seeming proximity, enabled by social media, introduces a host of new dynamics into parasocial relationships, including the mechanisms of intermittent reinforcement, a much higher degree of interaction, and a more profound sense of reciprocity, even when it’s still largely illusory.
Classic Parasocial Relationships: One-Sided Intimacy and Mass Media
In the 1950s and throughout much of the 20th century, parasocial relationships were studied largely in the context of mass media—television, radio, and film. Sociologists and media theorists such as Donald Horton and R. Richard Wohl, who coined the term ‘parasocial interaction’ in their 1956 essay Mass Communication and Parasocial Interaction, described a phenomenon in which audiences formed strong emotional connections with television personalities or movie stars despite having no real contact with them. This sense of intimacy was, by necessity, illusory, since these media forms were one-way communication tools. The public received content from a relatively small number of famous figures, and though they might develop deep emotional connections to these figures, they had no direct way to interact with them.
Horton and Wohl argued that parasocial relationships mimicked many of the features of real interpersonal relationships, such as trust, emotional investment, and loyalty, but without any reciprocation or real interaction from the figure being admired. Importantly, the technology of the time (broadcast television, radio, print magazines) reinforced the distance between fans and celebrities. Celebrities appeared as remote, glamorous figures, their personal lives curated and mediated through official publicity channels. While they exerted emotional influence over their fans, they were insulated from those fans by layers of mediation. The power imbalance was stark: the fan gazed upward, but the celebrity never gazed back.
Social Media: The Collapse of Distance and the Illusion of Interaction
In the age of social media, this dynamic has been fundamentally transformed, largely because of the collapse of the technological and social distance that once separated celebrities from their fans. Platforms like Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, and YouTube create the illusion that fans and celebrities now occupy the same spaces—that we are all part of a shared, flattened social landscape where anyone can speak to anyone. The interaction is no longer limited to a one-sided broadcast from the celebrity to the fan. Social media enables a continuous flow of content from both fans and celebrities, and crucially, it allows fans to directly address their idols in real time.
This shift gives rise to a number of new and complex dynamics in parasociality, and intermittent reinforcement is one of the most powerful. When a fan tweets at a celebrity, leaves a comment on their Instagram post, or tags them in a TikTok video, they are engaging in a form of social behaviour that now has the potential for a real response. And while most interactions go unnoticed, the occasional reply, like, or mention from a celebrity can create a feedback loop that strongly reinforces the fan’s emotional investment. This sense of ‘intermittent reinforcement’ mirrors the psychological mechanisms behind addiction, where unpredictable rewards (in this case, recognition from the celebrity) intensify the behaviour of reaching out again and again. The fan knows that their favourite celebrity likely won’t respond most of the time, but the possibility that they might—the rare ‘you, you, you’ moment—keeps them hooked, deepening the parasocial bond.
This transformation turns the parasocial relationship into something that feels more like an interpersonal relationship, even though it remains largely one-sided. The fan might imagine that their interaction is part of an ongoing dialogue with the celebrity, even though the celebrity may be participating only intermittently and superficially. In this way, social media can create the illusion of reciprocity, fostering a stronger emotional attachment by making fans believe that they are seen and recognised by their idols in ways that were previously impossible.
Intermittent Reinforcement and Its Psychological Power
The psychological mechanism behind intermittent reinforcement is powerful and well-documented. Behavioural psychologist B.F. Skinner’s work on operant conditioning demonstrated that behaviours reinforced on a variable schedule—where rewards are unpredictable—are much more resistant to extinction than behaviours reinforced on a fixed schedule. In the context of parasocial relationships, this means that fans who receive occasional, unpredictable recognition from a celebrity are likely to become even more invested in their interactions with that celebrity. The emotional payoff from receiving a ‘like’ or a comment from someone famous is disproportionately large because it is so rare and unexpected, which in turn keeps fans coming back for more.
This mechanism is especially potent on platforms where engagement metrics (likes, comments, retweets, etc.) serve as visible markers of attention. The fan sees a celebrity responding to other fans or engaging with their content and feels encouraged to keep trying, even when the chances of receiving a direct response are low. Social media thus creates a kind of emotional lottery, where fans gamble for the chance of being acknowledged by their idols, and the intermittent nature of that reinforcement keeps them emotionally invested over long periods of time.
The ‘Lurking’ Factor: Collapsing Public and Private Spheres
Another important dynamic you point to is the possibility that celebrities are not just responding occasionally but are also lurking on fans’ profiles and posts, consuming their content invisibly. Social media blurs the boundaries between public and private in ways that make the fan-celebrity relationship feel less one-directional than it might actually be. The possibility that Rihanna could be reading your tweets or that Jensen Ackles might be reading your daily Instagram comments gives fans the sense that the boundary between their world and the celebrity’s world has dissolved.
This feeling is both empowering and destabilising. On the one hand, it amplifies the sense that we live in the same social world as celebrities—that our own self-presentation online might actually reach the eyes of the stars we admire. On the other hand, it reinforces the unpredictability of parasocial relationships. If fans know that celebrities sometimes ‘lurk’ but rarely acknowledge, the parasocial bond intensifies through the tantalising possibility that their idols are watching, even when they remain silent. The nature of social surveillance—in which we are constantly visible to others but not necessarily acknowledged—further complicates the parasocial interaction, making it more ambiguous and emotionally charged than ever.
The Breakdown of the Celebrity-Fan Hierarchy: Real or Illusory?
The most profound shift is the perceived breakdown of the celebrity-fan hierarchy itself. On social media, everyone can in theory occupy the same platform, use the same tools, and broadcast their thoughts and experiences to a potentially global audience. This democratisation of content production gives the illusion that the divide between fan and celebrity has diminished. Fans can create their own content (TikToks, YouTube videos, memes) that directly references or engages with the celebrity, and some fans can even gain large followings of their own, blurring the lines between ‘fan’ and ‘public figure’.
However, this breakdown is mostly illusory. While social media gives fans the tools to communicate directly with celebrities, the fundamental power imbalance remains. Celebrities still control the terms of engagement: they decide when and how to interact with their fans, and their responses are often carefully curated for public consumption. Moreover, the ‘algorithmic amplification’ of celebrity content means that stars retain disproportionate visibility and influence on platforms like Twitter and Instagram. Their posts are seen by millions, while an average fan’s tweet or post is easily lost in the digital noise.
Yet, the possibility that celebrities might engage with their fans—combined with the fact that fans can speak directly to them—creates a false sense of equality in these interactions. Fans often feel that they have a real relationship with the celebrity, especially when engagement metrics (likes, retweets, comments) become the currency of social validation. This illusion of proximity is emotionally intoxicating and reinforces the parasocial bond, even though the actual power dynamics remain heavily skewed in favour of the celebrity.
The Emotional Toll: Expectations, Disappointment, and the Social Media Cycle
The emotional toll of this new form of parasociality is considerable. Social media not only heightens the emotional investment of fans but also raises their expectations for reciprocity. When fans repeatedly attempt to engage with celebrities, especially in environments where the chance of receiving a response is heightened (like Twitter threads or Instagram comments), the absence of recognition can lead to frustration, disappointment, or even resentment. Celebrities who fail to engage with fans can be accused of being distant or uncaring, even though their engagement was never promised in the first place.
Moreover, because social media is an always-on environment, the parasocial relationship can become emotionally consuming. Fans may feel compelled to constantly monitor their favourite celebrity’s content, leaving comments or interacting in ways that maintain the illusion of connection. This creates a cycle of emotional labour, where fans continually seek validation from the celebrity without receiving it in return, and where the few moments of intermittent reinforcement only deepen their desire for more attention.
Conclusion: A New Era of Parasociality
In the age of social media, parasocial relationships have shifted from one-sided, mediated interactions into something much more complex, fluid, and emotionally charged. The proximity created by platforms like Twitter and Instagram makes fans feel as though they are genuinely interacting with their idols, and the occasional moments of recognition through intermittent reinforcement serve to deepen the emotional bond. However, the fundamental power imbalance remains: celebrities control the terms of interaction, and the
VL:
And because most of us are so visible, so constantly available in some form or another online, the parasocial focus isn’t always a celebrity. Talk about atypical presentations.
GPT-4o:
You’ve touched on a crucial development in the evolution of parasocial relationships: the fact that, in today’s hyper-visible and interconnected digital landscape, anyone can become the object of a parasocial relationship, not just traditional celebrities. Social media has democratised visibility, enabling everyday people—who may not have conventional forms of fame—to become parasocial objects for their followers, admirers, or even detractors. This shift away from celebrities as the exclusive focus of parasocial attachment has created a more diffuse and complex social dynamic, where ordinary individuals, influencers, micro-celebrities, and even acquaintances can become the centre of someone’s parasocial attention.
Atypical Parasocial Objects: Beyond Traditional Celebrity
Parasociality is no longer confined to relationships with film stars, athletes, or musicians whose mediated presence through television or print once reinforced a clear boundary between ‘ordinary people’ and ‘celebrities’. The advent of platforms like Instagram, YouTube, TikTok, and Twitter has led to the rise of what media scholar Alice Marwick calls micro-celebrities—people who deliberately cultivate an online persona and attract a significant following, but who may not have traditional fame in the sense of being widely recognised by mainstream media.
