Journal of Visual and Media Anthropology, Vol. 1 No. 1, 2015, pp. 65-79.

Published by the Research Area Visual and Media Anthropology

Freie Universität Berlin

Self-Pornographic Representations with Grindr

Christian Phillips

“Sex is more than contact between body parts; it is contact between human beings
who influence and are influenced by their communities." (Paris, 2011:129)

ABSTRACT
This article is an analysis of a cultural trend associated with the popularisation
of new communication devices and a study about how this process influences social
interactions and self-representations. It investigates how people create visual
representations of themselves in the context of an online erotic socialisation.
The paper draws on the argument that an anthropologically informed
research could show how some traditional sex elements are changing. More
specifically, it inquires how being online – either with the use of dating portals or
mobile apps - affects the way people interact sexually. This brings us to the analysis
of an aesthetic universe which includes self-made pornographic images: the naked
selfies.

INTRODUCTION
Internet and new mobile technologies have given birth to a revolution in the
sphere of human relationships. It has not only changed the way we meet people, but
also how we interact with acquaintances. From daily small talk to very intimate
moments, these services act as a platform for our needs, marking a new era of social
interaction.
The research for this paper began with a perception of this uniquely
contemporary predicament brought about through modern technology: even though
cruising areas have been an essential part of gay culture for decades, meeting
people for sex (or at least the possibility of sex) has never been so easy. One of the
main aspects of this interaction consists of the exchange of pornographic images.
Behind this exchange is both a visual culture and new ways of using photography.
The exchange process is primarily carried out through the internet. Although the
internet is obviously a common ground for sexual activities and a very active market
with millions of users worldwide, there is little research available on this particular
topic. The exchange of amateur pornographic content on social networks is part of
an unprecedented game of intimacy. This paper ethnographically examines the use
of visual representations in social networks and the cultural effects of their erotic
intentions. It explores the cultural aspect behind sexual behaviour. In this sense, it
seeks to understand body representations and the production and exchange of self-
pornographic images.

THE ANTHROPOLOGY OF SEXUALITY

First and foremost, it is important to contextualise the research in the history
of anthropology as an academic subject. This research is an addition to the
anthropology of sexuality. Like many subject fields, the anthropology of sexuality

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remains an area that has not been fully explored. There have been substantial
periods of time where little was written on the topic. Although a vast amount of
related literature exists, the anthropology of sexuality has not been a central focus of
academia historically. Sexual anthropology retreated from the centre stage of
academic anthropology because anthropologists sought scientific respectability and
therefore excluded topics deemed not “serious enough” (Lyons:2006).
It wasn’t until the middle of the 1970s that the anthropology of sexuality
appeared. With the advent of the second wave of feminism, combined with a process
of liberation for gays and lesbians and a new sexual prescription, anthropologists
began new theoretical trends. One of these trends can be described as the
interdisciplinary field of “porn studies”. As Attwood and Smith (2014) explain,
pornography has been a matter for public scrutiny and debate, often about morality.
It is therefore not surprising that these issues have become the subject of increasing
scholarly interest. According to them, pornography is now of interest for academics
working across a range of disciplines such as psychologists, historians, art literary
scholars and social scientists. They point out how scholarly interest in pornography
has also been driven by technological changes - “The increasing accessibility
provided by various media technologies has opened up the market for
pornography”(2014:3).
In addition, it is still an area that requires more attention, especially when it
comes to online aspects. As Attwood and Smith (2014) clarify, “porn is becoming an
important part of increasing numbers of people’s lives, although what that means to
them is something we still know very little about.” (2014:1). The means by which porn
is produced and distributed have undergone rapid, radical and incremental change,
however much of the popular discussions regarding those changes are still based on
guesswork. It is nonetheless necessary to produce a broader consideration of the
ways in which sex, technology and the individual are represented and experienced in
contemporary societies.
The use of Internet and other technologies have a huge impact on urban
social life. Although there are plenty of articles concerning online dating and apps,
they usually deal with medical issues such as HIV and AIDS prevention. There still
appears to be a lack of anthropological studies on the universe of sex in internet
times. Engaging in a cyber-ethnography is indeed a challenge. Therefore, proposing
an anthropology of sexuality in the digital age is an even more ambitious step
because new theoretical perspectives and methodological questions that cannot be
ignored need to be considered.
Although the aim of this research was to investigate the characteristics of
people who participate in online sexual interaction, the study did not focus solely on
cyber aspects. It would be a serious misconception to ignore the influence of
electronic technologies, but also wrong to analyse social life and shared meanings in
the internet without keeping in mind that face-to-face socialisation follows relationship
traditions and old classical forms of representation. This has to be acknowledged in
order to conduct a fieldwork that respects the social-scientific complexity of the issue.
Since analysing the whole impact of this sexual revolution goes far beyond
the possibilities of a single research, this is only a condensed deliberation about one
facade of these new forms of interaction: the production and exchange of self-
pornographic images. More specifically, it focuses on the social meanings behind this
new use of photography. The first step in research was to look into broader cultural
aspects that might influence or express the usual representations and/or forms of
sexual interactions. As a result, the starting theoretical point of this study comes from
the evidence of the rise of a new generation of spontaneous pornographers. These
producers of pornography are not trained directors, they are not working with porn
stars nor monetarily profiting from their actions. They do not even perceive
themselves as pornographers and might avoid the term pornography. They are,

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however, producing and starring in their very own sexually explicit material: naked
selfies.

