Consent Isn't Inherently Sexy, But it Can Be

By Katherine Porritt-Fraser

Consent is, for many, an incredibly loaded word. With it comes an amalgamation of conflicting arguments on its definition, what it looks like in real-life situations, how it differs from person to person. Naturally, it’s a hard topic to cover; if presented as a complex issue, we can seem to validate violations of consent – however, if presented as a simple binary ‘yes or no’, we cover over the complex reality of sexual experiences.

 And one thing is for sure – all of this confusion and misunderstanding is not sexy. Not at all.

 My solution is as such. To actually understand consent, we must look at it outside of a sexual context.

We make hundreds of decisions about consent in non-sexual, non-physical situations every single day. Everything from telling the cashier you don’t need a plastic bag, to turning down another drink at a party, to allowing someone to hold the door open for you as you walk through it. Consent is in everything we do, however big or small.

Therefore, in everyday life, there are an array of moments when these small consent decisions we make are inevitably disrespected or dismissed. Begging a friend to come to a party with us even when they’re really not sure. Posting a cute photo with someone without asking their explicit permission. Taking a joke too far even when a friend is clearly not finding it funny.

I’m not necessarily saying these acts are entirely negative or harmful. But they do show us how little consent is thought of in our everyday lives. Especially amongst the fast-paced ever-changing university context.

 In my experience, I feel most valued, respected and understood when my wishes are valued, respected and understood. However, I will still diminish, ignore and disrespect my own wishes when they are inconvenient, complicated or hard to communicate.

 When you exist in a world that regularly tells you the decision that is easiest is the right one, rather than that most in line with your gut, it is seriously difficult to choose your gut.

But the thing is, deciding to actively listen to and prioritise your own desires and wishes makes you hyper-aware of everyone else’s desires and wishes. When you start valuing your own consent, even in the most miniscule, everyday ways (‘I do NOT want that plastic bag, thank-you very much’) all of the ways other people communicate their consent become so much clearer.

All of the shoulder shrugs, averted gazes and awkward laughs start to read as what they often are – subtle cues of discomfort. And you start learning to ask; is this okay? How are you feeling? What would you like to do?

So let’s return to consent in sex.

 I believe that this capacity to listen to and honour our own desires is the key to understanding consent. And therefore, by extending this celebration of desires to our sexual partners, we show that we respect and understand them.

 Consent is sexy, because having your desires heard, honoured and valued is sexy, and that is what consent is. It allows us to feel more connected to our sexual partners, whatever kind of connection it is that we want to pursue.

I think the discourse around consent’s ‘un-sexiness’ often comes from a belief that it makes sex too complicated. Yet without the social structures that teach us to diminish it, consent becomes quite simple. It’s just an honouring of our sexual partners’ desires. Are our desires complex? Of course. We’re humans. We’re supposed to be complicated. 

But if we reframe consent as the way we show those we have sex with that we celebrate them, and with that their array of desires, it becomes more than ‘sexy’. It becomes central to the pleasure of our sexual experiences.