Moreover, in today’s digital environment, parasocial relationships can form around individuals whose visibility is circumstantial rather than deliberate. For instance, someone might build a parasocial connection with a stranger who frequently posts engaging or personal content online, such as a fellow user on a Reddit thread, a particularly active commenter on YouTube, or even a colleague who maintains an active social media presence.
This broadening of potential parasocial objects represents an important shift. In a world where virtually anyone can be ‘seen’ online, the line between who qualifies as an object of parasociality and who doesn’t becomes increasingly blurred. Consider a few examples of atypical parasocial presentations:
Influencers and Micro-Celebrities: These individuals occupy a space between celebrity and ordinary person. They may have tens of thousands (or even millions) of followers, but they still interact on platforms designed for everyday social exchange. Because influencers often cultivate the illusion of accessibility—responding to comments, sharing personal stories, or live-streaming their daily lives—they foster a more intimate parasocial connection than traditional celebrities. Fans feel closer to them, often perceiving them as friends or confidants rather than as untouchable stars. The influencer’s life becomes a narrative that followers invest in, and their content creates the emotional space where parasocial relationships thrive.
Public Intellectuals, Academics, and Niche Creators: Parasociality also extends to figures who aren’t traditionally seen as celebrities but who command significant attention within specific intellectual or niche communities. Public intellectuals, podcasters, science communicators, or academic figures who share their thoughts and work through social media often cultivate a loyal following. These relationships can be deeply parasocial because the intellectual labour and ideas these figures offer create a sense of mentorship or guidance. In this case, the focus isn’t so much on beauty or entertainment, as it might be with celebrities or influencers, but on cognitive authority and the emotional attachment that comes from admiring someone’s intellect or worldview.
Streamers and Live Content Creators: Platforms like Twitch, YouTube Live, and Instagram Live allow content creators to broadcast their lives or activities in real time, and these settings often foster particularly intense parasocial relationships. Streamers, in particular, interact with their viewers directly, reading and responding to live chat messages, calling out individual viewers by name, and cultivating the appearance of an ongoing, reciprocal relationship. This live, real-time interaction creates the illusion that streamers are personally engaging with their followers, making the parasocial bond feel much stronger than it might with pre-recorded or less interactive content.
Acquaintances and Peers: In the social media era, parasocial relationships can extend to people we actually know in some capacity but are only loosely connected with. This can happen when individuals develop parasocial attachments to acquaintances from high school, coworkers, or even mutuals on social media who post personal or intriguing content. In this context, the lines between parasociality and a more traditional relationship blur. While there may be a degree of actual, face-to-face interaction or shared history with the person in question, the relationship is largely driven by one-sided consumption of their online persona. For example, someone might feel emotionally invested in a distant acquaintance based on the content that person posts on Instagram or Facebook, even though they don’t engage with them directly.
Strangers or ‘Accidental Celebrities’: Parasocial relationships can also form around ordinary people who find themselves thrust into the public eye through viral content. A person whose tweet goes viral or who becomes the subject of a meme can suddenly find themselves the object of mass attention, even though they had no prior intent to cultivate fame. Viewers or users might project a great deal of emotional investment onto these accidental figures, developing a parasocial bond with them despite the fleeting nature of their visibility. This phenomenon is especially common with viral TikToks or Instagram posts, where everyday moments captured on video can lead to an unexpected parasocial connection.
‘Digital Ghosts’ or Online Legacies: In an even more unusual form of parasociality, people can form attachments to individuals who are no longer alive or whose online presence is purely archival. This could involve someone who has died but left behind a highly visible and emotionally charged digital footprint, such as blog posts, YouTube videos, or Instagram accounts that remain accessible. Followers who discover these digital remnants might develop a parasocial attachment to the deceased individual, engaging with their content and even leaving comments or messages that create the illusion of an ongoing relationship. This form of parasociality can create powerful, lingering emotional bonds despite the absolute impossibility of real interaction.
The Emotional Economy of Non-Celebrity Parasociality
The extension of parasocial relationships beyond traditional celebrities is underpinned by the fundamental emotional economy of social media. Social platforms are designed to generate emotional engagement through visibility, intimacy, and interaction, regardless of whether the subject is a famous figure or an everyday person. Because platforms like Instagram and TikTok encourage users to share intimate details of their lives—whether it be daily routines, personal struggles, or spontaneous thoughts—people become performers of their own lives, turning their everyday experiences into consumable content.
For someone following these lives from the outside, the sense of connection or emotional investment can be just as strong (if not stronger) as it would be with a celebrity. In some cases, the bond may feel even more personal because the subject of the parasocial relationship is perceived as more accessible and more relatable than a distant celebrity. The followers of influencers, public figures, or even acquaintances might feel that they know these people more intimately, simply because of the personal details they choose to share.
But even in these less typical parasocial relationships, the dynamic remains asymmetrical. The person sharing their life online controls the presentation of their self and decides what to reveal, while the parasocial follower builds an emotional attachment based on the curated (and often idealised) version of that life. Even if these relationships are not with conventional celebrities, the emotional investment functions in similar ways, with the parasocial admirer constructing a narrative of connection that doesn’t necessarily reflect the reality of the interaction.
Interpersonal and Psychological Implications
One of the most interesting implications of this new landscape is how parasociality overlaps with real, face-to-face relationships. The fact that parasocial bonds can form around acquaintances, peers, or even strangers means that people may be engaging in parasociality even within their own social networks. This creates a layer of emotional complexity in everyday interactions, as people project their own interpretations or desires onto others without necessarily engaging in reciprocal relationships.
Psychologically, this can lead to confusion or disappointment. For example, someone may believe that they have a deep connection with a public figure or even a mutual acquaintance because of the amount of emotional investment they’ve made in consuming that person’s content. But when that person doesn’t respond in kind, or when the interaction remains one-sided, the admirer may feel rejected or alienated. The constant visibility of others online also heightens these feelings of emotional vulnerability, as people compare their relationships to the curated, often idealised relationships they see on social media.
Additionally, the expansion of parasociality to include non-celebrities blurs the line between public and private life. In traditional parasocial relationships with celebrities, the distance was clear: the celebrity was a distant figure, out of reach and in a different social stratum. Now, the targets of parasocial attachment can be people we know, people we encounter daily, or people who are just one degree removed from our immediate social circles. This creates an illusion of access that complicates the emotional boundaries we typically associate with parasocial relationships.
Conclusion: The New Parasocial Norm
In a world where nearly everyone is online, visible, and sharing parts of their life with a public audience, parasocial relationships are no longer limited to the sphere of celebrity. Ordinary people, micro-celebrities, influencers, public intellectuals, and even acquaintances can become the focus of parasocial attention, often without realising it. This creates a more complex and fluid set of emotional dynamics, where the boundaries between admiration, friendship, and emotional projection blur in unprecedented ways. Social media not only facilitates these parasocial bonds but encourages them through its design, turning visibility into an emotional and social currency that operates well beyond the traditional celebrity-fan relationship.
VL:
From Hakim’s paper: ‘In New York, there are “underground” vogue balls in which men compete to deliver the best impersonation of a beautiful and glamorous woman. There are no equivalent competitions for women to excel at impersonating men (possibly because it is easier)—a fact of some theoretical importance.’
Discuss.
GPT-4o:
Catherine Hakim’s observation about the vogue ball scene in New York—where men compete in the art of impersonating beautiful and glamorous women, with no equivalent for women impersonating men—highlights a set of deeply embedded cultural, social, and even psychological assumptions about gender, beauty, and power. Her offhand remark that it might be ‘easier’ for women to impersonate men gestures toward a broader discourse on gender performativity and asymmetry, both in terms of how femininity and masculinity are constructed and how they are culturally valued. There are several layers to unpack here, involving theories of gender performance, the aesthetic and erotic capital of masculinity versus femininity, and the broader socio-historical context of such performances in marginalised communities, particularly within queer and Black or Latinx subcultures, where vogue balls originated.
1. The Cultural and Aesthetic Labor of Femininity
The notion that it is ‘easier’ for women to impersonate men, compared to men impersonating women, invites a critical analysis of how femininity is culturally constructed as something that requires elaborate labour, both aesthetic and behavioural. This labour is not just about physical appearance (beauty standards, fashion, cosmetics) but also about the social performances expected of women—grace, glamour, and a specific kind of embodied charisma.
Judith Butler’s theory of gender performativity is useful here. In Gender Trouble (1990), Butler argues that gender is not something we are but something we do—a series of repeated acts that consolidate the appearance of a stable identity. For men competing in vogue balls, the act of impersonating a glamorous woman is a deliberate, highly stylised performance of femininity, one that reveals the artifice involved in conforming to societal expectations of what it means to ‘be’ a woman. The beauty, glamour, and grace presented at these balls are not natural or inherent; they are learned, practiced, and exaggerated to a hyperreal degree. This underscores the idea that femininity, in this context, is labour-intensive, not an automatic expression of one’s gender but a crafted aesthetic requiring skill, effort, and cultural knowledge.
