An Intellectual Analysis of a Man’s Need to Snap His Junk

This column may contain strong language, sexual content, adult humor, and other themes that may not be suitable for minors. Parental guidance is strongly advised.

Seeing as we live in a nation ruled by men who insist on swinging their imagined big dicks, yet so easily turn petulant and petty at imagined slights, then seek refuge behind the imagined skirt of a joke… Let’s turn our attention to dicks, shall we? Dick pics, in particular.

Whether you are perched on the periphery of the online dating highway, or swiping deep into the minefields of Tinder, Bumble, Happn, or whatever other location-based dating app is out there, as a woman, you may have been the recipient at one time or another of a dick pic. You may have even asked for it, and salivated at the erect specimen of manhood suddenly thrusting from the screen of your iPhone. Chances, are, however, you are one of the majority of women who would rather not receive dick pics, and almost always do not solicit them.

Yet many men persist in snapping a pic of their big swinging dicks and sending them to women they barely know. The women then go through the dick pics own five stages of grief: shock, revulsion, curiosity, rejection, and hilarity. Any of the stages may be experienced concurrently or in any order, alone or in a communal setting; that is, with any number of girlfriends. The last two stages are most often shared with others, including gay friends, and provide entertainment that runs the gamut of momentary amusement to prolonged mirth.

Granted, at some stage of an online or electronic back-and-forth between a man and woman who are yet to meet and possibly hook up, photos of one’s genitals may be requested and subsequently exchanged. Prior to that, men may be dying to send visual representations of their junk, and may very well do so, unasked. Instagram overflows with accounts highlighting just that―dick pics sent by men to women who never asked for them in the first place, even sometimes replacing the customary opening line.

I don’t know about you, but I’d rather my first encounter with the penis of a man I might consider sleeping with be tactile rather than visual, in real life rather than virtual, close to my body rather than on the screen of my iPhone.

Why do men do it? Is this another case of male entitlement, where a woman may have given every indication that she does NOT want a dick pic, yet a man chooses to interpret her “NO” as a “YES” in disguise? Or is it a form of self-advertising fuelled by vanity and aggression along the lines of “Let me show you what’s in store for you,” and “Take a look at what you’re missing”?

In the absence of conclusive studies, Dr. David J. Ley speculates in an article in Psychology Today, that men behave this way for a number of reasons:

  • Because men, unevolved and low-EQ as they are, love receiving such images from strangers, they assume that women do, too. “Men notoriously misperceive women’s sexual interest in them and project their own sexual interests and desires onto women. In this situation, men are really hoping and thinking that you’ll be turned on and send them a pic in response.”
  • Men consider online an anonymous environment and are therefore emboldened to “engage in more sexualized behaviors.”
    It’s a kind of survival of the fittest strategy―the bolder, the brasher, the more chances of getting female attention rather than remaining “nice and polite… So the ‘shock value’ is a way for men to get more attention. And negative attention is better than no attention at all.”
  • They get a sexual thrill “at the idea of an unknown woman seeing their genitalia.” There is an element of exhibitionism, and some men “probably masturbate as part of the act, imagining that woman seeing the picture they sent.” They could be the virtual world’s equivalent of flashers in trench coats; the woman’s rejection and disgust are significant in the sense that this very reaction may be what turns them on.
  • It’s a form of getting “pre-approval” for their junk in order to mitigate the possibility of rejection. “This way, they get the chance of rejection out of the way early, so they don’t have to worry about being rejected or shamed once they drop their pants on a real date.”

The modern philosopher behind The School of Life, Alain de Botton, recently came to the defense of that peculiarly male form of self-portraiture, advancing the idea that the dick pic—“one of the least well-regarded of contemporary genres”—may be the result of “the wish to reveal one’s deeper and sincere self.”

He cited the famous Renaissance artist Albrecht Durer, he of the incredibly detailed renderings of animals and nature, as being one of the first brave and bold practitioners of the art of the genital in full anatomical glory. “Durer carefully details his penis because he wants to tell us something about who he is… He’s not purely an accomplished cultural figure concerned with lofty ideals. He’s also a creature of flesh and blood, defying notions of shame around the physical self… To allow someone else to know him properly, Durer feels he must show himself fully and completely.”

In other words, the dick pic “isn’t typically about arrogance—it’s an exercise in vulnerability,” de Botton proposes, an invitation, and a graphic one at that—to intimacy, offered with complete sincerity.

While I doubt many women will be swayed by that argument, I can appreciate de Botton’s point, which boils down to the whole “Men Are from Mars” premise. We’re just wired differently.

As for me, I’d rather feel it than see it, thank you very much. And if you still insist on sending me one, just be aware that it will go directly to a WhatsApp group that includes my gay best friends who will deliver, of course a verdict. But by then, I may be completely uninterested in meeting you.


B. Wiser is the author of Making Love in Spanish, a novel published earlier this year by Anvil Publishing and available in National Book Store and Powerbooks, as well as online. When not assuming her Sasha Fierce alter-ego, she takes on the role of serious journalist and media consultant.

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Disclaimer: The views expressed here are solely those of the author in her private capacity and do not in any way represent the views of, or any other entity of the Inquirer Group of Companies.


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