Is It Time to Say No to No Nut November?

I heard about No Nut November for the first time in college. It was always spoken about by freshmen guys trying to make (now long-distance) relationships with their high school girlfriends work by showing how devoted they were. They weren’t going to hook up with any girls or even jack off until they saw their high school sweethearts during winter break.

You know what else happened in college? I once stole a rotting jack-o’-lantern off someone’s porch on my walk home from a bar and brought it home because I “wanted to save its life.” All I’m saying is, it’s been years since I was in college, and somehow this dumbass idea carried out by kids whose prefrontal cortex won’t develop until three years past graduation is still around. I don’t get it.

As a sex columnist, I always forget No Nut November exists until the last week of October rolls around and I start seeing the memes. This year, I saw the TikToks—and then I rolled my eyes and found my vibrator like I do nearly every day.

The precise origins of No Nut November are murky, but it is closely linked to the NoFap community on Reddit, which boasts 725,000 followers, only a small fraction of which are female. The community started in 2011 as an accountability group for people who wanted to abstain from masturbation for a variety of reasons, most notably believing this practice is linked to curing erectile dysfunction, improved sperm quality, muscle growth and increased testosterone. (None of these claims have been proven by the scientific community, by the way.) The latter is why the community was created in the first place: A very small one-time study of 28 people in China showed testosterone increases in people with penises after seven days of no ejaculation.

The chasing of that testosterone high is where things turn from a dumb thing college dudes may do to prove their loyalty into something more sinister. Idealizing testosterone (or any “masculine” trait) and linking it to superiority in any form is inherently misogynistic. It’s no surprise that there’s a darker side to NoFap, where some members believe porn of any kind is harmful and unethical and women in porn aren’t real women, which is some real purity culture shit. I know women in porn are real women because I’ve spoken to them. Trust me, they are very real. They’re some of the realest people I’ve ever met.

Plus, there are plenty of ways to consume ethical porn. There are countless places to go, including Bellesa, the Crash Pad Series, Four Chambers, Make Love Not Porn, Pink Label TV and many others. If you’re more concerned about ethical consumption from a monetary perspective and you want to make sure you’re compensating someone fairly for their work, go straight to your favorite performer’s website or OnlyFans. It’s the best way to ensure they get paid for their job.

The shaming of porn is a problem because, like kissing or erotica, porn is merely one facet of someone’s overall sexuality. When we shame porn, we shame sexual pleasure. This is harmful for folks of marginalized genders or sexualities because it results in things like the orgasm gap and slut-shaming—but it’s harmful for straight men, too, because shame and a healthy sex life can’t coexist. There is no room for shame in sex positivity.

What happens when we demonize porn? Someone creates software like Covenant Eyes, a computer program that, whenever you look at porn, emails a group of people you know with a comprehensive report of your screen activity. Yes, you heard that correctly: When you look at porn, an email is sent out alerting others what you’ve been up to. Don’t worry—it won’t get emailed to a bunch of randoms. You can pick the email recipients (your “allies,” according to the company’s website) yourself. Because, you know, receiving your dad’s porn history in an email report isn’t weird or creepy at all.

This shit creates shame, and that shame permeates other parts of a person’s life—not just inside the bedroom. When we actively deny ourselves self-pleasure (an act that doesn’t inherently hurt ourselves or others) for the sake of willpower, we’re less likely to deny ourselves other forms of pleasure that can boost our mental and physical health, such as nutrition and creating emotionally intimate connections. In short, it’s self-harm. (And if someone’s relationship with porn or masturbation is compulsory or “addictive,” real help can be found in the company of a licensed sex therapist, not an anonymous online community.)

The reason it’s so hard not to masturbate—and why these “accountability” groups exist in the first place—is because masturbation is natural. After all, at its core, masturbation is self-massage. In the same way you’d massage your neck if you slept funny the night before or massage your feet after going on a long run (or wouldn’t chastise an infant for sucking its thumb to self-soothe), it’s okay to massage your own genitals for the sake of feeling good.

Humans are pack mammals who need human interaction, social acceptance and touch. This has been made even more clear during the pandemic.

Plus, there are so many reasons masturbation should be a part of any person’s health regimen. It’s been shown to reduce stress, help with sleep, relieve menstrual cramps and muscle tension and even strengthen the pelvic floor (which does help with erectile dysfunction). If you want to do something truly good for your body, fap to your heart’s content.