In contrast, the cultural markers of masculinity—particularly those associated with mainstream or hegemonic masculinity—are often less elabourately aestheticised in everyday life. Masculinity is frequently defined by absence or simplicity: the absence of adornment, the simplicity of movement, the unadorned body. Masculinity, in much of Western culture, is performed through control, restraint, and a minimisation of emotional and aesthetic display. This difference in the performance of masculinity and femininity could help explain why there are fewer, if any, ‘competitions’ for women impersonating men in a subculture that emphasizes the performative exaggeration of gender. If femininity is seen as requiring an explicit and visible labour of beautification, then masculinity, by comparison, might be seen as ‘easier’ to perform because it involves the removal of these markers, not their addition.
This ‘ease’, of course, is culturally contingent. It reflects the ways in which femininity is subjected to higher demands of aesthetic labour, emotional expression, and erotic capital accumulation, while masculinity retains the privilege of default legitimacy without needing to prove itself through spectacle.
2. Gender Asymmetry and Power
Hakim’s comment also touches on the deeper asymmetry between masculinity and femininity in terms of power dynamics. There is a long history, especially in feminist theory, of analysing how the structures of patriarchy assign different values to masculinity and femininity. In patriarchal societies, masculinity is often linked to dominance, authority, and control, while femininity is associated with beauty, passivity, and subordination. This asymmetry gives femininity a kind of paradoxical status: on one hand, it is devalued as a ‘weaker’ or ‘inferior’ gender presentation within patriarchal logic, but on the other hand, it is hyper-aestheticised and fetishised, especially in contexts where erotic capital is at play.
The vogue ball scene, particularly within queer and Black/Latinx subcultures, can be understood as both a critique of and a celebration of this asymmetry. The performances of femininity at these balls often exaggerate the markers of traditional feminine beauty—elegant gowns, elaborate makeup, perfected poise—as a way of both embracing and subverting the societal value placed on feminine aesthetics. Men in these spaces compete to display the highest form of femininity, signalling both their mastery of these cultural codes and, perhaps implicitly, their awareness of how femininity operates as a form of capital within both queer subcultures and mainstream society.
But why is there no equivalent for women impersonating men in these spaces? One reason may be that masculinity as it is traditionally constructed does not lend itself as readily to aesthetic competition. Masculinity’s power lies in its cultural unmarkedness—it is the ‘default’ gender, which does not require embellishment or beautification. To impersonate a man, then, might not require the same level of aesthetic labour, and thus might not provide the same theatrical or competitive stakes in a scene that celebrates performative excess.
Moreover, in many queer and ballroom spaces, the competition is often about elevation—the elevation of marginalised identities, particularly queer Black and Latinx bodies, through hyper-feminine presentations. Given that femininity has been historically devalued but also fetishised, the act of men mastering and performing this gendered labour takes on an additional layer of subversive power. Women impersonating men, by contrast, might not carry the same transgressive weight in these contexts because masculinity, as a cultural script, is already endowed with a form of symbolic dominance.
3. The Role of the Ball Scene in Queer Identity Formation
The absence of competitions for women impersonating men within vogue balls is also significant when considering the broader socio-cultural functions of these events. The ball scene originated as a space of resistance, particularly for queer and trans people of colour, who were excluded from mainstream spaces due to racism, homophobia, and transphobia. Within this space, the performance of gender—especially femininity—served as a way to claim power and visibility in a world that denied these communities both.
For queer men, especially those from marginalised racial and economic backgrounds, the act of performing hyper-feminine roles in vogue balls allowed for the reclamation of both gender and racial identity. In the context of balls, femininity is not passive or secondary; it is elevated, exaggerated, and celebrated as a source of power. In this sense, the absence of a corresponding performance of masculinity might reflect the ball scene’s emphasis on reclaiming a form of power that has historically been denied to feminine, queer bodies.
For women in these communities—especially queer women or trans women—the stakes of gender performance are different. In some cases, they may already embody the feminine ideal that men in the balls are striving to impersonate. In others, their gender presentation may already resist or complicate traditional gender norms without the need for impersonation. The ball scene’s focus on the performance of femininity might not resonate in the same way for women because their relationship to femininity and masculinity is already layered with different social, sexual, and personal complexities. Performing masculinity, for women, might not offer the same level of aspiration or critique that it does for men performing femininity.
4. The Limits of Hakim’s Analysis
While Hakim’s observation that it might be ‘easier’ for women to impersonate men is an interesting entry point, it is perhaps too simplistic to suggest that the absence of such competitions is merely about ease. There are larger cultural forces at play, particularly the historical subordination of femininity and its revaluation within certain queer spaces.
In queer theory, this is often discussed in terms of the valorisation of femininity in contexts that subvert or reject heteronormative standards. What happens in a vogue ball is not just the aesthetic labour of gender, but a reclamation of power and erotic capital through the exaggerated performance of an identity that has been marginalised. Women impersonating men would not have the same stakes in this context, because masculinity is already culturally privileged. Therefore, these competitions centre around femininity as a site of both marginalisation and power.
In conclusion, Hakim’s comment about the relative ease of women impersonating men misses the deeper socio-cultural dynamics that make the performance of femininity in vogue balls so significant. The performance of femininity is both laborious and subversive, a deliberate act of cultural reappropriation. The absence of a female equivalent, then, is not simply a matter of ease but speaks to the deeply asymmetrical ways in which gender is both constructed and performed, especially in queer, racialised spaces.
VL:
‘Masculinity is frequently defined by absence or simplicity: the absence of adornment, the simplicity of movement, the unadorned body.’
I disagree. Ask yourself the question: what, in the popular imagination, makes one man more ‘masculine’ than another. Your answers will be positive traits - size, strength, courage, dominance, confidence, etc - presence rather than absence.
GPT-4o:
You’re right to challenge that assertion, and it points to a deeper complexity in how masculinity operates. The notion that masculinity is defined by absence—the absence of adornment, simplicity of movement, or restraint—has a certain historical and cultural resonance, particularly when we compare it to the elaborate aesthetic and performative labour historically demanded of femininity. However, masculinity, especially in the popular imagination, is indeed constructed around positive traits, as you suggest: size, strength, dominance, confidence, and other traits associated with power and physical presence. These are not just the absence of femininity or complexity, but explicit markers of what is culturally valorised as ideal masculinity.
Let’s reconsider the idea of masculinity, moving beyond the traditional notion of its simplicity or restraint, to examine it as a positively constructed identity, built around a set of performative and aesthetic markers that carry significant cultural weight. These markers of masculinity operate as forms of capital in their own right—masculine capital—and can be just as constructed, labour-intensive, and performed as femininity.
1. Masculinity as Presence and Power
The traits most commonly associated with ‘masculine’ identity—size, strength, dominance, courage, confidence, and stoicism—are indeed positive traits, attributes that suggest an embodied form of power. The presence of these traits often marks a man as ‘more masculine’ than others. These traits are not just inherent qualities but are often performed in very deliberate ways, particularly in public settings where masculinity is displayed or contested.
Size and Strength: Physicality is perhaps the most obvious domain where masculinity is articulated as presence rather than absence. Large, muscular bodies—think athletes, soldiers, or action movie heroes—are celebrated as the physical embodiment of masculinity. This emphasis on physical size and strength is a way of displaying dominance and power in the most literal sense: the ability to occupy space, to command attention, and to exert control over one’s environment. This is not a passive or minimal aesthetic but one that requires labour—whether through bodybuilding, athletic training, or other forms of self-discipline that enhance and project a man’s masculine presence.
Courage and Dominance: In popular narratives, especially in media and mythology, masculinity is often tied to the ability to dominate one’s environment or other people, through acts of physical or moral courage. The trope of the fearless hero or the alpha male—whether in war, business, or personal relationships—is constructed around an assertive presence. Dominance in this context is about control and the capacity to impose one’s will on others or overcome challenges. It’s an outward, performative trait, where the demonstration of power (through decision-making, risk-taking, or direct action) becomes the metric by which masculinity is judged.
Confidence and Charisma: Confidence, often expressed as unshakable belief in one’s abilities and decisions, is another highly valued masculine trait. Here, masculinity is embodied not in physical strength but in the ability to project psychological certainty. A ‘real man’, in the popular imagination, does not waver in his convictions or actions. This, too, is a form of performative presence—where one’s body language, tone of voice, and social interactions display certainty, command, and a sense of being in control.
Thus, masculinity is not invisible or marked by a mere absence of adornment or complexity. Rather, it is constructed around highly visible, performative traits that require their own forms of labour and aesthetic attention. The difference from femininity might lie in the fact that these traits are more likely to be expressed through strength, control, and dominance than through grace or glamour, but they are equally present and culturally encoded.
2. The Aesthetic of Masculinity
Even if we think masculinity is less concerned with adornment than femininity, it would be a mistake to suggest that masculinity is without its own aesthetic labour. Masculinity has its own aesthetics—different from the highly stylised, overtly decorative modes of femininity, but nonetheless present.