A “PORNIFIED” AND OVERSHARING CULTURE

In order to understand why – and how – people are sharing naked selfies, it is
essential to see them as a part of a shared culture. Therefore, the first step of the
analysis is to understand what recent cultural changes boost the popularisation of
this practice. One of the theoretical perspectives that could explain this depicts the
rise of a porn culture or a 'pornification' of pop culture. In the book “Pornland: How
Porn has Hijacked our Sexuality (Dines 2010)”, the author tries to expose the
consequences of what she describes as a saturation of porn in western culture.
Simply put, porn is now deeply embedded in our culture and shapes how we
think about sex. For Dines, pornographic images have now become so extreme that
what used to be considered hardcore is now known as mainstream pornography.
Porn has “seeped into our culture and into our collective consciousness,” (2010:42).
According to Dines, the porn industry has grown in volume and power with far-
reaching ramifications: “porn is a key driver of new technological innovations, shapes
technological developments, and has pioneered new business models, which have
then diffused into the wider economy.” (2010:25). Dines' argument is that since
people have increasingly started to consume porn, the representations of this
industry have not only begun to infest media but also to shape our sexual lives.
In a similar way, Agger (in the book Over-sharing: Presentations of Self in the
Internet Age, 2012) explains the effect of the porn industry not only on people's sex
lives but also in the way they create self-representations. He describes porn as a
male-dominated industry catering to male fantasies of dominance, and puts forward
the concept of a “pornographic prism” to refer to the way in which we view and
construct our own sexuality by watching porn. In other words, people would imagine
themselves enacting roles played on the porn screen and then produce that image in
their own amateur videos, their discourse and bedroom behaviour. We star in porn
videos of our own lives, “learning how to have sex through this prism” (2012:46).
To explain how people are now so actively taking photos and posting them
online,Agger uses the definition of "oversharing". According to him, people overshare
when they interact with others through the screens of computers and smartphones.
Oversharing happens when someone is divulging more of their inner feelings,
opinions and sexuality than they would in person. For him, taking a naked selfie is
the ultimate type of oversharing and would have a impact on our identity and
sexuality. From this perspective, a naked selfie is a product of pornographic culture;
one which is highly voyeuristic and exhibitionist and where sexual talk and imagery
are abundant. "We inhabit a sexualized culture in which images of sexuality and
sexualized bodies have become commonplace, available to anyone with a laptop or
smartphone" (2012:20). Agger jokes that, in the future, Martian anthropologists will
dissect why men post shirtless photos and soon thereafter photos of their erections.
In a pornographic culture, this self-revelation has become mainstream.
We want to connect with others and internet dating is a new powerful tool for
that. It is also clear that online representations are influenced by the process
described as cultural pornification. Both cited studies may shed light on how sharing
self-pornographic images is influenced by the opening of mainstream culture to
pornography. In spite of that, they have problematic conclusions. Both lack of
ethnographic data and both apply a limited concept of pornography, only being
normative and defending a political anti-porn approach. By merely seeing porn as a
business whose product evolves with a specifically capitalist logic, consisting only of
amateurish copycats, the ability of porn consumers and producers to act as creative
subjects is ignored.

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AN ETHNOGRAPHICAL STUDY OF PORNOGRAPHY

Available studies on the subject of pornography definitely raise many relevant

questions on the matter and help explain the culture which the production of self-
pornographic images is a part of. Nonetheless, the lack of ethnographical research
on those studies lead to a twisted conclusion. Despite some very insightful
explanations on the context of the subject matter, they fail to acknowledge the voice
of the very people they analyse. Observations are based solely on how the subject is
portrayed in media or on their own notions and prejudice about pornography, instead
of trying to understand such behaviour from the point of view of who is actually
practising it. For this reason, only an ethnographical approach could reveal the true
intentions behind such images, although it is useful to use these theoretical
discussions as a starting point. The critical perception of the issue is revealing, but
does not delve deep enough.
Using Agger's metaphor, I am not a Martian anthropologist intrigued by
photos of erect penises, but I do have a strategic position that allows me to carry out
this ethnographical study from an insider perspective: I am one of the individuals
sending and receiving such images. I do consider this an advantage, since being a
part of the studied group saves me time in the process of integration. Although this
has its advantages it also raises a number of problems. The task of being auto-
ethnographic demands an even higher level of self-reflection and an attempt to stay
constantly critical about your own behaviour. Another risk is to consider certain
actions 'normal', being unable to recognise what an outsider would perceive quickly -
after all, the goal is to present a truly anthropological research and not simply an
excuse for one’s own behaviour.
As an anthropologist, my discussion does not intend to classify the way in
which one acts or conducts oneself as morally wrong, nor to defend any behaviour
as positive. The efforts are directed towards understanding how individuals, as part
of a culture of shared representations, act reciprocally in such a way as to have an
effect on one another.
The cited studies about porn hijacking our culture and over-sharing are theoretical
research approaches with no proper ethnographical study. Their conclusions are
impregnated with stereotypes and moral judgments that condemn pornography,
citing it as the cause for a loss of self-respect and humiliation.
In order to properly understand how people consider pornographic meanings,
it is important to see how they are involved in a dynamic process of interaction and
construction of meaning or interpretation. Pornography is more than visual material
containing the explicit description or display of sexual organs or activity, it is a
symbolic comprehensive activity. That is to say that the property of being
pornographic isn't an intrinsic one of anything. Conversely, pornographic meanings
are built and shared when people are interacting. Instead of adopting a pessimistic
definition of pornographic, it is much more useful for an anthropological study to
approach this matter with a symbolic, interactionist approach. This perspective stems
from a few premises. The first is that human beings act toward things on the basis of
the meanings that things have for them. Second, is that the meaning of such things is
derived from, or arises through, social interaction. Also, these meanings are handled
in and modified through, an interpretative process used by the person in dealing with
the things he encounters. This social interaction is an interaction between actors, not
between factors imputed to them (Blumer, 1886).

