I got a follower on Instagram the other day, a blonde college girl from the US. She was beautiful and sensual in that subtle, magnetic way. I clicked into her profile. 

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In her first picture, she was sitting on the floor in front of a mirror, wearing white socks, loose grey shorts, and a cut-up T-shirt. Her hair was messy in the perfect way—like she hadn’t tried, but somehow got it right—and she wore oversized glasses that made her look just a little bit shy. It was casual, but there was something unmistakably intimate about it, like she was letting you into a moment—half playful, half aching for something real. In the caption, she wrote: “Guys stop taking me seriously the moment they find out what I do for a living. I just want a real relationship. Someone to cuddle with on Sundays and watch Netflix.” 

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Of course, her profile wasn’t exactly innocent. As I went through her pictures, they became increasingly provocative, yet somehow remained cute, and not vulgar at all. She gave you just enough to want more.

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Any writer or content creator knows the importance of a good hook—you’ve got a few lines or a few seconds to catch someone’s attention. It’s not easy, and I appreciate it when someone does it well, no matter the format. This girl’s aim was clear: she wanted to lead me to her OnlyFans page, where, for a fee, I could see more of her—or all of her. I didn’t pursue the matter further, but I found myself admiring the craft. If I were looking for that kind of content, I’d probably have subscribed. 

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Then my “morality” kicked in. I thought: what if another guy stumbled upon something similar, but instead of @user123, it was my sister, half-naked? Or my mother? What if someone could buy naked pictures of them—women I deeply respect and love? What if they were doing the same thing? Honestly, just the thought of it sickened me.

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But I’m a philosopher, and philosophy has taught me not to stop at what feels obvious. When something bothers you, it’s usually a hint: there’s something worth uncovering beneath your reaction. Now, picture your mother, father, sister, brother, son, or daughter selling their naked pictures on OnlyFans. If that thought fills you with disgust, rage, shame, or humiliation, you’re not to blame—at least not yet. 

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But if you finish this article and still feel the same way, then you’re being incongruent—and most likely, a hypocrite.

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Here’s the blunt truth: there’s nothing ethically or morally wrong with selling naked pictures of yourself. And if that’s true, then there’s nothing wrong with your mother, father, daughter, son, brother, or sister doing it either. I’m telling you this after a thorough philosophical exploration—one of the most painful and uncomfortable I’ve ever undertaken.

 

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Now, you might think: “Maybe it’s not morally wrong, but there are still plenty of reasons why it’s wrong.” Chances are, you’re thinking of things like decency, vulgarity, or it being “low.” But those arguments don’t hold up. They’re based on social constructs, and if a social construct isn’t grounded in morality, then the construct itself is flawed. Think about it: if there’s nothing morally wrong with an action, how can you justify building a social rule against it? It would be nonsense—like admitting that eating apples is harmless, yet condemning those who do so.

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The only argument left is the “religious” one: that doing OnlyFans goes against divine law or similar. But once again, that doesn’t hold. Even religion—properly understood as a social activity—is built on the distinction between right and wrong, which is morality. And if there’s nothing morally wrong, then how could it be prohibited by a religion whose very aim is to guide us toward what is right?

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If there’s nothing morally wrong at the heart of the practice, then there’s no legitimate argument against it. Of course, there are corrupted cases that make it morally repugnant, but those come from abuses of the practice, not the practice itself. Here, we’re not concerned with the rotten uses of naked pictures or the exploitation of people for them; we’re considering the moral implications of the practice in its healthiest form.

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Let me show you why there’s nothing morally wrong with OnlyFans—even if the person involved is your +18-year-old daughter. To do that, let’s walk through the strongest reasons one might think the practice is wrong—and see why they don’t hold up.

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The first thing that comes to mind is money—selling naked pictures for profit must be wrong, right? But imagine this: your daughter says, “If money is the problem, I’ll stop charging. I’ll send my pictures for free.” Would you feel any better? Unlikely. You’d probably be more upset. You might even say, “At least charge a lot, my darling!” So clearly, the problem isn’t the money itself. If someone charges a million dollars for a single picture, it doesn’t suddenly become moral or immoral.

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We accept people charging money for images all the time—professional photoshoots, fashion campaigns, brand endorsements. The only difference is that in one case, they’re clothed, and in the other, they’re not. “But she’d be selling her body!” you might say. Is she? OnlyFans involves images and videos—there’s no physical possession, no contact. Viewing a body isn’t owning a body.

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“It’s wrong because it’s meant to sexually provoke others. Why should my daughter provoke anyone’s appetite?” But is sexual provocation morally wrong? You can provoke your partner and it’s not wrong. “Well, yes, because it’s my partner,” you might say. But what about provoking a stranger you’re attracted to on a night out? We generally accept that too—after all, your partner was once a stranger.

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In fact, sexual provocation is everywhere. Instagram is full of it: bikinis, seductive beach poses, post-workout gym selfies. No one posts those hoping to inspire intellectual debate; they’re about being seen, desired, and valued as a sexual being, even when you’re already in a relationship.

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So maybe it’s not provocation itself that’s the issue, but the degree of it. “It’s different to post a swimsuit photo than to spread your legs for strangers online.” Maybe. But if the concern is only about how much provocation, not about whether provocation itself is wrong, then provocation isn’t immoral—only your personal discomfort with its degree is. And degrees of discomfort aren’t moral arguments. In some countries, women cover their hair to avoid provoking men. Imagine what they would think of your latest pictures from Cancun. Provocation is in the eye of the beholder.

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Would you agree that morality is a matter of degree—that you can be “a little bit wrong” and still be right? Of course not. Morality isn’t measured in degrees. Either something is right or it isn’t. 