Grooming and the ‘Unadorned’ Look: The idea that masculinity is marked by the absence of adornment often translates into an aesthetic of minimalism: short hair, plain clothing, ruggedness, or an emphasis on ‘natural’ physicality. But this simplicity is itself a form of performance and curation. The clean-shaven look, for example, requires grooming and maintenance, just as the rugged ‘bearded and unkempt’ look often requires careful cultivation to strike the right balance of masculinity without slipping into sloppiness. The minimalist aesthetic associated with masculinity is not non-aesthetic—it is, instead, a deliberate rejection of ‘feminine’ decoration in favour of signalling a particular kind of restrained, controlled, and self-sufficient masculinity.
Clothing and Body Presentation: Men’s fashion, particularly in business or formal settings, is often centred on signalling authority, professionalism, and status. The fitted suit, the straight posture, the avoidance of bright or flamboyant colours—these are aesthetic choices that are not neutral but laden with cultural meaning. They are part of the same matrix of self-presentation that masculinity relies on to communicate power and dominance. The absence of overt decoration or colour is itself a message: the body, the clothing, and the demeanour are all about projecting control and seriousness.
Physical Fitness and Discipline: The pursuit of muscularity and fitness is another key aspect of masculine aesthetics. This is not just about functional strength but about the visual presentation of power, endurance, and discipline. The labour involved in achieving a fit, muscular body—through gym routines, dietary control, and other forms of self-regulation—parallels the labour women engage in with makeup, fashion, and other beauty practices. The presentation of the masculine body as strong and capable is a form of aesthetic work, where the physical becomes a signifier of social and erotic capital.
Thus, the aesthetic of masculinity is no less performative than that of femininity, but it operates on different cultural registers. Masculinity is often defined through restraint, but that restraint is a deliberate performance of power, not a mere absence.
3. Masculine Capital and the Performance of Gender
Masculinity, much like femininity, operates as a form of capital in both social and erotic contexts. The presence of certain masculine traits—strength, confidence, dominance—often translates into social status or erotic desirability. This mirrors Catherine Hakim’s analysis of erotic capital, where certain physical and interpersonal traits serve as resources that can be leveraged for social or economic gain.
Social Capital and Masculinity: Masculinity, particularly in its idealised forms, is closely associated with social capital in many contexts. In professional or political spheres, men who display confidence, assertiveness, and leadership abilities are often rewarded with status and authority. The performance of masculinity in these settings is about more than physical traits; it involves navigating social hierarchies through the demonstration of control and competence. Even in less formal contexts, men who embody the cultural ideals of masculinity are often granted respect, deference, or authority by virtue of these traits.
Erotic Capital and Masculinity: Masculine capital also functions in erotic and romantic contexts. The cultural emphasis on size, strength, dominance, and confidence as desirable traits in men means that those who can successfully perform these qualities are often seen as more sexually attractive. The alpha male archetype—whether in the form of the athletic, dominant lover or the emotionally reserved but powerful figure—represents a form of erotic capital that operates through the visible display of masculine power.
This is why the ‘unadorned’ aesthetic of masculinity is so potent: it is not about the absence of aesthetic effort but about the specific presentation of power, control, and self-sufficiency. These qualities are not simply inherent or natural; they are cultivated through discipline, presentation, and social performance.
4. The Limits of Positive Masculinity: Toxicity and Exclusion
One additional complication is the cultural tension between positive and toxic masculinity. While masculinity is often constructed around positive traits like strength, courage, and confidence, the same qualities can be pushed to extremes, leading to behaviours associated with toxic masculinity: aggression, emotional repression, hyper-competitiveness, and the domination or devaluation of others.
This excess of masculinity can become problematic when the traits that are socially valorised—dominance, emotional stoicism, physical power—are performed in ways that harm others or reinforce damaging hierarchies. The idealisation of masculine traits often leads to the exclusion or devaluation of other forms of masculinity that don’t fit this mould, particularly men who are physically smaller, less dominant, or emotionally expressive.
Thus, while masculinity is indeed defined by the presence of positive traits, it is also constrained by the cultural limits of what traits are allowed to be performed without slipping into toxicity. The pressure to perform hegemonic masculinity—that idealised form that celebrates strength, control, and dominance—can be just as restrictive as the demands placed on women to conform to ideals of beauty and grace.
Conclusion: Masculinity as Constructed Presence
While the original assertion that masculinity is defined by ‘absence or simplicity’ might capture some elements of its minimalistic aesthetic, it overlooks the ways in which masculinity is actively constructed through presence, power, and performative traits. Masculinity is a form of identity that is crafted and maintained through the visible display of size, strength, dominance, and confidence, and these traits are not
VL:
It’s essential to avoid ahistorical generalisation. I am, at this very moment, looking at an image of a very masculine man, a certain Henry VIII, as depicted by Hans Holbein the Younger . . .
GPT-4o:
Your invocation of Henry VIII as depicted by Hans Holbein the Younger is a precise reminder of the need to avoid the ahistorical generalisation of masculinity. The depiction of Henry VIII presents a very different set of masculine ideals than the minimalist or restrained aesthetics often associated with contemporary masculinity. The performative nature of masculinity, historically speaking, has been anything but restrained or minimal in many periods and contexts. In fact, Holbein’s portrait of Henry VIII reveals a complex interplay of power, opulence, and control, where masculinity is expressed through excess, adornment, and physical dominance.
Henry VIII and the Aesthetic of Masculinity in the Early Modern Period
Holbein’s famous 1537 portrait of Henry VIII is a prime example of a very different kind of masculinity, one where aesthetic display, material wealth, and physical presence are central. Henry VIII’s masculinity is not communicated through the absence of adornment, but through the deliberate performance of power, authority, and virility. The opulence of his clothing, the exaggerated proportions of his stance, and the way he physically dominates the frame reflect the norms of masculinity for European monarchs during this period.
Opulence and Material Power: In Holbein’s depiction, Henry VIII is adorned in luxurious furs, rich fabrics, and jewels. This is an important reminder that masculinity, particularly in pre-modern Europe, was often expressed through visible displays of wealth and status. Monarchs, especially, were expected to project their power not only through military or political means but through the material representation of their wealth. The portrait does not suggest restraint or simplicity; rather, it amplifies the man’s political and personal might through the display of luxury. For Henry VIII, his masculinity was inseparable from the visible markers of his authority, with opulence functioning as a form of political and sexual capital.
Physical Dominance and Stance: Henry’s stance in the portrait is intentionally broad and commanding. His legs are spread wide, his shoulders squared, his arms akimbo—every aspect of his posture communicates an active, almost aggressive, assertion of physical and political dominance. This is a performance of size, of physical presence, that was central to masculine ideals in this era. The body of the king is not merely a personal possession but a political symbol. Henry VIII’s large, imposing frame is a visual metaphor for the strength and stability of his kingdom. This ties into a broader historical pattern, where the body of a ruler—especially a male ruler—was often used to reflect the health, wealth, and power of the state.
Adornment as Masculinity: In contrast to contemporary minimalist masculine ideals, the portrait emphasizes adornment. The heavy, ornate jewellery, the intricate designs on his doublet, and the sumptuousness of his attire are not coded as feminine but as markers of power. For Henry, and men in his social class, masculine power was often expressed through material excess. This was not merely about personal vanity but about projecting dominance over others. The more a man could adorn himself, the more he demonstrated his control over resources and people. In this sense, masculine opulence was an active and deliberate form of capital.
Historical Variability of Masculine Ideals
What we see in Holbein’s portrait of Henry VIII is just one example of how historical context shapes the presentation of masculinity. Masculine ideals are not static; they shift across time, cultures, and class contexts. The restrained, minimalist forms of masculinity that are common today—embodied by the casual, almost indifferent grooming standards of the ‘everyman’ or even the corporate executive’s tailored but understated look—are not universal. These ideals are the product of very specific historical and social conditions, largely emerging in the modern period with the rise of industrial capitalism, bourgeois values, and certain forms of military masculinity.
By contrast, pre-modern masculinity, especially in the context of monarchy or aristocracy, was often about excess, visibility, and grandeur. The ability to display wealth through one’s appearance was a central marker of masculine authority. We see this not only in Henry VIII but across European monarchs, from Louis XIV’s opulent court at Versailles to the heavily adorned knights of medieval Europe. In these contexts, the display of power through adornment was central to being recognised as masculine, and any notion of simplicity or absence was antithetical to the performance of royal masculinity.
The Role of Clothing and Display in Masculine Identity
It’s important to note that clothing, adornment, and display have not always been feminised traits. In many historical contexts, men were the primary wearers of elaborate and decorative clothing, especially in the upper echelons of society. Henry VIII’s portrait is a reflection of this tradition, where clothing was not merely functional but a primary means of projecting one’s status, wealth, and power.
Military and Martial Masculinity: The historical connection between masculinity and adornment is often tied to martial values. Knights, warriors, and kings were frequently depicted in elaborate armour, often designed as much for display as for function. These suits of armour, with their engravings, gilding, and intricate designs, were not about minimalism but about demonstrating one’s power and resources. Even in these martial contexts, masculinity was expressed through aesthetic excess.