METHODOLOGICAL AND ETHICAL CONSIDERATIONS

Since the studied case is clearly visually-oriented, the interpretation of visual
materials collected was a central research method. This was based on the
explanation of the image given by the users themselves – so it would be possible to
read the symbolic meanings that flow around them. The ethnography gathered data
via informal interviews, conducted both online and offline. Nevertheless “what people

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say they believe and say that they do are often contradicted by their behaviour”
(Woodsong 2005:13). Therefore, this methodology would not suffice. In order to learn
the perspectives held by the group, the applied methodology also consisted of
participant observation on dating websites and smart-phone apps – a qualitative
method with roots in traditional ethnographic research. Finally, it was also important
to pay attention to the results based on my own auto-ethnographic experience,
providing a critical understanding of my personal position as part of the same group
that I study - I did not deny my participation in the social field described.
It is also crucial to clarify the legal and ethical issues that concern this
research. First, despite the fact that most interviews were conducted in an informal
manner, no quote was used before the consent of the interviewed person. It has
always been important to me to consider that I was dealing with something very
private and I should respect this. The presented ethnography will have no intention to
expose nor damage the image of the people studied. For this reason, even with a
proper permission, I will withhold the names of those included to maintain anonymity.
The term “user” is used instead of a name as a generic form referring to the different
interviewees. In addition, another decision I took as a strategic academic position: no
pornographic images would be displayed in the thesis in order to avoid the scenario
that the thesis itself could be considered pornographic.
Throughout my research, I observed the most popular gay apps for online
cruising. In most european cities, Grindr is the most popular option. For this reason,
most of my research and observations are about this specific app. However, the
ethnography was not restricted to Grindr. It also considered other apps such as
Hornet, Scruff and PlanetRomeo. To find guys in your area, simply launch Grindr,
create an account, upload an optional photo and profile details and browse for men
in your area who want to chat and meet.
When using Grindr, you can click on a picture in the mosaic to open the
profile of the person in the picture. As soon as you do this, you can see a bigger
version of the photo and the person's information is displayed. If you allow the
location-based feature on your phone, it will also indicate the distance between you
and the other user. Hornet is very similar to Grindr, but could be described as an
improved version of it – an interviewed user said it was “the gay dating app that
Grindr should have been”. Another popular app is Scruff. It is slightly different from
the other apps because it focuses on a specific subgroup from the gay culture: the
erotic category of bears or gay users that identify themselves as sexually attracted to
bears, a slang used to describe overweight/muscular hairy men. Finally, another app
that was used often during the research was PlanetRomeo, a very popular app in
Berlin.
Since my first experience using the apps, it was possible to state the
importance of the image exchange. After a few casual text messages, the next step
is to start the visual dialogue: “Do you have more pictures” or “Can I see more of
you?” are common questions. One can also say that sexting has become a common
practice in this flirting activity. In simple terms, sexting can be understood as a
neologism that joints the words sex and text. And yet when blended with the noun
sex, sexting becomes more than written words. Sexting involves sending sexual or
pornographic photos and videos. Text and images exchanged blur the boundary
between text and image, which is crucial for this kind of pornographic representation.
Although the phenomenon of producing and sharing pornographic self-
portraits only started to appear recently with the popularization of the internet, it
would be a mistake to consider this a totally new and separate subject. This research
cannot be seen as part of a completely separate field – as explained in the first
chapter of this thesis which relates the study to a wider anthropological context.
Because of this, prior theoretical considerations cannot be ignored and also there is
no need to invent completely new methodologies. It is still useful to practice certain
elements of classical ethnographical field work, but of course with an updated
application.

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 An approximation between the online universe of computers, smartphones
and tablets still exists but with a wider dimension of the social life shared between
the users of these technologies. You cannot investigate reality only through a
computer screen. Although part of the fieldwork might be what is considered cyber-
ethnography - with the analyses of the online profiles, it is not enough to investigate
the issue only through an online perspective. Since the research is about a virtuality
that is a way to find material sex partners, it goes beyond the cyber. With this in
mind, it is also useful to keep elements of classical ethnographic field work in the
attempt to carry out a qualitative, descriptive and analytical research.

REPRESENTING AN ONLINE NAKED SELF DURING EROTIC CONTACT: A

SYMBOLICIC INTERACTIONISM APPROACH

How can we explain the recent habit of taking naked self-portraits?