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Also, to claim that sexual provocation is immoral would be to deny one of the most basic realities of life; it is natural, fundamental, and necessary for sexual attraction, reproduction, and the continuation of the species.

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“Well, yes, but sexual provocation intended solely for pleasure is wrong.” But is it? If you provoke someone sexually and they feel pleasure, is that immoral? You could argue yes, but only if you believe sexual provocation should serve strictly reproductive purposes. That view reduces to this: pleasure for its own sake is morally wrong. But be careful—if you accept that, you’d have to reconsider many things you take for granted. Eating ice cream, for starters. I think you’d agree: pleasure, when wisely conceived, is not morally wrong—and neither is sexual provocation.

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Some might say sexual provocation leads to promiscuity. But again, that’s a problem of the promiscuous, not the one who provokes. Blaming your daughter for posting a naked picture for promiscuity is like blaming the supermarket for you breaking your diet.

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“What about reputation? My daughter is burning her image! Who will want her now?” But if there’s nothing morally wrong with what she’s doing, why is her image “burned” at all? “Because society sees it as wrong.” Well, society once saw racial discrimination as acceptable. Was it right? Perhaps it’s not her image that needs fixing, but society, which still has a lot to learn. And if it ever comes down to choosing between reputation and morality, would you really teach your children to choose reputation? I doubt it.

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Finally, what about the argument of abandoning a “respectable” career for easy money? Suppose your daughter finishes her college degree and faces two options: a high-paying job at a law firm or an equally lucrative career on OnlyFans. If she chooses the latter, what is wrong with it? You might say, “It’s unwise.” Maybe. But unwise decisions aren’t immoral ones. My father said the same thing when I chose philosophy over something more practical. Choosing how to live your life, as long as it’s morally unproblematic, is a fundamental right. And by now, it should be clear: OnlyFans, at its core, is not morally wrong.

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I’ve given you examples that, when I first encountered them, felt deeply uncomfortable. My social constructs, biases, and assumptions were so ingrained that it took real work to break them down. But let me share with you the most painful scenario—the one that challenged me the most—so you see that I’m not writing from a place of comfort or theory, but that I placed myself in a real struggle.

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I imagined I was having lunch with my mother, and the waiter came over to compliment her on her naked pictures. How wild would I go in a moment like that! My whole body would be filled with rage. I became furious just thinking about the hypothetical scenario. But then, I thought: would I get mad if someone complimented her for being a great lawyer? I wouldn’t, quite on the contrary. So the problem, of course, is not with the compliment, but that a job like OnlyFans messes with intimacy. My mother’s body is reserved for her, not for the waiter. So the real problem is the violation of her intimacy. Why would my mother’s body be accessible to anyone who can pay to see it?

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But then, what if my mother modelled professionally? Say, for a clothing brand. I wouldn’t feel that her intimacy is violated in that scenario. The difference is the presence of clothes. So it seems the real issue is the naked body itself. But why do we feel a violation of intimacy when someone sees someone else naked? If a person doesn’t want to be seen naked, and someone forces it, then yes, intimacy is violated, which is morally wrong (it’s also called stalking, harassment, etc.). But if the person freely consents to being seen, then their intimacy is not violated at all. They still have intimacy; they are simply choosing to reveal more of themselves than we are used to.

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“But what if, by doing so, my mother is violating my intimacy?” Your intimacy? It remains perfectly intact. No one is seeing you naked. “Well, not me, but my friends could see my mother naked, and that feels like my intimacy.” Is it? If your partner sees you naked, does that violate your mother’s intimacy? “No, but that’s different—because my partner is my partner.” Exactly. It’s different because you chose that intimacy. Your mother’s choices about her body are her own, just as your choices about your body are yours. Intimacy is not a collective possession. It belongs to the individual. You might feel uncomfortable, but discomfort is not the same as a moral wrong. If what your mother is doing is not morally wrong, then your feeling, however strong, is just that: a feeling. And morality cannot be built on feelings alone.

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“Okay, but what if in the pictures people can see my mother’s house? Her privacy!” If she rented a neutral apartment to take the photos, would that solve it? Of course not. That’s not the real issue. “But my mother doing OnlyFans affects my image!” How exactly, if what she’s doing is not morally wrong? If she sold apples for a living, would my image be affected? Maybe, if I were deeply elitist (which I'm not). But again, that’s a separate problem, not a moral one.

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I’ve exhausted the examples I’ve got. If you have one I haven’t considered, feel free to send it over (or leave it in the comments). Who knows—maybe you’ll bring down the whole argument. I’ll be glad to take the challenge.

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I enjoyed seeing the stunning college girl with a perfect body, and I had no objection to her posting pictures half-naked—or even naked. On the contrary, I probably would have felt pleasure. Yet when I imagined someone I love doing the same, I instinctively judged it. One reaction I welcomed without hesitation; the other I rejected without a thought. That contrast felt inconsistent. So I decided to run the moral exploration I’ve guided you through. And to my surprise, I found nothing wrong with the practice.

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I now feel more empathetic toward those who do it than ever before. I can only imagine how painful it must be to be judged as doing something immoral when it isn’t, and when society hasn’t even bothered to explore the issue properly before jumping to conclusions.

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If I, like most adults, can admire the beauty of a naked body, and the pleasure that comes with it, then I need to confront the discomfort and social constructs that arise when imagining someone I care about posting something of the sort—and someone else admiring it. I can’t embrace one and condemn the other. Not without falling into hypocrisy.

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And how boring, how sad, to live in hypocrisy—don’t you think?