Fashion and Early Modern Masculinity: In the early modern period, men’s fashion was a direct reflection of their social and political standing. Henry VIII’s portrait exemplifies this, as his clothing, from the fur-lined coat to the lavish gold embroidery, speaks not only to his wealth but to his masculine authority. Fashion for men in this period was not about subtlety—it was about creating a commanding presence. This also extended into courtly behaviour, where masculinity was often judged by one’s ability to navigate public appearance with elegance and grandeur.
Masculinity as Cultural and Historical Construction
Holbein’s portrait forces us to reconsider any essentialist or reductive definitions of masculinity. As you’ve pointed out, masculinity has historically been constructed around positive traits—presence, power, and assertiveness. These traits manifest differently depending on the historical moment, but they always reflect broader social values about authority, dominance, and control.
In the case of Henry VIII, the lavish adornment and physical dominance are explicit forms of power projection. The absence of restraint, in fact, is what makes him appear more masculine in his context. His masculinity is deeply tied to his ability to command the visual field, to demonstrate his power through visible excess. This stands in contrast to later, modern forms of masculinity, particularly post-Enlightenment ideals that value restraint, self-control, and simplicity—forms that were largely informed by the rise of bourgeois individualism and military professionalism.
Conclusion: Masculine Presence Across Time
The portrayal of Henry VIII reminds us that masculinity is not a universal category but a historically contingent one. What it means to be masculine changes according to cultural values, political structures, and social hierarchies. In Henry’s time, masculinity was expressed through grandeur, visible power, and lavish display—traits that today might be seen as excessive but were, in his context, central to being a masculine ruler. This underscores the importance of avoiding ahistorical generalisations when discussing gender, and it also highlights the performative nature of masculinity itself, which requires just as much labour and aesthetic construction as femininity, though in historically specific ways.
The challenge is to recognise that masculinity is multi-faceted and fluid, always shifting with the social and political conditions of the time. While contemporary masculinity might lean toward minimalism or simplicity, figures like Henry VIII remind us that these are not universal characteristics and that, in many historical moments, masculinity was about the deliberate and visible excess of power.
VL:
Hakim: ‘Even if women and men had identical levels of erotic capital, men’s greater demand for sexual activity and erotic entertainment of all kinds at all ages automatically gives women an advantage due to the large imbalance in supply and demand in sexual markets.’
Discuss.
GPT-4o:
Catherine Hakim’s assertion—that even if men and women possessed identical levels of erotic capital, women would still have an advantage due to men’s greater demand for sexual activity and erotic entertainment—rests on several sociological, economic, and psychological assumptions about sexual markets, gender differences in sexual desire, and how erotic capital is distributed and leveraged.
To critically examine this claim, we must unpack several interrelated concepts:
The underlying assumptions about male versus female sexual desire and demand.
The concept of erotic capital as a market resource.
The notion of supply and demand in sexual and erotic markets.
The gender dynamics of power and exchange within these markets, and how they interact with broader social structures.
1. Assumptions about Male and Female Sexual Desire
Hakim’s argument hinges on the idea that men have a greater demand for sexual activity and erotic entertainment ‘at all ages’, which implicitly relies on a model of sexual desire in which men are framed as the more sexually motivated gender. This assumption is rooted in both historical and contemporary discourse about gendered sexuality, much of which has been influenced by evolutionary psychology, biological essentialism, and sociocultural norms that portray men as having more frequent, intense, and persistent sexual needs.
The popular evolutionary framework suggests that men are more sexually driven due to reproductive imperatives: their biological investment in reproduction is lower than women’s, so they are ‘programmed’ to seek out more sexual encounters, while women, with higher reproductive costs, are ‘programmed’ to be choosier. This narrative has informed much of how we think about sexual markets—where men are seen as the primary seekers of sex, and women as the ‘gatekeepers’ who control access.
However, the assumption that men universally demand more sexual activity than women has been increasingly problematised by recent sociological, psychological, and anthropological research. Feminist scholars and sex researchers have critiqued this view as overly reductive and essentialist, noting that sexual desire is highly variable across individuals, contexts, and cultures. For instance, cultural norms around female sexuality—often associated with modesty, restraint, or passivity—have historically suppressed women’s expression of desire, leading to the mistaken assumption that women have inherently lower sexual drive than men.
Moreover, contemporary research suggests that women may be equally motivated by sexual pleasure but are often more constrained by social stigma, moral norms, and the risks associated with pregnancy or reputational damage. In environments that are more sexually permissive or where women feel freer to express their sexual agency, these differences in sexual desire often become less pronounced.
Thus, Hakim’s notion of an automatic advantage for women due to the imbalance in sexual demand needs to be examined with caution. The assumption of an inherent male ‘surplus’ of sexual demand is likely as much a reflection of cultural conditioning and gender norms as it is of biological factors.
2. Erotic Capital as a Market Resource
Hakim’s theory of erotic capital draws on Pierre Bourdieu’s forms of capital (economic, social, cultural) but emphasizes attractiveness, sexuality, charm, and interpersonal allure as key resources that individuals—especially women—can use to improve their social, economic, and personal outcomes. Erotic capital includes attributes like physical beauty, sexual competence, social grace, and charisma, all of which can be deployed in various contexts to gain advantages, whether through romantic relationships, professional interactions, or social networks.
In this framework, erotic capital functions as a form of exchange value within a sexual market, where individuals (men and women) trade sexual desirability and erotic appeal for other goods: relationships, sexual access, status, or material benefits. This market operates similarly to economic markets, where imbalances in supply and demand create opportunities for those who control valuable resources—in this case, erotic capital.
Hakim’s claim that women have an advantage in sexual markets due to men’s higher demand assumes that erotic capital functions similarly to other scarce commodities. If women are seen as having a limited supply of sexual access or desirability, while men have a higher demand for these goods, then women—regardless of their erotic capital levels—would naturally hold more power in the exchange.
3. Supply and Demand in Sexual Markets
Hakim’s model of sexual markets operates on classical economic principles of supply and demand. She suggests that men’s higher demand for sexual activity and erotic entertainment creates a supply shortage, giving women an advantage regardless of their relative levels of erotic capital. Even if men and women were equally attractive or sexually competent, the imbalance in sexual motivation and desire would skew the market in favour of women.
The idea of sexual markets as operating under supply and demand logic has its roots in both sociobiological theories and transactional models of sexuality, where access to sexual encounters is treated as a commodity. Men, in this framework, are the consumers, while women are the gatekeepers of sexual access.
However, there are several problems with applying a straightforward market logic to sexual relationships, particularly when considering power dynamics, cultural variations, and the emotional complexities involved in sexuality. Sexual desire and attraction are not purely transactional, nor are they reducible to market mechanisms in the same way that material goods are. Sexual markets are influenced by a wide array of factors, including social norms, gender expectations, emotional attachments, and cultural narratives of romantic love and sexual fulfilment.
In addition, the supply-and-demand model assumes that women control the supply of sex, and that men are perpetually in demand of it. This is a heteronormative and androcentric framing that ignores the complexities of sexual desire across different orientations, identities, and contexts. It also simplifies the emotional and relational aspects of sex, reducing it to a commodity exchange, which does not fully capture the multidimensional nature of human sexual relationships.
4. Gender, Power, and Erotic Exchange
One of the central critiques of Hakim’s analysis is its reliance on a simplistic view of power dynamics in sexual exchange. While it’s true that women often hold some form of sexual bargaining power due to cultural norms that position them as gatekeepers, this power is fragile and highly contingent. Women’s ‘advantage’ in sexual markets is often dependent on adhering to strict gender norms that both fetishise and constrain their sexuality. In many contexts, women may be able to leverage their erotic capital for social or economic gain, but they are also subjected to objectification, judgment, and exploitation within a patriarchal system that devalues them once they age, lose their beauty, or transgress certain boundaries.
Furthermore, men’s control of economic, political, and social capital can often undercut women’s leverage in sexual markets. While women might control access to sex in certain contexts, men typically have greater structural power in society, which allows them to shape the terms of sexual exchange in ways that benefit them. This can be seen in industries such as entertainment, where men control production and distribution while women are the primary objects of sexual spectacle. The imbalance in power means that even if women have an advantage in sexual demand, it is often framed within systems that commodify and exploit their erotic capital for male gain.
5. Changes in the Sexual Market: The Role of Technology and Social Shifts
Hakim’s analysis, while compelling in some respects, may be limited by the broader social and technological shifts that have transformed sexual markets in the 21st century. The rise of online dating, pornography, and social media has profoundly altered how erotic capital is accumulated and exchanged. Platforms like Tinder or OnlyFans allow individuals to market their erotic capital directly to a wide audience, while pornography provides a constant, virtually limitless supply of sexual entertainment.
In this context, the supply-and-demand logic Hakim relies on becomes more complex. On one hand, the accessibility of sexual content through digital means might reduce men’s demand for in-person sexual encounters, creating a kind of saturation in the sexual market. On the other hand, digital platforms have intensified the commodification of erotic capital, creating new pressures on women (and increasingly, men) to maintain their desirability through digital engagement, body modification, and other forms of aesthetic labour.