What is particular about this method of self-fashioning and communication? In a
recent study (The Selfie: Making sense of the “Masturbation of Self-Image” and the
“Virtual Mini-Me” by Alise Tifentale 2014), it is explained why selfies are a form of
new image-making and image-sharing technology. It is historically time-specific in the
sense that it could materialize only in the moment when several technologies
reached a certain level of development and accessibility such as easy availability to
an internet connection – including WiFi – smartphones with cameras and software
that allow online image sharing, geo-tagging of uploaded images among other
features. Regardless of the fact that taking self-portraits is nothing new, the act of
taking a selfie implies new use of photography because we are talking about
something with no predecessors: smartphones that are connected to internet
function as networked cameras, “presenting a new and hybrid image-making and
simultaneously image-sharing practice” (2014:3).
In other words, selfies are a new digital image-making and online image-
sharing practice that can be understood as a new social phenomenon. They can be
seen as a “hybrid phenomenon of vernacular photography and social media”
(Tifentale 2014:3). Despite these factors, it is still necessary to study the selfie
practice within the larger context of the history of photography and self-portraiture.
“Selfies” can be interpreted as an emerging sub-genre of self-portraiture; as an
example of a digital turn in vernacular photography as well as a side product of the
recent technological developments. “Photography can easily be used as a tool for
constructing and performing the self. Photographic self-portraits offer ultimate control
over our image, allowing us to present ourselves to others in a mediated way”
(2014:9). Those photos are produced with what can be considered bad quality
photography, using webcams, smartphones or cheap digital cameras. The amateur
style is not avoided, but embraced. It gives a sense of reality and honesty.
But even if selfie producers choose to believe otherwise, they are still building
a representation. In their daily life, both on and offline, individuals present themselves
to others while maintaining a certain impression. In this way, they develop a self-
image according to their representation strategies, articulating symbolic meanings
that match their intentions and expectations in a determined location. The analysed
images that are shared between the users appear not as simple self-portraits, but
also as a form of interaction that leads users to finally meet. Meanings are articulated
around the erotic exploration that depends on the production, circulation and
consumption of photography. That is to say, this photography has a very specific
use: a self-presentation for erotic purposes. People produce and use pornographic
photographs so they can hold and shape needed codes of communication, building
meanings to their social life. It has two goals: they are arguments that signal to
others that the subject is an object of sexual desire, and they are also a form of
exposure, in the sense that they offer support to the text and the description also
present in the profiles.

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 This idea is present in Goffman's work. According to his perspective, we are
always performing roles. Choosing from a set of possible actions, expressions and
symbols, people make available to the audience some information about themselves
in order to sustain an impression. All this information works in regards to the
definition of an interactive situation (Goffman 1985).
Although Goffman could not experience our internet times, the analytical
profitability of his theories easily applies to studies in cyber-culture. Quoting Lima
(2009): “In the cyber-culture, users have access to resources and tools that make
them able to produce their own discourses, representations, e-narratives and,
therefore, publish images, texts, sounds, videos, narrating the world and themselves
while finding a position as subjects, conforming cyber-identities and making their self-
representations visible” (2009:10).
As Lemos (2003:7) suggests, cyber communities bring different possibilities
of social interaction. Therefore, they are a new phenomenon of (re)presentation of
the self in everyday life, transporting Goffman's theatrical metaphor to the
cyberspace with the birth of new relations mediated by the available cyber-culture's
technologies. Shared pornographic images are part of this cyber-representation.
Goffman explains that someone can represent different roles because there is the
possibility of segregating the audience, which guarantees that those in front of a
certain role will not be the same when someone chooses a different representation
(p.28). Representation takes place inside a determined region. A region is defined as
any limited space with barriers that offers a controlled perception. This means that
when a user performs his virtual roles, including pornographic representations, he
can still hide this from his close circle of friends and family.
According to this perspective, when a user logs in, he will try to control the
impression that the other users have of the situation. He will learn some common
techniques to employ in order to sustain such impressions and common
contingencies associated with the employment of these techniques. Therefore,
performance is “the activity of an individual which occurs during a period marked by
his continuous presence before a particular set of observers and which has some
influence on the observers (Goffman 1985:9).” In this sense, another useful concept
from Goffman is the notion of “front”. This is described as the part of the individual's
performance which regularly functions in a general and fixed fashion to define the
situation for those who observe the performance. “Front, then, is the expressive
equipment of a standard kind intentionally or unwittingly employed by the individual
during his performance” (1985:13).
Public profiles on hook-up devices can be understood as the front. This more
public performative space is a vital part of the cyber-representation. After all, it is the
starting point of the interaction. In everyday life there is a clear understanding that
first impressions are important. Goffmann clarifies this: “When the interaction that is
initiated by first impressions is itself merely the initial interaction in an extended
series of interactions involving the same participants, we speak of getting off on the
right foot and feel that it is crucial that we do” (1985:12).

