Introduction

The emergence of the globally recognised #MeToo movement in 2017 has garnered widespread attention to issues of sexual harassment and assault in Australia, underscoring the prevalence and damaging consequences of non-consensual sexual behaviour generally perpetuated by men (e.g. Hindes & Fileborn, 2020). The movement has prompted dialogues about the significance of affirmative and enthusiastic consent, and the urgency for a societal shift in attitudes towards sexual behaviour, particularly that within heterosexual relations (Hindes & Fileborn, 2020; Waling, 2022b). Although the movement has encountered some criticism, mainly from individuals concerned with the possibility of false allegations, it has, for the most part, renewed ongoing conversations about sexual consent (e.g. Darnell, 2020; Matthews, 2020). Such conversations have spanned across considerations of gender relations and power dynamics, sexual consent in relationships and sexuality education (RSE) curricula, sexual consent and the law, and sexual consent as a public health concern among many others.

Since April 2022, consent education has been made a mandatory part of the formal primary and secondary school curriculum in Australia. The mandate was implemented in response to the longstanding experiences of girls and women facing various instances of sexual consent issues with and sexual violence from boys and men, including incidents during primary and secondary school. National strategies and frameworks such as the National Men’s Health Strategy (2020–2030), the National Women’s Health Strategy (2020–2030), the National Plan to End Violence against Women and Children (2022–2032), and the Fourth National STI Strategy (2018–2022) prioritise the promotion of healthy and equitable relationships between men and women. The concept of affirmative consent has emerged as a response to the debate surrounding verbal versus non-verbal consent and is now incorporated into some state-based laws and legislation in Australia (North, 2023). For example, in Victoria, Australia, in March 2021, new consent laws known as the Sexual Offences and Other Matters Act were introduced (Burgin, 2019). These laws shift the legal definition of sexual assault from the absence of a “no” to the requirement of a clear and enthusiastic “yes” for consent. The reforms require potential perpetrators accused of violence to demonstrate that explicit and ongoing consent was given at each stage of a sexual encounter. The aim of these changes is to improve the response to sexual violence and provide better support to victim/survivors, as well as to promote a culture of enthusiastic and affirmative consent.

In Australia, the focus on sexual consent largely centres on the urgent need for intervention and education among boys and young cisgender heterosexual boys and men to prevent future perpetration of sexual violence against women. By cisgender and heterosexual, I am referring to men whose gender identity aligns with their assigned sex at birth, and who have sexual and romantic relationships with women. I use the terms men and women throughout the rest of this paper, but unless otherwise stated, am referring specifically to those who are cisgender and heterosexual. Past research indicates that young men may struggle with comprehending sexual consent, including interpreting non-verbal and verbal cues, and feeling discomfort, lacking communication skills, and facing pressure to conform to societal expectations regarding masculinity and heterosexuality (e.g. Aronowitz et al., 2012; Brady et al., 2018; Buck Doude, 2009; Hayes et al., 2022; Hermann et al., 2017; Hirsch et al., 2019; Hust et al., 2014, 2016, 2017; Jeffrey & Barata, 2019, 2020; Ólafsdottir & Kjaran, 2019). As expectations surrounding sexual communication and consent, dating practices, and women’s sexual rights and autonomy continue to evolve, it is crucial to examine how young men are continuing to engage in sexual relationships.

This paper explores how young men in Australia navigate sexual communication and sexual consent in the intimate moment, paying particular attention to how men reflect on their body and the body of their partner (or bodies of their partners) in terms of communicating not only sexual consent, but also enjoyment, distress, hesitation, reluctance, and pleasure. It focuses on how men make sense of moments of sexual activity as they happen, and how that relates to their understanding of sexual communication and sexual consent. It is not focused on women’s experiences of sexual pleasure, but rather, how men are reading these experiences. My interpretation of “sexual communication” encompasses verbal and non-verbal communication skills, emotional intelligence, and expectations that may influence positive or negative experiences surrounding sexual encounters (Beres, 2010; Gilbert, 2018). This involves not only communication during sexual encounters, but also how discussions about sexual needs can take place in non-sexual settings. In contrast, “sexual consent” refers to an individual’s explicit agreement or disagreement to a specific sexual desire or activity and is typically viewed through a legal, contractual, or criminal risk lens (Beres, 2010; Gilbert, 2018; Sundén, 2020). From my perspective, “sexual consent” is just one component of a more extensive range of sexual communication practices. I begin with an overview of research concerning heterosexual gender relations and theorising sexual consent.