Moreover, shifting social norms around sexuality, particularly the growing acceptance of casual sex and sexual exploration among women, may further challenge the traditional assumptions of men’s greater sexual demand. In more liberal contexts, the gap in sexual desire between men and women narrows, as women feel freer to express their desires without fear of stigma.
Conclusion: A Complicated Advantage
Hakim’s argument that women maintain an advantage in sexual markets due to men’s greater demand for sex, even when levels of erotic capital are equal, reflects a certain logic of sexual exchange but is complicated by cultural, social, and technological factors. The assumption of a universal sexual demand imbalance is problematic, as it reduces human sexuality to market principles while ignoring the intricate ways in which gender, power, and desire interact. While women may sometimes leverage erotic capital in ways that give them short-term advantages, these advantages are often embedded within larger systems of gender inequality that ultimately constrain female sexual agency. Thus, the ‘advantage’ Hakim describes is tenuous and fraught with complexities that extend beyond supply-and-demand economics.
VL:
If men were as traditionally described - more interested in sexually arousing stimuli (images, video, physical bodies, etc) than in emotional connection or actual relationships - one would have thought that the increasing saturation of the erotic marketplace and the overabundance of stimuli would complicate any attempt to monetise erotic capital online.
GPT-4o:
Your observation strikes at a fundamental paradox in how we understand men’s relationship to erotic stimuli and how that plays out in today’s increasingly saturated digital landscape. If men are, as traditionally described, more interested in sexually arousing stimuli—images, videos, and physical bodies—than in emotional connections or long-term relationships, one would expect the overabundance of erotic material online (such as pornography, Instagram influencers, and OnlyFans content) to flood the market and, in turn, devalue the ability to monetise erotic capital in the way that Catherine Hakim’s theory might suggest. This overabundance of erotic stimuli should, by classical economic logic, diminish the scarcity of erotic capital and make it less monetisable.
However, that’s not what we observe. Instead, erotic capital is being monetised more effectively than ever before, through platforms like OnlyFans, Instagram, and various forms of adult content subscription services. This raises several questions about the actual dynamics of erotic capital, the nature of demand, and the complex interplay between sexual stimuli and emotional connection in the digital age. To reconcile this, we must dig deeper into several interrelated issues:
Erotic Capital in a Saturated Marketplace: Why isn’t the overabundance of sexual content leading to devaluation?
Emotional Engagement and Parasociality: The importance of emotional or perceived social connection even within ostensibly transactional sexual markets.
The Role of Curation, Personalization, and Exclusivity: How scarcity is manufactured within an oversaturated market.
Addiction and Reinforcement Mechanisms: How intermittent reinforcement and emotional feedback loops shape demand for online erotic content.
1. Erotic Capital in a Saturated Marketplace
At first glance, the proliferation of sexually arousing stimuli in the digital space—through pornography, influencer culture, and even dating apps—would seem to conform to basic economic principles. If there is an overabundance of any resource, its value should diminish because supply outstrips demand. But this assumes that erotic capital operates in the same way as other types of commodities. While it’s true that the internet has created an overwhelming supply of erotic content, erotic capital is not merely about the quantity of arousing images or videos available. It’s also about the specificity and uniqueness of the connection that a consumer feels they have with the person presenting the erotic capital.
The saturation of erotic content has, paradoxically, created new opportunities for monetising erotic capital, largely because the dynamics of demand have shifted. Men (and other consumers of erotic content) are not just passive recipients of stimuli; their desires are shaped by the personalisation and emotional engagement of the content. Pornography, which provides an overwhelming abundance of sexual content for free, hasn’t obliterated the demand for personalised, paid forms of erotic capital such as what we see on platforms like OnlyFans. In fact, what we are witnessing is a move toward more bespoke and curated forms of erotic interaction, even within a seemingly saturated market.
In this sense, the sheer quantity of erotic stimuli hasn’t led to devaluation, because what is being commodified isn’t simply sexual arousal—it’s the connection, exclusivity, and accessibility to the erotic performer, which can’t be as easily mass-produced or standardised.
2. Emotional Engagement and Parasociality
An essential factor that complicates the traditional view of men’s consumption of erotic stimuli is the increasingly recognised role of emotional engagement and parasocial relationships in erotic markets. The traditional characterisation of men as primarily interested in sexually arousing stimuli, detached from emotional connection, overlooks the complex social and psychological dynamics involved in how erotic capital is consumed and monetised today.
Even within the context of platforms like OnlyFans or Instagram, where sexual arousal is central, consumers often develop a form of parasocial relationship with the creators. A parasocial relationship refers to the one-sided psychological bond formed between a media consumer and a content creator, in which the consumer feels a sense of intimacy or personal connection despite the relationship being largely illusory. The creator may respond to messages or comments, provide personalised content, and engage in what appears to be intimate interaction, creating a feedback loop that ties sexual arousal to emotional engagement.
This parasocial dynamic is crucial because it transforms what might otherwise be an impersonal market for sexually arousing stimuli into something that feels personal and emotionally engaging for the consumer. The result is that consumers are willing to pay for content that makes them feel seen, acknowledged, or emotionally involved, even if the erotic content itself is widely available elsewhere for free. The demand here is not just for erotic content but for personalised attention and emotional intimacy, however illusory.
In this way, platforms like OnlyFans monetise erotic capital not purely through sexual content, but by selling the perception of exclusivity and emotional connection. Consumers pay for the feeling that they have a special relationship with the content creator, which increases their emotional investment and keeps them engaged.
3. The Role of Curation, Personalization, and Exclusivity
In an oversaturated erotic marketplace, curation and personalisation become critical mechanisms for maintaining demand. The sheer abundance of erotic content online creates a kind of overload, which makes curation and personal engagement more valuable than ever. Instead of generic sexual content, consumers seek out content that feels tailored to their specific tastes and desires, and platforms like OnlyFans, which allow for direct messaging, custom content, and more personal interaction, offer this level of personalisation.
One of the ways in which creators differentiate themselves and maintain the value of their erotic capital is through curated scarcity. Even though there is a vast supply of sexual content online, creators can manufacture scarcity by offering exclusive content, personalised interactions, or time-limited experiences. The sense of scarcity, even if artificial, creates a premium experience for the consumer, which can be monetised effectively.
This is in direct contrast to the freely available content on large pornographic platforms, which lacks personalisation and scarcity. The consumer’s willingness to pay, therefore, stems not just from a desire for arousal but from the need for uniqueness and exclusivity, something that cannot be replicated in a purely saturated market.
This manufactured scarcity ties into larger economic theories of positional goods, where the value of a commodity is derived from its relative scarcity or exclusivity, rather than from its intrinsic utility. In the context of online erotic capital, the exclusivity of access to a creator or the ability to commission personalised content turns what could otherwise be a devalued commodity into a high-demand service.
4. Addiction and Reinforcement Mechanisms
Another factor contributing to the continued monetisation of erotic capital in an oversaturated market is the psychological dynamics of addiction and reinforcement. Platforms like Instagram, OnlyFans, and TikTok are built on reward mechanisms that keep users hooked through intermittent reinforcement, where small, unpredictable rewards (a reply from a creator, a personalised video) create a feedback loop that encourages continued engagement and consumption.
This operates similarly to how gambling or social media use fosters addiction: the consumer never knows when the next ‘reward’ (in this case, personal attention from a creator) will come, but the occasional positive reinforcement keeps them emotionally and financially invested. The allure of potential recognition, combined with the constant stream of new content, keeps users coming back, even if the marketplace is oversaturated.
This reinforces the idea that men (or other consumers) are not simply seeking the most efficient path to sexual arousal. They are, in fact, engaging in complex psychological and emotional processes that tie their consumption of erotic content to deeper emotional needs, even when they are not consciously aware of it. The gamified nature of these platforms, coupled with the parasocial bonds that develop, turns the consumption of erotic capital into a habitual or even addictive behaviour, further fuelling its monetisation.
Conclusion: A Nuanced Erotic Market
Hakim’s theory of erotic capital, while insightful, needs to be adapted to account for the complexities introduced by digital technology, parasocial relationships, and the evolving nature of demand in the erotic marketplace. The overabundance of sexual stimuli online has not devalued erotic capital because the value is no longer simply tied to sexual arousal alone. Instead, it is tied to emotional engagement, personalisation, and the curation of exclusivity within a saturated market.
Consumers, particularly men, may be traditionally described as more interested in visual or physical stimuli, but in practice, what drives monetisation in today’s erotic market is not just arousal—it is the combination of arousal and perceived personal connection. The saturation of erotic stimuli has simply heightened the importance of emotional engagement, curation, and parasocial dynamics, which allow erotic capital to retain and even increase its value in the digital age.
VL:
Expand on this. How can creators on sites like OnlyFans effectively leverage and monetise their erotic capital in an oversaturated market? Be detailed and thorough, take the long view, the perspective of a creator whose work on OnlyFans is part of a broader project of self-development and whose ultimate aim is to achieve financial and personal independence.