GAY CRUSING: BEYOND CYBERSEX

The online exchange of pornographic self-portraits or sexting can be

described as cybersex. It is a new era of social interaction and cybersex is one of its
new forms. Cybersex means “when two or more people engaged in simulated sex
talk while online for the purposes of sexual pleasure” (Daneback 2005:325).
According to Daneback's research, homosexual men were over four times more
likely to have cybersex compared to heterosexual men. He explains this with the fact
that gay men pioneered social uses of the internet and were among the first to
search the corners of cyberspace for sex partners. In addition, these groups are
more open to less traditional types of sexual activities. Therefore, “in many places
where openly seeking homosexual experiences could still have major adverse

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consequences, cyberspace might be the safest place for them to express their
sexuality” (2005:326).
A problem with the term “cybersex” is that it is rather limited and
anachronistic, because the users use those virtual means as a way of finding
material sex partners. Instead, the term of “online hook-ups” or “cruising” imply the
idea that those interactions go beyond the cyber level. In addition, it would be a
serious mistake to ignore the history of the same practice. Despite the fact that
internet and mobile apps offer an easy way of finding sexual encounters, cruising is
not something created by those technologies, but a long-dated cultural practice. A
study solely focused on the cyber aspects would be incomplete. It cannot ignore the
influence of electronic technologies, but it would also be insufficient to analyse social
life and shared meanings on the internet without considering that there is a face-to-
face socialisation that follows relationship traditions and old classical forms of
representation. There is no other way of conducting a field work that respects the
social-scientific complexity of the issue.
It is therefore useful to understand the practice of cruising and its history.
Online cruising has a precedent in a very common ritual: anonymous encounters in
public spaces in order to perform sexual activities. Although it is obviously not an
exclusively homosexual activity, it appears to be a custom more typical between men
who have sex with other men. This might have two reasons. First, in many places –
or in other times in history – engaging in this kind of behaviour is/was forbidden by
law or perceived negatively by the majority. Homosexuality has long been
condemned and repressed for different reasons, which decidedly makes the
possibility of fulfilling some desires very limited. This would restrict the ways of
meeting someone and thereby, cruising is a good solution: sexual fulfilment with
strangers, no strings attached and limited chances of exposure. Second, cruising has
become part of what can be labelled “gay culture”, which is itself over-sexualised.
Cruising comes from city life, when people could gather anonymously and
meet a partner. Cruising areas are essentially spots of instant gratification. But what
happens with this practice in an era of sexual liberation? Applying technology to
cruising has a long history in the gay community. After the libertine sexuality of the
'70s, phone-sex lines appeared - dating back to the mid-'80s according to Seth
Michael Donsky in the article 'More Sex Faster: The Grindr Story' (2012). He also
describes the popularisation of erotic sex sites (such as Manhunt and Adam4AdaM)
when internet became more accessible.
Dating profile websites opened the market for a more specific purpose: online
cruising. Internet definitely has had a huge impact on contemporary sexuality. It can
offer some elements of traditional cruising – such as staying anonymous or meeting
someone for sex without the need of interacting with the same person after the
encounter is over. Despite the fact that the first available popular technology for
cybersex was chat-rooms, where under a nickname users could fantasize and
experiment with sex while exchanging messages, there arose some complications
when the intention for using them was cruising. Chat-rooms had the disadvantage of
being too impersonal – and soon a generalised notion that everyone was actually
faking their own description destroyed the feeling of authenticity of the sexual
interaction. Dating websites would offer a more “real” experience, in the sense that
they would force the user to create a visual description and include a photograph,
instead of only a self-description in words. Also, they offer a location-based search
that allows users to actually find offline partners instead of being restricted to
cybersex. The internet experience is more remote, interior and hidden from the
straight world, which almost certainly makes it more acceptable, thus opening up
new opportunities for cruising.
The erotic visual play that starts online when exploring profiles has the goal of
finding users that are geographically close to you and share some aesthetic and
erotic preferences. The production of pornographic images are strategic: they are
meant to hold and shape needed codes of communication.

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 EROTIC REPRESENTATIONS AND THE PRAISE OF THE MACHO
If in the early stages of anthropology, ethnographers would find themselves
isolated in what, for European standards at the time, was seen as exotic, little did
they know how strange their own tribe could be. While doing my research, in the
cyber-jungle of online sex, I found photographs of a strange tribe: a tribe of headless
yellow men. A selection of photographs received in Grindr would easily exemplify the
general aesthetic of the naked pictures shared between the users. The pictures are
usually cropped under the shoulders, emphasizing the torso with a non-artistic
aesthetic being the usual. Most of the shared photos were taken inside the user's
home, so the lighting in bathrooms or bedrooms give the photos a yellowish tone.
Why do they crop their faces? And why does the photographer not attempt to
produce better quality photography?
When confronted with the choice to hide their faces, the general answer was
in regard to privacy or fear that the picture might spread throughout the internet. As
one user explained: “It was more important for me when I started and I wasn't self-
confident as a gay male. So I was very attentive to details in my photos like watches,
rooms or background-items. I didn't want to be identified completely. I always remove
the head if it is on the original pic. I guess I don't want to have it popping out in the
internet so that everyone can see how big my cock is”. The amateur style is not
avoided, but fully embraced. It gives a sense of reality and honesty. “A lot of nudes I
get are not well-made. They are too close-up or too dark or messy”, one of the users
complained. But this is not because there is a lack of capacity of producing clearer
images - it is just the usual aesthetic. When sending pictures that look too
professional or that were digitally altered, users might complain about the lack of
honesty in a profile. The use of image-editing softwares such as Photoshop is seen
in a very negative way: “Guys should never use photoshop in the pics, it's the same
as writing down a fake description”, one of the users pointed out. Also body close
ups are often requested during the exchange. “I think they give the best overview of
my current body, the size of my cock, the form of my ass and how thin I am. This is
mostly the kind of information I want others to know.” stated one user.
Another interesting element of the photographs is that in a significant number
of images the apparatus shooting the photo is present within the frame. Including the
image-making technology of the camera is not new, it goes back over a century and
a half in the history of self-portraiture in photography. But representing this hyper-
mediated aspect of a lived experience is actually a strategy to establish credibility
and demonstrate how authentic the presence of someone is, even though it is
mediated through a viewer or screen. It is explicitly a way to communicate
trustworthiness (Losh 2014).
This proves that there is a shared notion that the exchanged photographs are
somehow “true”, although they are in fact built representations. This social media-
driven narcissism works in a way that selfies are used to convey a particular
impression of oneself. The most praised representation in gay hook-up apps is
definitely the ones that embrace super-masculine characteristics, such as, for
example, bears – that emphasise their beard and body hair or jocks – exhibiting their
muscular torsos. What is presented in the gay cruising devices is a very excluding
“homo-masculinity”.
As Will H. Courtenay (2000) explains, gender is constructed from cultural and
subjective meanings that constantly shift and vary, depending on the time and place.
Gender stereotypes provide collective, organised – and usually dichotomous –
meanings of gender, often becoming widely shared beliefs. People are encouraged
to conform to dominant norms and conforming to what is expected of them further
reinforces self-fulfilling prophecies of such behaviour. But this does not mean that
individuals are not active agents in constructing and reconstructing their identity. It is
important to clarify, therefore, that there is not only one absolute concept of
masculinity. Although masculinity is understood to be one part of a dualistic gender
structure, it is essential for this present thesis to avoid an essentialist viewpoint.

