When does ‘tasteful nudity’ impede one’s consent?

Written by Amina Khalidi

When an artist posts nude images online, consent becomes more complicated than in a traditional setting. This commentary focuses on a recent Instagram post by Ethel Cain, where the image feels intentional and self-aware, yet its meaning changes once it appears in an everyday public space.

Online, viewers don’t encounter nudity in the same way they might in a gallery or when choosing to watch a film with a nudity warning. Instead, the image appears randomly, even for those who do not follow those specific creators. Because the feed is shaped by algorithms, people are not always fully choosing what they see (Bucher, 2018, p.2; Gillespie, 2014, p.168). The discomfort some viewers feel may come less from the nudity itself and more from the lack of preparation. Instagram tends to present curated versions of reality (Marwick, 2015, p.139), so something more exposed can interrupt the visual rhythm people have come to expect (Mulvey, 1975, p.17).

Tasteful nudity

is often framed as expressive rather than purely sexual. Even so, the body remains present in a very direct way (Aláez-Corral, 2016, p.3). For some viewers, the tension is not about prudishness but about expectation. Social media rarely prepares us for the same level of confrontation as traditional art spaces. The image simply appears, and that suddenness can feel jarring.

Part of this unease comes from the way social media blurs boundaries. A nude self-portrait placed among everyday posts sits somewhere between private expression and public display. Someone may follow an artist for their music and not expect explicit imagery to appear without warning. Because these platforms rely on fast, continuous scrolling, there is little time to decide whether to engage with the work. Often, the moment of choice comes after the image has already been seen (Bucher, 2018, p.2).

This doesn’t necessarily mean the artist has done something wrong.

Artists have long used their own bodies to explore ideas about identity and vulnerability, from performance art to self-portraiture (e.g. Marina Abramović’s Rhythm 0). Ethel Cain’s work often engages with themes of gender, exposure, and intimacy, so nudity can feel consistent with her wider artistic language. The discomfort may instead come from the way social media collapses environments that once felt separate.

Responses are also shaped by public perceptions of Ethel Cain and the expectations attached to her persona. Reactions cannot be separated from transmisogyny, which often places trans women’s bodies under greater scrutiny (Factora, 2026). Because of this, criticism may reflect not only discomfort with nudity, but assumptions about who is considered acceptable to present their body publicly. Feeling unsettled does not mean the work has failed. It may simply show that audiences are still negotiating what they expect to encounter online, and how much they want to be prepared before they see it.

Do you believe the current public response is valid, or is it disproportionate to the content itself?

References:

Bucher, T. (2018) If…Then: Algorithmic Power and Politics. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.

Gillespie, T. (2014) ‘The Relevance of Algorithms,’ Media Technologies: Essays on Communication, Materiality, and Society, pp. 167–194.

Mulvey, L. (1975) ‘Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema,’ Screen, 16(3), pp. 6–18.

Aláez-Corral, M. (2016) ‘Writing the Naked Body: Sex and Nudity in Nuala Ní Chonchúir’s Nude’, Estudios Irlandeses, 11, pp. 1–11.

Factora, J. (2026) ‘The Only Trans Visibility I Care About Is Ethel Cain Posting Nudes on Main’