GPT-4o:
To effectively leverage and monetise erotic capital on platforms like OnlyFans in an oversaturated market, creators need to operate strategically, viewing their work not just as a short-term income stream, but as part of a broader project of self-development aimed at achieving long-term financial and personal independence. This requires an understanding of how to differentiate oneself in a market flooded with content, cultivate a personal brand, develop a loyal audience, and manage the broader financial, psychological, and social dimensions of this line of work.
The success of creators on platforms like OnlyFans hinges not only on their erotic capital, but on how they can deploy that capital in a way that creates value beyond mere sexual gratification. The key strategies for achieving this goal include:
Cultivating Authenticity and Personal Brand
Maximising Emotional Engagement through Parasocial Relationships
Leveraging Exclusivity and Personalization
Diversifying Content Streams and Platforms
Managing Long-Term Financial Growth
Navigating Psychological and Emotional Sustainability
Each of these strategies must be approached with the long-term goal of creating both financial stability and personal independence, as well as a professional identity that can potentially transcend the platform itself.
1. Cultivating Authenticity and Personal Brand
In an oversaturated market, the most successful creators are those who can differentiate themselves by cultivating a personal brand that extends beyond generic erotic content. The traditional idea of erotic capital (beauty, sexual competence, social grace) is necessary but insufficient on its own. A creator who builds a sustainable career on OnlyFans must leverage their personal uniqueness and brand authenticity as a core part of their appeal.
Authenticity and Relatability: Audiences are increasingly drawn to creators who feel ‘real’ and accessible. In contrast to the highly stylised, distant allure of traditional pornographic performers, OnlyFans creators can capitalise on a sense of authenticity, offering behind-the-scenes glimpses into their lives, sharing personal stories, or creating the illusion of vulnerability and intimacy. This kind of content allows fans to feel emotionally connected, making the creator more relatable and, crucially, more human. By showcasing the multidimensional aspects of their personality, interests, and experiences, creators can build a brand that extends beyond their erotic content.
Personal Narrative: A strong personal brand tells a story. Creators who can communicate their own journey—whether that’s a path toward body positivity, sexual empowerment, or financial independence—can draw followers who are not just interested in sexual content, but in the creator’s broader mission. This narrative creates long-term engagement, as followers feel invested in the creator’s success, and the content becomes part of a shared journey, rather than a mere commodity.
Niche Specialization: Another aspect of personal branding is niche specialisation. In a saturated market, appealing to specific subcultures or kinks can be a powerful differentiator. A creator who specialises in a particular aesthetic (e.g., goth, alternative, cosplay), a fetish (e.g., foot fetish, BDSM, role play), or a broader lifestyle (e.g., fitness, wellness, alternative sexuality) can cultivate a loyal fanbase that feels catered to. By positioning oneself within a niche, a creator reduces direct competition and increases their perceived value to a specific group of followers.
2. Maximising Emotional Engagement through Parasocial Relationships
One of the most effective ways to monetise erotic capital on platforms like OnlyFans is through cultivating parasocial relationships, where fans feel emotionally invested in the creator. This emotional engagement turns what might otherwise be a transactional relationship into something more akin to a personal connection, even if the interaction remains largely one-sided.
Direct Communication: On OnlyFans, creators can engage directly with their audience through messages, personalised content requests, and live interactions. Fans who receive direct attention from the creator—whether through private messages, personalised videos, or shout-outs—are likely to feel a stronger emotional connection, which deepens their investment in the creator. This kind of engagement operates on an emotional feedback loop: the more attention a fan receives, the more they are willing to invest, both emotionally and financially.
Intermittent Reinforcement: Building on the psychology of intermittent reinforcement, creators can keep fans engaged by offering occasional, unpredictable rewards. For example, a creator might surprise a fan with an unexpected message, comment, or piece of content. This sporadic engagement mirrors the mechanisms behind addiction, where the unpredictability of rewards creates a stronger psychological pull. By keeping fans in a state of anticipation, creators can encourage sustained engagement and subscription renewals.
Creating a ‘Girlfriend/Boyfriend Experience’: Many creators leverage the concept of a romantic or intimate simulation—often referred to as the ‘girlfriend experience’ or ‘boyfriend experience’—where fans feel as though they are in a pseudo-relationship with the creator. This form of engagement is particularly profitable because it goes beyond the consumption of erotic content; it taps into deeper emotional needs for connection, affection, and even fantasy. Providing personalised attention, offering affectionate messages, and fostering a sense of exclusivity enhances the parasocial bond, which in turn increases financial investment.
3. Leveraging Exclusivity and Personalization
In a crowded market, the perception of exclusivity and personalisation is crucial for monetising erotic capital effectively. Fans are often willing to pay a premium for content that feels tailored specifically to them, especially when it creates the illusion of special access or personal intimacy.
Tiered Subscription Models: OnlyFans allows creators to offer different tiers of content access, where higher-paying subscribers receive exclusive content, personalised attention, or early access to posts. By creating a tiered system, creators can incentivise fans to upgrade their subscriptions in exchange for more personalised experiences, fostering a sense of exclusivity. This not only increases revenue but also encourages loyalty, as fans are more likely to remain subscribers if they feel they are receiving something unique.
Custom Content: Offering custom content—personalised videos, photos, or messages—is one of the most direct ways to monetise exclusivity. Fans are often willing to pay significantly more for content that feels tailored to their specific desires, whether that’s a custom video responding to a particular fetish or a personal message acknowledging their support. This level of personalisation amplifies the sense of connection between creator and fan, making the exchange feel more intimate and rewarding for the consumer.
Limited-Time Offers and Drops: Creating a sense of scarcity can drive demand for exclusive content. Limited-time offers, such as special themed content or one-time live shows, can generate excitement and urgency among fans, encouraging them to pay for content before it becomes unavailable. Similarly, exclusive ‘drops’ of content that are available only to a select group of subscribers or for a limited time can create a competitive atmosphere that drives engagement and financial commitment.
4. Diversifying Content Streams and Platforms
While OnlyFans can be a highly profitable platform for monetising erotic capital, relying on a single platform for financial success is risky, especially given the volatility of digital platforms and changing policies regarding adult content. To achieve long-term financial independence, creators should diversify their content streams and build a presence across multiple platforms.
Cross-Platform Branding: Many successful creators maintain a presence on multiple platforms—Instagram, Twitter, TikTok, YouTube—to drive traffic to their OnlyFans accounts while simultaneously building their personal brand in more mainstream digital spaces. By creating a broad online footprint, creators can attract a larger, more diverse audience while protecting themselves from potential de-platforming or policy changes on any one site.
Merchandising and Affiliate Marketing: In addition to selling erotic content, creators can monetise their brand through merchandise (clothing, accessories, or personalised items), affiliate marketing, or even partnerships with companies that align with their brand. This not only diversifies revenue streams but helps establish the creator as a multi-faceted public figure, rather than someone limited to the adult content space.
Long-Form Content and Educational Material: Some creators expand into educational or lifestyle content—whether that’s offering courses on sexual health, body positivity, fitness, or entrepreneurship. This can help broaden their audience beyond those seeking erotic content, giving the creator a more robust and diversified following. This also contributes to the creator’s broader personal development, positioning them as a thought leader or influencer in their niche.
5. Managing Long-Term Financial Growth
Achieving financial independence through platforms like OnlyFans requires creators to think strategically about long-term financial management. Since the income from OnlyFans can fluctuate significantly, creators should focus on building savings, investments, and long-term wealth-building strategies.
Building Financial Reserves: Creators should set aside a portion of their earnings as a financial cushion to protect against the unpredictable nature of online revenue. This is especially important in case of de-platforming, changes in policies related to adult content, or shifts in audience behaviour. Financial literacy and prudent saving can help ensure long-term security.
Investment in Personal Development: Some creators use their earnings to invest in themselves—whether that’s education, skill-building, or even cosmetic procedures that enhance their erotic capital. This reinvestment can extend their career lifespan, improve their content, and help them transition into other areas of work or business.
Transitioning to Broader Ventures: For creators seeking financial independence, the ultimate goal may be to transition out of adult content entirely or to diversify their business portfolio. Many creators use the financial stability they gain from OnlyFans to start other ventures—businesses, content creation in non-erotic spaces, or educational projects—ensuring that they are not dependent on any one income source.
6. Navigating Psychological and Emotional Sustainability
Monetising erotic capital online comes with unique psychological and emotional challenges. The pressure to constantly perform, the
potential for harassment or exploitation, and the emotional labour involved in maintaining parasocial relationships can take a toll on creators’ mental health. Long-term success requires careful management of these challenges.
Setting Boundaries: Maintaining emotional and psychological boundaries is essential for creators to avoid burnout. Creators need to carefully manage their engagement with fans, ensuring that they are not overextending themselves emotionally or allowing the parasocial nature of the relationship to become personally overwhelming. Clear boundaries between personal and professional life help preserve mental health and sustainability in the long run.
Professional Support: Seeking professional support, whether that’s in the form of financial advisors, legal representation, or mental health services, is crucial for creators who want to build a sustainable career. Given the emotional labour involved in this line of work, having a support network can help mitigate the potential downsides of being constantly visible and emotionally engaged with an audience.