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Looking at gender through this constructionist lens can help explaining the idea of a
homo-masculinity.
The task of defining masculinity can be quite difficult. From a constructionist
point of view, this definition can be found by contrasting different types of masculinity,
namely heterosexual and homosexual. This view depicts gender, and therefore
masculinity, in a state of flux, changing with every shift in definition of our relationship
with ourselves, with others, and with the rest of society (Bradley:2001). The cultural
notion of masculinity implies that the penetration role is the masculine role. As Judith
Butler (1990) describes, there is a “heterosexual matrix” that is a hegemonic
discursive/epistemic model of gender intelligibility that assumes that for bodies to
cohere and make sense there must be a stable sex expressed through a stable
gender (masculine expresses male, feminine expresses female). When a person is
assigned a specific biological sex at birth, they are not only given a certain gender
role; they are also prescribed a particular sexual script. Not only does this gender
script place restriction on the gender roles of heterosexuals, it also creates quite a
paradox for homosexuals.
When examining homo self-representations, there is usually a very distinctive
attempt of going as far as possible from identity modes that would threaten an
individual's perceived masculinity. A common discourse is “I am gay but still a man”.
The homo-erotic desire is safe as long as there is a legitimate masculinity.
Remarkably there are a lot of investigations about this matter that endeavour to
evaluate why – or how – representations of masculinity play a role in the homo
culture. In a text about macho men and queer imagery, Sonnekus (2009) analyses
representations of what he describes as homo-masculinity. He explains that the
contemporary presence of hyper-masculine aesthetics are a response to “being
expected to behave like men” or – in other words, a masculine performance that is
imposed by stereotypes and internalised homophobia. As a result, gay men often
fashion themselves after archetypal masculine icons: a romanticised man – with a
heterosexual-like behaviour – that will not carry the stigma of being associated with
effeminate queers.
According to this perspective, it is necessary to first explore what exactly is
meant by homo-masculinity, and how this gendered construct functions at the
expense of marginalising certain gay men. Sonnekus then tries to understand the
construction of a “macho” gay body and its accoutrements, that become a site of
resistance. It is a way of experiencing a straight-acting performance and “rejecting
stereotypical, effeminate gay characteristics in favour of ‘highly charged’ (hyper) and
stylised performances of masculinity that are accompanied by ‘the exaggeration of
sexual characteristics'.” (Sonnekus 2009:38).
Curtis M. Kularski (2013) goes even further with this train of thought, affirming
that gay sadomasochism is the ultimate hyper-masculine performance. Similarly to
Sonnekus, he explains that gay men are excluded from the hegemonic definition of
masculinity by the socially created norms and values that define masculinity. In
addition, the rules of masculinity are not entirely fixed and men often fail to meet the
requirements of hegemonic masculinity. They may call upon a hyper-masculine
performance to ensure their status of masculine and sadomasochism can be seen as
an enactment of a hyper-masculine performance. Hyper-masculine aesthetics result
from gay men’s response to being expected to behave like men and from a
masculine performativity. As a result, there is a very ideal type of gay beauty which
in turn is affected by racist ideologies.
Homo-erotic visual culture also prioritizes the white skinned man for its media
representations. Early American ‘Western’ films positioned cigarette smoking as an
explicit symbol of male virility (Starr 1984:54). The gay culture fetishised this
representation because this process eradicates the violent, racist history of
colonialism. When seen as desirable physical qualities for gay men, they are “based
on a stifling stereotype of gay identity that obscures the race-based power relations
within which it operates” (Sonnekus, 2009:40). It is not uncommon for users to write
“no Asians please” on their profile description of hook-up apps. As one user

