A new sequel to 365 Days on Netflix shows the popularity of sexual violence, says Nadia Bokody. Photo / Netflix
OPINION:
WARNING: Disturbing.
A couple of years ago, a TikTok featuring a young woman showing off multiple bruises seemingly attained during a consensual sexual encounter went viral.
The clip, which amassed over three million "likes" before its removal from the platform, included a montage showing off bruising and grazes across the woman's thighs and arms, over which, on-screen text read: "Decided to watch 365 Days with my 'guy friend'."
The video ends with the young woman firing a knowing smirk at the camera while making the peace sign with her fingers.
The clip is still searchable on some parts of the internet, but I'm not going to link to it, because it's incredibly disturbing viewing.
If you're not aware of the movie 365 Days, it's essentially a one hour and 56-minute attempt to glamorise sexual violence, and its massive success on Netflix as a so-called "erotic thriller" is a deeply unnerving testament to the normalisation of sexual assault dressed up as "kink".
So popular is the film – which tells the story of a woman held captive and groomed into participating in often violent sex with her male captor over the course of a year – Netflix rolled out its sequel, 365 Days: This Day, just this week.
Of course, 365 Days isn't the first time we've seen sexual violence and coercion go mainstream. The Fifty Shades franchise and its erroneous representation of BDSM, romanticises a young woman being guilted into performing sex acts she regularly expresses discomfort over; and Game Of Thrones falls just short of framing sexual assault as a side effect of being a lustful bad boy, simply overloaded with testosterone.
It's rare in general, for us to see female characters on screen who don't exist as sexual objects to men; but there's been a marked shift towards depictions of women as disposable conduits for male aggression in the past decade, and it's having a profound impact on the way young people in particular, view sex.
In a 2019 study, almost a quarter of surveyed women reported feeling scared during sex. One of the popular reasons cited, was a partner unexpectedly choking them.
"[He] put his hands on my throat to where I almost couldn't breathe," one woman revealed in her response, while another told of experiences, "being choked until you black out".
Porn and Google searches for violent sex acts are on the rise, too, with terms like "spitting", "slapping" and "choking" – which is having its own moment right now – all experiencing significant increases.
Trawl just about any modern women's lifestyle site, and you're sure to find guides on "breath play", providing instructions on how to choke a partner during sex delivered with the preppy nonchalance you'd expect from a makeup tutorial. TikTok too is awash with young creators casually sharing their tips on "safe" sexual strangling – the clips becoming so mainstream, a sub-trend of "vanilla-shaming" (the act of judging people who prefer more conventional style sex) has emerged.
Of course, family members and friends of women who've lost their lives to what's being marketed as the new low-rise jeans of sex trends, know there's no truly safe way to deprive another person of oxygen.
Last year, UK mum-of-two, Sophie Moss died after being allegedly consensually choked during sex, and in 2018, 22-year-old British tourist Grace Millane was killed in New Zealand by a Tinder date who also claimed he'd consensually choked her while they were engaging in intercourse.
And while a new report released by Kantar Public confirms sexual violence is indeed on the rise, it also reveals most young people aren't skilled at identifying it, and hold "excusing attitudes" towards it. For example, 10 per cent of 16 to 25-year-olds agreed with the statement: "Women often say no when they actually mean yes."
Most of my single straight female peers tell me, too, they've noticed an uptick in the number of men on dating apps listing "Dom looking for a sub", "Must be into kink" and making other BDSM-leaning statements on their profiles.
However, given the gaping lack of meaningful sex education resources available to young people, it's not unreasonable to assume most of these men don't actually understand or practise true BDSM (which, incidentally, stands for bondage, discipline, dominance, submission and sadomasochism, and involves detailed discussion around consent, checking in and after-care as prerequisites).
"He slapped me across the face during sex and I grabbed his hand in shock and asked him what he was doing," a friend revealed to me about a recent Hinge date that had led to a sexual hook-up.
"He said he thought I wanted it. I told him I didn't and that he should never do that to a woman again without asking."
Stories like this are becoming disturbingly common, not only among women I know in their thirties, but among young women entering into their first sexual encounters.
These women are learning to equate aggression and violence with physical intimacy, and to wear the marks of it like badges of honour on social media, instead of recognising them for what they are – warning signs.
Slapping, choking and spitting aren't hallmarks of BDSM or kink – more often than not, they're practised by violent men who've simply found a loophole via which to execute their misogyny and unresolved rage towards women.
There is no aggression or coercion in safe, mutually enjoyable, consensual sex – even if it's casual. It's reciprocal and enthusiastic and leaves both participants feeling whole at the end, not physically scarred or afraid.
Perhaps this message isn't exciting enough to go viral on TikTok, or become a number one film on Netflix. But it's a message we desperately need to address if we want to create a world in which girls aren't rapidly learning to shed their humanity and risk their safety in order to be accepted by guys they like.
• Follow Nadia Bokody on Instagram and YouTube for more sex, relationship and mental health content.