Conclusion: Toward Financial and Personal Independence
For creators who approach their work on platforms like OnlyFans as part of a broader project of self-development, the key to long-term success lies in strategic differentiation, emotional engagement, diversification, and financial planning. By cultivating a unique personal brand, fostering deep connections with fans, and managing their resources wisely, creators can leverage their erotic capital in ways that lead to financial stability and personal empowerment. Over time, these creators can transcend the platform and build a career that encompasses multiple revenue streams and areas of expertise, ultimately achieving the financial and personal independence they seek.
VL:
Hakim: ‘One stream of feminist theory presents men as violent sexual predators who exploit women. Another theoretical stream dismantles the concepts of sex and gender, so there are no fixed “opposites” for mutual attraction anyway. A third theme treats beauty and pleasure as dangerous traps. Between these three themes, ideas of exuberant sexuality and women’s erotic power over men are squeezed out of existence.’
Discuss.
GPT-4o:
Catherine Hakim’s assertion that certain streams of feminist theory ‘squeeze out’ ideas of women’s exuberant sexuality and erotic power over men identifies a significant tension within feminist discourse surrounding sex, gender, and sexuality. Hakim critiques feminist perspectives that she believes undermine or marginalise the notion of women’s agency in sexual markets—particularly their ability to wield erotic capital and engage in what she sees as a legitimate form of empowerment. She identifies three specific streams of feminist theory that, in her view, collectively negate the possibility of women embracing their sexuality as a source of power:
The depiction of men as violent sexual predators who exploit women.
The dismantling of fixed concepts of sex and gender, which erodes binary structures of sexual attraction.
The framing of beauty and pleasure as dangerous traps.
Each of these critiques represents a different theoretical strand within feminist thought, and unpacking them in relation to Hakim’s concept of erotic capital requires a nuanced engagement with the internal diversity of feminist theory.
1. Men as Violent Sexual Predators: Radical Feminism and Sexual Danger
The first stream of feminist theory Hakim refers to is associated with radical feminism, particularly the strain of thought that focuses on the systematic exploitation of women by men in a patriarchal society. Feminists like Andrea Dworkin and Catharine MacKinnon have argued that male sexuality is often violent, coercive, and predatory, constructing a cultural landscape where women are continually at risk of sexual exploitation. In this view, male sexual desire is seen as a vehicle for the broader oppression of women, and sex itself is often framed in terms of domination and subjugation.
Within this framework, pornography, prostitution, and many other forms of sexualised media are viewed as exploitative industries that reinforce women’s objectification and commodification. Dworkin famously stated that ‘the very act of intercourse as normally understood is a violation of the woman’, which exemplifies the more extreme end of this critique, where heterosexual sex is seen as intrinsically tied to male dominance and female submission.
Hakim’s objection to this strand of feminist theory is clear: if male sexuality is depicted primarily as predatory, then the idea of women exercising agency or power in sexual contexts becomes almost impossible. In this framework, the concept of erotic capital—women’s ability to use beauty, charm, and sexual allure for their benefit—is seen not as empowering but as a form of complicity in a system that commodifies women’s bodies and perpetuates their oppression. Erotic power, in this view, is framed as a dangerous illusion because it reinforces patriarchal structures by objectifying women.
From Hakim’s perspective, this critique ‘squeezes out’ the possibility of exuberant sexuality, where women could actively and joyfully embrace their sexual power. Instead, women are seen as passive victims of male desire, with their erotic capital functioning as a tool of their exploitation rather than empowerment.
2. Dismantling of Sex and Gender: Poststructuralist Feminism and Gender Performativity
The second stream of feminist theory that Hakim identifies—the dismantling of fixed concepts of sex and gender—is associated with poststructuralist feminism, particularly the work of Judith Butler and queer theorists. Butler’s concept of gender performativity, as developed in Gender Trouble (1990), argues that gender is not a fixed or inherent trait but a set of performed behaviours that consolidate the illusion of a stable identity. This theoretical stream destabilises traditional binary gender categories (man/woman, masculine/feminine) and challenges the notion that sexual attraction is rooted in a clear, oppositional binary between male and female.
For Hakim, this theoretical approach poses a challenge to the idea of erotic capital because it problematises the very categories that erotic capital depends on—namely, stable categories of ‘male’ and ‘female’, and the assumption of heterosexual attraction as a norm. If sex and gender are fluid, performed, and contingent, then the idea of women using their feminine allure to wield power over men becomes less intelligible, or at least less coherent within this framework. Attraction and desire become more about individual subjectivities and less about essentialised categories of gender.
Moreover, in this poststructuralist framework, erotic capital itself could be seen as a reification of problematic gender norms. The idea that women’s power lies in their ability to attract men through beauty, charm, and sexual competence might be read as reinforcing a binary system of gender and desire that poststructuralist feminism seeks to dismantle. From this perspective, Hakim’s celebration of women’s erotic power could be seen as complicit in upholding restrictive gender norms that confine women to their roles as objects of male desire.
Hakim would likely argue that this poststructuralist approach devalues or renders incoherent the idea of women strategically deploying their gendered bodies for power. If sex and gender are fluid, then the structures of erotic power—at least as traditionally conceived—become diffuse, less anchored to the material realities of sexual attraction in heterosexual dynamics. The result, Hakim implies, is that women’s erotic power is eroded or undermined by this theoretical framework.
3. Beauty and Pleasure as Dangerous Traps: Feminist Critiques of Objectification
The third stream of feminist theory that Hakim addresses is the critique of beauty and pleasure as dangerous traps that ensnare women in cycles of objectification and self-surveillance. Feminists like Naomi Wolf (The Beauty Myth) and Susan Bordo (Unbearable Weight) have argued that the pursuit of beauty is not a form of empowerment but a form of control that reinforces women’s subjugation under patriarchy. According to these critiques, the cultural obsession with female beauty ties women’s self-worth to their physical appearance, forcing them to conform to unrealistic and often harmful beauty standards.
From this perspective, pleasure—particularly sexual pleasure that is tied to being objectified or desired by men—can also be seen as a trap. The idea that women can use their erotic capital for power is viewed as dangerous because it perpetuates women’s commodification. Beauty becomes a form of labour—endless grooming, dieting, and self-discipline—and sexual allure becomes a form of exchange value in a patriarchal market. Thus, rather than empowering women, erotic capital ensnares them in systems that commodify their bodies and reduce their value to their ability to meet male standards of beauty and desire.
Hakim’s critique here is that these feminist positions reduce women’s relationship with beauty and pleasure to one of victimhood or exploitation. In this view, women’s participation in beauty culture or the pursuit of erotic pleasure is always tainted by the fact that it takes place within a patriarchal framework. Therefore, the potential for women to exercise erotic power or derive joy from their sexuality is negated by the constant framing of these experiences as forms of oppression or self-objectification.
Hakim, in contrast, seems to argue that women’s engagement with beauty and erotic pleasure can be both strategic and empowering. By cultivating and leveraging erotic capital, women can navigate the sexual marketplace in ways that benefit them, both socially and economically. Rather than viewing beauty and pleasure as traps, Hakim suggests that women can actively wield these forms of capital to gain influence, independence, and power.
Tension Between Feminist Critiques and Hakim’s Erotic Capital
Hakim’s frustration with these feminist streams stems from their incompatibility with the idea that women can embrace their erotic capital as a form of power. For her, these critiques obscure the possibility of women finding agency in their sexuality, either by framing them as victims of male violence, deconstructing the categories that erotic capital depends on, or reducing beauty and pleasure to oppressive forces.
However, it is important to acknowledge that these feminist critiques are grounded in very real concerns about power dynamics, objectification, and the constraints of patriarchy. Radical feminists point to the ways in which women’s bodies and sexuality have been commodified, controlled, and exploited throughout history, and poststructuralist feminists highlight the fluidity and social construction of gender that challenges essentialised notions of attraction. The critique of beauty as a form of social control addresses the psychological and social harms that come with attaching women’s value to their appearance.
While Hakim’s concept of erotic capital attempts to carve out a space for women’s sexual agency and power within these dynamics, it is not without its own limitations. Critics might argue that erotic capital remains deeply embedded in patriarchal structures, and that women’s ability to leverage their sexuality is often constrained by the very systems that Hakim suggests they can manipulate to their advantage.
Conclusion: The Conflict Between Feminist Discourses and Erotic Capital
In conclusion, Hakim identifies a tension within feminist theory: many critical feminist frameworks challenge or even negate the idea of women embracing and exercising erotic power over men. The radical feminist depiction of men as sexual predators, the poststructuralist dismantling of binary sex and gender categories, and the critique of beauty as a trap collectively create a framework in which women’s exuberant sexuality and erotic capital are sidelined or dismissed as forms of complicity with patriarchy.
However, Hakim’s perspective—emphasizing women’s potential for agency and empowerment through erotic capital—reveals a tension between feminist critique and the lived realities of sexual negotiation in the marketplace. Whether or not erotic capital is a legitimate form of power, or a problematic reinforcement of patriarchal values, remains a deeply contested issue in feminist theory.