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explained during an interview: “I'm not racist, I just have sexual preferences. I don't
like Asian boys, they just don't turn me on.”. But again, this reflects an internalised
racism also linked with sexist notions. Gay Asians are often described by users as
not being masculine enough. Sonnekus (2009) explains: “the feminisation of gay
Asian men appears to be so ingrained that “relationships between them are
contemptuously defined as 'lesbianism' by other gay Asians who prefer white
partners” (2009:45). According to him, this is reflected in pornographic stereotypes -
white men are often portrayed full-frontally as 'tops', having their white male cock as
a symbol of manhood, and Asian men are shown mostly from the back suggesting
that their most desirable attribute is their ass, a 'bottom' that is seen as adopting the
traditionally feminine sexual position. Gay blacks also internalise the supposed
primacy of white masculinity and the aesthetics or physical ‘ideals’ that accompany it,
since they are more likely to explicitly exclude ‘blacks’, even more so than gay white
men, when seeking out companionship. Sonnekus' conclusion is that “straight-acting”
white men “forge stronger masculine identities by consuming, and defining
themselves in opposition to feminine others” (2009:50).
Some authors describe this process as “homo-normative”, born out of a wish
for integration and tolerance, but this in itself is restrictive about the possibilities of
inventing a sexuality and enjoying sexual pleasures (Galán & Sanchéz 2006). In
other words, this homo-normative view values certain practices and lifestyles,
creating hierarchies and exclusion between homosexuals. Therefore, those
hegemonic forms appear as aesthetic norms that influence the process of shaping
the materiality of a body and exclude bodies that are considered to have limited
seductive attributes. Grindr is no Peter Pan land, but old age appears as a stigma.
The overexploitation of youth – and the consequent kingship of the “twink” stereotype
– causes a weird kind of gerascophobia (the fear of growing old) because ageing
means losing the erotic value of the body. In Le Breton's anthropology of the body,
he explains that while ageing, the individual singularity is erased under a unique
cliché of the damaged body. The modern man constantly fights against his age and,
when old, loses his place in the field of communication(Le Breton 2013). Nobert Elias
(2001) writes about the loneliness associated with old age, stating that it is not easy
to imagine that our own body, so fresh and full of pleasant sensations, may become
slow, tired and clumsy. People resist the idea of their own ageing. For Elias, this
explains why ageing produces a fundamental change in the social position of a
person and consequently, also in his relations with others. As Elias remembers, there
is not only a frustration of sexual needs – that can still be very active – but also a
dislocation in every kind of social interaction (Elias 2001).
These concepts were very evident in my research. There is clearly a general
ageist attitude where older users are deemed unworthy of attention. Age limits are
often publicly stated in many profiles, setting very clear limits for possible
interactions. In spite of the fact that younger users are mostly looking for users
around their age, older users also are not ashamed to manifest their preference to
younger users. Generally the older looking the user, the less known or clearly stated
is his age. Under-twenties frequently reveal their age in their nicknames (examples:
19_BLN, boy18bi, youngbottom19) and social apps have a tool to filter the users you
will see in your grid according to their age - youth is clearly a highly appreciated
symbolic value for the online gay community.
In this sense, it is interesting to point out a similar research project about
experiences of homoerotism by older men (Santos & Lagos 2013). While meeting
and interviewing attendees of a gay bar in the south of Brazil, the researchers could
observe some “stylistics, aesthetics and ethics of homoeroticism in older men's self
narratives”. Trying to analyse how subjects would stylise their ageing according to
their sexuality, they came to the conclusion that the narratives always express a
historically-based notion shared by a group. To represent yourself as “an old
homosexual” is to be a part of a historic ontology that is about their conditions and
possibilities of subjectivity. This is strictly connected to the perception of the body.
There are discursive lines that shape behaviours and relations, like a moral field. But,

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at the same time, researchers recognise the capacity of a creative re-invention,
which means that there is a possibility of producing an aesthetic in which life can be
lived as an art form: there are ways of aesthetic representations of ageing as a
homosexual. In other words, there are hegemonic models in the process of
constructing a sexuality. Identities are not fixed, there is no unchangeable being. If
there is a heterosexual matrix that rules most processes of subjectivity, there are
also strategies that are born from desires that bring possibilities of creating a life that
is not imprisoned by the system (Santos & Lagos 2013).
The available positions follow norms that someone can accept or escape,
producing a subjective body discourse that confronts the aesthetic rules. At the same
time that older users might be dismissed by younger users, another perspective is
that older gay men might now experience their sexuality more freely, something
which was more strictly regulated in the past. Another possible scenario is that the
intergenerational factor is eroticised and becomes a fetish. This changes the value of
some categories such as “daddies” or “twinks”. It also brings to the erotic market the
fantasised dad-son relationship. This is very easily identifiable in some profiles of
older users, one way of doing this is by representing yourself as someone of the
upper class or in a good financial position.
It is a fact that the homonormativity present in gay hook-up apps is also
present in offline life. Thoughts expressed online or through apps are not trapped
there; people take these beliefs with them throughout their daily life. After pointing
out earlier examples of representation, showing how they incorporate stereotypes
from the gay culture – that it is itself contaminated by sexist, heteronormative and
racist notions – it is also important to state that this does not place users as non-
reflexive consumers or imitators of a porn culture. Agreeing that there is a normative
culture that impacts the process of creating a representation does not mean that the
body is not a plastic material, something which is shapeable and can hold multiple
meanings for different possible paths of affection. Nobody is fatally condemned to
rigid significations. Even the body of an older homosexual is not destined to be seen
only as decant or undesirable. Older gay men can escape the discourse norm
around it and reinvent the meaning of the body in an unexpected way.
In pornographic representations there is clearly a norm. But, as explained
before, this does not force people to imitate what they are being exposed to. It is
undeniable that those representations also generate new stereotypes and
incorporate old norms of representations that are very restrictive and excluding. In
this sense, the “over-masculinised” type of gay online cruising apps can be
interpreted as a dominant representation that occupy a privileged position ruling out
many other groups.. Still, there is a way of regarding self-pornographic
representations as a creative response to the pornographic images.
At the same time that there is a lot of exclusive attitudes from users that state
their preferences in their profile without being ashamed, there are also a lot of users
that criticise this behaviour. Recently there have been many articles on popular gay
media websites that criticise those norms of representation. Despite the fact that
these norms are not recent and reflect the normative attitude of an already existing
culture, there seems to be an increasingly critical attitude about it.
Even though pornographic representations are regulated, there are also
networks that produce sexually explicit material in alternative spaces. Katrien Jacobs
(2007) proves this point when she talks about the rise of an “alternative” pornography
on the web that can be defined as the production or distribution of a work outside the
established, traditional system. This means that, in spite of the fact that pornography
has become an organised industry, controlling many sectors of the digital
entertainment industries, the internet also opens up space for unconventional and
alternative pornography. It also facilitates DIY (do-it-yourself) porn, creating a
collective imagery that can “reject the porn space of popular brands to make and
distribute radical kinds of netporn imagery” (2007:33). It would not be a mistake to
consider self-pornographic representations shared in apps as a kind of alternative