Men, Women, and Sexual Communication and Consent

There is a significant body of work on sexual consent and sexual communication, ranging across social sciences, law and criminology, public health, education, and behavioural and psychological sciences (for reviews see Fenner, 2017; Muehlenhard et al., 2016), which shape understandings of young men and their navigations of sex and intimacy. National and international literature that has explored young men’s and young women’s understandings of sexual communication and sexual consent has focused primarily on relationship styles and communication (e.g. Jones et al., 2018; Lehmiller et al., 2014), and where they learned about sexual consent (Byers, 2011; Waling et al., 2022a, b). Media such as pornography or movies and music videos (Allen, 2006; Bridges et al., 2016; Crabbe & Flood, 2021; Rodgers et al., 2023; Willis et al., 2020) and inadequate formal school-based relationships and sexuality education (e.g. Burton et al., 2023; Ezer et al., 2019; Johnson et al., 2020; Pound et al., 2016, 2017; Quinlivan, 2018; Willis et al., 2019a, b) are believed to contribute to young men’s poor understandings about sexual consent and relationships. Some research has focused on whether individuals engage in verbal or non-verbal forms of sexual consent, finding that overall, young men and women are more reliant on non-verbal forms and do not communicate sexual or other needs prior to encounters, especially in a casual setting (e.g. Hust et al., 2014, 2017).

Heterosexuality and Gendered Power Relations

Gender and associated gendered power relations are a significant and important factor in sexual communication and sexual consent practices, particularly within heterosexual relations (Beres, 2007, 2014, 2020; Beres & Farvid, 2010; Beres & MacDonald, 2015; Jozkowski et al., 2017; Willis et al., 2019a, b). Notions of women as sexual gatekeepers and men as sexually assertive have been shown to impact on the ways that people perceive sexual consent, with men viewing it as the responsibility of women to provide a clear refusal that they could seek to overcome by persuading them otherwise (e.g. Benoit & Ronis, 2022; Carmody, 2003; Gilbert, 2018; Halley, 2016; Jozkowski et al., 2017). At the same time, it was also viewed that these refusals may not be authentic, as it was perceived that women would, as part of their gendered performance, decline wanted sex (Jozkowski et al., 2017; Rittenhour & Sauder, 2023; Willis et al., 2019a, b). Binary notions of sexual consent leave women with little space to explore pleasure and power in ways beyond traditional sexual scripts; it is argued that for women, some of the greatest risks in talking about sex are expressions of desire, which sit in contrast to ideas of femininity (Albury, 2018; Angel, 2021). Meanwhile, men are afforded greater scope for sexual desire; however, they are required to exercise power over women and are also located as predatory, given the silence about women’s own desires (Allen, 2004). In addition, the binary framework of sexual consent locates men as responsible for asking for sex, and women responsible for agreeing or refusing (Angel, 2021; Benoit & Ronis, 2022; Carmody, 2003; Gilbert, 2018; Halley, 2016; Jozkowski et al., 2017). As a result of these gendered dynamics, some have suggested that campaigns focusing on improving women’s refusal skills are ineffective and ignore the complexity of refusals in everyday life — particularly the ways that cultural norms make it difficult for women to simply decline (Hardesty et al., 2022; O’Byrne et al., 2006).

Most national and international research that has specifically focused on young men has argued that they have a limited understanding of sexual consent. This limited understanding is related to broader cultural narratives that promote men’s entitlement to women’s bodies, influences of masculinity, the misconception that consent is a one-time occurrence rather than an ongoing process, and men having a lack of accountability for their actions (e.g. Aronowitz et al., 2012; Buck Doude, 2009; Hermann et al., 2017; Hirsch et al., 2019; Jeffrey & Barata, 2019, 2020; Ólafsdottir & Kjaran, 2019). Other research has noted that men do understand aspects of sexual consent both verbally and non-verbally, and that men continue to be positioned as responsible for the asking and understanding of consent, while women remain silent and passive (Beres et al., 2014; Brady et al., 2018; Hayes et al., 2022; Meenagh, 2021; Setty, 2021). In particular, “young women could be seen as sexual protagonists and young men were anxious about being seen as ‘rapists’ following what they thought were consensual sexual activities” (Brady et al., 2018).

