For as long as I can remember, I’ve fought against the male gaze—resisting the constant pull to define my worth by how men see me. Breaking free from the male gaze has been a lifelong battle, one that has shaped my choices and identity. And yet, despite all my rebellion, I’ve found myself trapped in the very thing I fought against.
Now, this isn’t just a societal problem—it’s a personal one. The male gaze shaped my choices, my identity, and even led me to an online social platform called OnlyFans (OF).
You see, I thought I could rewrite the rules, only to realize the war is far from over. What I learned through OF surprised me, embarrassed me, and ultimately forced me to redefine everything I thought I knew about self-worth, sexuality, and empowerment.
Today, I can no longer ignore the existence of a society that systematically devalues women.
For so long, reveling in the male gaze felt like my very own sandbox to play in, to experiment with. I learned to find my worth there. For instance, when a first-grade boy I liked walked up to me at the playground and cornered me against a wall, I understood who held the power. And I liked it. His attention meant he liked me, he wanted me. Me. Me! (Enter Taylor Swift “Me!”)
That little girl grew up fast, though. I realized how dangerous the game of power play can be. And now all these years later, I’m still understanding how my self-worth starts with me. It’s not some arbitrary, scary, external force like I believed most of my life.
Case and point: Check out my OF page right now.
I dare you to.
I know you’re at least a little curious about what I’m up to over there…
So, depending on when you read this…
You may or may not find my account.
I entered life as an OF creator during a time of financial duress. Looking back, I feel like the experience lives on as my last hurrah. The final fulfillment of fantasy I never had permission to explore. Oh, and I’m not talking about permission from my husband. I never needed that—contrary to what Christianity taught me my entire life.
Instead, therapy taught me I needed permission from myself to explore and challenge beliefs I carried my entire life.
So, throughout my one consecutive year creating content for OF, I discovered my own permissions. But even with all the intentionality, I often questioned whether I was truly in control or still performing. The process of breaking free from the male gaze is complicated—messy, even—and often left me questioning the very foundation of what empowerment meant to me.
I even invited Mr. Sexy to participate—with intention. For instance, in the beginning, we made videos that showcased how to use vibrators in multiple ways.
This felt right for us. We intended to educate and empower my fans in their own relationships. In the process, I put myself out there in new and exciting ways. I empowered myself—perhaps the most empowering thing I’ve ever done.
But even with our enlightened beliefs, my time on OF still felt awkward and confusing at times. Mr. Sexy and I struggled through toxic beliefs about relationship hierarchy and structure. We spent hours discussing our boundaries, guidelines, feelings, and too many “what if” scenarios for me to remember. We talked through every morsel that made up my existence on OF. Again, our conversations weren’t about permission for anyone. We aimed to understand each other, hold space for each other, and trust each other.
Everything we created for OF aimed to be about me and on my terms.
Or was it?
I mean, if showing my pussy online felt so empowering, what made me quit the game?
Well, I’ll tell you.
The first time I cried about not getting paid what I felt I deserved from a client felt like an acceptable, normal emotion. One I could work through and move on from. So, I worked on shifting my focus a bit, thinking more and more about the client and his many, insatiable needs. But then I cried again. This time I didn’t get paid for my work at all.
I felt embarrassed about my emotions. Yet at the same time, admitting my feelings forced me to realize I still looked for my worth through that fucking male gaze.
What the fuck. I thought I was past this, but I wasn’t. And I’m not.
I know now I performed for the male gaze from the beginning. From the way I styled myself to the content I created, I kept returning to the same trap.
Recognizing and breaking free from the male gaze required me to challenge everything I thought I knew about self-worth and confidence.
So, determined to prove my worth, I reframed my purpose for OF. I decided I could be selfish with the platform. For me, this looked like body-positive images and captions, often censored. But at the end of the day, I kept my eyes on that money, honey. And it wasn’t coming in at the rate I felt I needed it to.
Well, I pivoted my content yet again, this time giving in to the male gaze completely. I loved getting paid for my orgasms. Creating this type of content felt much easier than curated tutorials on the many uses of one vibrator.
Then I ran into more problems. You see, any pay-to-play platform is a business that needs a lot of attention I never wanted to offer. It turns out sex work isn’t my passion. However, I do love writing about sex work and sexuality in general. I especially love exploring how religion and society impact sexuality and how oftentimes this creates deep-seated sex-related shame.
I didn’t feel passionate about making OF content. But I figured I could still make a little bit of money from the few fans still hanging onto my platform. If people were willing to pay, I was willing to play.
But then I watched a documentary called “Girls Gone Wild.” It reminded me of my core beliefs about the porn industry. Beliefs I’ve been shaking loose for a few years now. And you know what? I did succeed in deconstructing beliefs about the porn industry. For instance, I understand porn is not inherently evil. The abuse of porn makes it evil. And unfortunately, that abuse is laced into every aspect of the industry, making porn unsafe for most consumers.
So, here I am. I’m still fighting the same fight I’ve been fighting my whole damn life—except now, I’m doing it with a little more clarity. I know I’m not entirely past the grip of the male gaze, and maybe I never will be. But at least I see the male gaze for what it is. A lens that’s not mine. One I don’t have to perform for. One I don’t need to look through anymore.
Quitting OnlyFans didn’t magically fix everything, but it gave me space to ask myself the hard questions I’d been avoiding.
What do I really want? Who am I when I’m not performing? And most importantly, where do I find my worth, if not in the eyes of men?
I still don’t have all the answers, and maybe I never will. But I do know this: empowerment isn’t one-size-fits-all. For me, it’s about reclaiming my story and breaking free from the male gaze, one uncomfortable truth at a time.
So, here’s to doing the hard work. To writing, questioning, unlearning, and rediscovering what freedom looks like for me. And maybe for you, too.
