Ethel Cain Posting Full Frontal Isn’t Radical

The day after Trans Day of Visibility, Ethel Cain posted a five-slide carousel to her main Instagram account that included two images with her genitals on full display. The photoset, dimly lit with shadows and sepia tones, fit perfectly into her well-established visual aesthetic. The “Strangers” singer kept little to the imagination for her 1.2 million followers, and the post quickly drew attention online – a lot of it.

Immediately, the timeline flooded with TikToks, tweets (I guess we’re supposed to call them posts now), and varied takes – many landing somewhere between shock and reverence, framing Ethel’s photos as radical, provocative or sensational. Negative reactions, colored in confusion and aversion, were just as prominent. Much of the backlash (especially among Gen Z users), implied that the post was a breach of consent, as if scrolling past a post that wasn’t on your Bingo card is the same thing as having your boundaries violated. Others conflated Community Guidelines with actual cultural norms, as if the platform’s rules make the final call on what art is allowed to look like.

The more I thought about the photos themselves—a defined color story, well composed and highly stylized—the more I began to realize that nothing about this photoshoot introduced anything that we haven’t ever seen before. Nudity, including genitalia, in art is nothing new. Was the only part that was shocking or radical the fact that the genitalia belonged to a trans person? Or was it the fact that she decided to post it without your permission?

The real story here is not the fact that Ethel Cain’s post included nudity. Trans bodies are so highly sensationalized to the point of becoming an “event” no matter how they show up in the world. The images themselves were not especially shocking or provocative; they exist inside an ages-old art form. After all, Ethel Cain is, well, an artist!

In more recent history, movements like #FreeTheNipple, along with pop-cultural resistance to puritan culture (like Madonna’s “Sex” book and Miley Cyrus’ “Wrecking Ball”), have fought for human bodies to exist in art and society freely. What was once read as provocation pushed our society forward. Sharing nude bodies publicly – online and IRL – is more culturally legible than it ever has been.

Instagram allowing exceptions to its own guidelines to include artistic depictions of nudity, even genitals on occasion, is evidence of this shift. Meta is merely catching up to the culture, and Ethel Cain is participating in one that we fought for. I see dick on main all the time: in tattoos, illustrations, editorials and more.

Negative reactions to Ethel’s photos – despite them not being crude, provocative in nature or aesthetically illegible – are indicative of a larger issue. There is a case to be made about regression despite the progress we’ve made as culture – like how lingering systems of oppression still define what is acceptable, who is allowed body autonomy, and what belongs in public versus private. That said, the immediate sensationalization and outrage over a trans woman participating in an already-established art form is proof that trans people still do not have the pleasure to simply exist, to make art, to be naked.

The playing field is different for us. It makes me wonder if it would have been easier for people to make sense of the photos if they sensationalized themselves – is that the only way people know how to understand trans people? Are our bodies so outlandish that they cannot be consumed in an artistic context?

And should the same liberation and neutrality that this post deserves still be afforded to it if it were sexual in nature? If it were provocative?

Cis bodies, online and in sex-positive spaces like clubs or raves, are routinely given a pass to be visible sexually. Thirst traps, explicit performances, environments where sex is not only normal but promoted— these are all things cis people participate in without it being framed as radical. As a premier party doll and the princess of Basement New York, I’m no stranger to seeing what sex liberation looks like for people around me. But I’ve witnessed unspoken exclusion when things start to get sexier. Like, when the sex starts to actually happen. Trans people are often invited into these spaces but not expected to fully participate; it still ruffles feathers or gets labeled radical when they do.

Framing a trans person’s sexuality as radical is an unnecessary burden. If cis people are allowed to express their sexuality in these ways, then trans people should be able to do the same. Trans people: post that dick on main. Hit the dark room and get your life. Pop your brand new pussy onstage if you feel like it.

Ethel Cain is not responsible for being radical. She gets to make art that we as a culture have already made space for, even if that space is often uneven or inconsistent. The visibility that comes with the fact that she is trans is unavoidable, but it’s only one lens through which to view her or consume her art.

One thing that I’ve come to realize is that visibility is not the destination – it is the struggle toward normalcy. We are fighting to be allowed to exist in every form. Trans people are not just your “yas queens,” radicals, scapegoats or whatever singular identity has been ascribed to us. We get to just be women, just be artists, just be people.

Even naked ones on Instagram.