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porn, where similarly people can experience a non-commercial type of consumerism
or sexual communication.

VISUAL MARKET: A GIFT ECONOMY

Users of these applications have in common that they constantly search for
partners and crave affection and sexual experiences. For Couto (2013), this online
exhibition is a way for users to present themselves as a desirable good. These apps
also show how relations can become part of an exchange game similar to
economical transactions. In a culture that over-values consumption, it is also logical
that our bodies, sensations and emotions are also turned into merchandise. This also
reflects Lipovetsky’s (2006:6) idea that hyper- consumption seeks less having
products as accumulated property and more as a multiplication of experiences,
sensations and new emotions: to find happiness in new adventures that do not offer
many risks.
Understanding how individuals portray themselves reveals that the intention is
very specific: they are producing something to exchange. Cyber-sharing shows both
a new form of interaction and also a new relation with the practice of photography
itself. The exchanging activity is not only an interaction, but also a silent contract.
The fact that both sides will hold naked pictures of each other is safety that puts both
in the same situation, a way of avoiding the other sharing the photos that are sent.
As a result, the exchange must always be reciprocal. A person will only receive
naked pictures if they are willing to send some in return.
Adding a classically anthropological interest to the discussion helps
understand the logic of this exchange: sharing intimate photographs can be
compared with gift economies. As McGlotten explains (2013), gift economies
produce ongoing cycles of exchange and reciprocation that effect and reinforce
bonds between groups. Mauss described how an exchange can build relationships
between humans. A gift exchange is the opposite of a monetary transaction: it holds
the essence of reciprocity; the rule is to give, receive and re-tribute (Mauss
2003:243).
Each of these obligations creates a link between the gift exchangers. The fact
that a return must take place is explained by the existence of a force inside the gift
itself, what Mauss would describe using the Polynesian concept of “mana”. In a gift
economy, the soul and gifts are blended. The context of an online hook-up market is
somehow similar to a gift economy. There is – at least usually – no money involved,
but the process is much more than simply sending naked pictures to strangers.
When photos are shared, users are performing more than a simple exchange, they
are creating links and a mutual notion of virtual intimacy.
CONCLUSION
Recently, the pornography experience took on two massive changes. The first
(and most obvious one) came with the democratisation of the Internet. This boosted
meanings that were generated by an industry, spreading a porn culture that still
influences erotic desires and sexual experiences. A second, more recent, is
occurring now with the increased use of smart-phones. At no previous point in history
have so many people produced and shared their own amateur pornography.
Pornography is becoming a form of creating new configurations of intimacies. Within
the boundaries of the research, a trend could be identified: pornography is becoming
more about engaging in a visual dialogue than consuming an industrial product. It is
creating new possibilities for people to experiment and engage with one another. On
the other hand, it is also generating very fragile and unfulfilling relationships.
It can be concluded that self-pornographic photographs can be read as a
product of the symbolic market, a consequence of a different attitude towards

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pornography when people start producing their own images more often instead of/or
in addition to consuming from the porn industry. Their pornographic representations
are indeed still impregnated with stereotypes – such as sexist and racist conceptions,
but this ethnographic research rejects the idea that such behaviour puts users of
online cruising devices as mere imitators of mainstream pornography or victims of an
over-sexualised culture.
There still remain many related issues and unanswered questions about the
new ways of producing, consuming and experiencing pornographic meanings.
Although this topic might be unconventional for academic purposes, this research
stands as an attempt to aid in fulfilling the lack of anthropological studies concerning
this matter. It concludes that pornography is not a frivolous topic, but part of an
intriguing, shared culture with meanings that are constantly changing and floating
around a web of interactions. It is time for an Anthropology of Pornography.

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