A response to these difficulties and challenges across academic literature and in public discourse has been an emphasis on sexual consent education, predominantly in formal school-based and post-secondary education settings (Hayes et al., 2022; Pound et al., 2017). While labelled in varying ways, such as comprehensive RSE, respectful or healthy relationships, and consent (or sexual consent) workshops among others, this is regarded as a potential intervention to prevent sexual violence (Gilbert, 2018; Jeffrey, 2024). However, these approaches have been heavily critiqued for their inability to reflect on and capture complex nuances around sexual desire, pleasure, and sexual consent, outlined below.

Contemporary Debates Regarding Sexual Communication, Consent, and Agency

Academic debates have emerged in relation to the extent to which sexual consent needs be expressed verbally, or otherwise, alongside uncertainties as to how sexual consent should be defined (Beres, 2010; Beres & MacDonald, 2015; Beres et al., 2019). I note below a brief overview of these debates to highlight what they are, as opposed to advancing a democratic sexual ethic within a particular feminist paradigm. Importantly, most understandings and definitions of sexual consent are located with criminal and legal frameworks that do not allow for nuance, varied communication styles, or ambiguity, rather, they are situated within a binary system of the “yes” or “no” model (Dougherty, 2015). As many have argued, ambiguity surrounding sexual communication and sexual consent is a reality, yet one that is not necessarily engaged or understood appropriately (Darnell, 2020; Dougherty, 2015; Matthews, 2020; Muehlenhard & Peterson, 2005). For example, Darnell (2020) argues that sexual consent cannot be reduced to a binary of yes/no, because sexual motivations are complex, and currently, “most discussion of consent continues to reduce otherwise rich conversation to damage control”. In addition to this, Matthews (2020) and Waling (2022b) have argued that the #MeToo movement has produced a conservativism in relation to what is acceptable sex and desire, and this does not allow for ambiguity or forms of sex and sexual expression that are not linked to heteronormative ideals, i.e. long-term relationships, monogamy, and deep connection.

Some have pointed to the way that discussions of sex and sexual consent have become increasingly shaped by discussions of violence and abuse, rather than pleasure, partly because of discomfort in talking about sex (Darnell, 2020). Gilbert (2018) notes that “the rise of what is being called ‘affirmative consent’ seems an entrenchment of gendered notions of sexual activity and passivity where young men ask for consent and young women give or withhold their ‘yes’” (pp. 268–269). In Australia, affirmative sexual consent requires each participant in a sexual act to actively confirm the other person’s willingness to engage in the activity, emphasising proactive communication rather than relying on assumed consent (Burgin, 2019). In Australia, enthusiastic consent in which consent is not just given in the affirmative, but that there is a strong enthusiasm behind it, easily discernible to those engaging in the sexual act (Barker, 2018).

These approaches are not without criticism. Gilbert (2018) argues that sexual consent within educational contexts continues this perpetuation of old gender binaries, whereby women’s expressions of desire and eroticism are invisible or silent, and men continue to have power in the direction of sexual activity (see also Fine & McClelland, 2006; Hindes, 2022; Jeffrey, 2024). Fischel (2019) notes that enthusiastic models of consent fail to address the issue of distressing sexual experiences that many people endure. Angel (2021) notes that discourse of enthusiastic consent:

places the burden of good sexual interaction on women’s behaviour-on what they want and on what they can know and say about their wants; on their ability to perform a confident sexual self in order to ensure that sex is mutually pleasurable and non-coercive…Consent rhetoric doesn’t allow for ambivalence, and it risks making impermissible-indeed dangerous-not simply a difficult in expressing desire, but the experience of not knowing what we want in the first place. (p. 18)

For Angel (2021), the enthusiastic model of sexual consent implies a set of assumptions about sexual desires, wants, and activities, in which individuals should already “know” what it is they want and need out of a sexual encounter, as well as have the capacity to confidently navigate it (on similar concerns, please see Waling, 2022b; Matthews, 2020; Pascoe, 2022). Other criticisms note that “enthusiasm” can be subjective and difficult to measure (Barker, 2018; Dougherty, 2015; Edwards et al., 2022). People’s outward expressions of enthusiasm vary based on personality, mood, or cultural background. Some might be enthusiastic but not outwardly expressive, leading to misunderstandings (Barker, 2018). Cultural and gendered expectations can affect how enthusiasm is perceived. For example, some might expect women to be more reserved about expressing enthusiasm, while men are encouraged to be more overt (Jeffrey, 2024). This can lead to misunderstandings and reinforce stereotypes. The emphasis on enthusiasm might unintentionally create pressure to appear excited or happy about engaging in sexual activity, even when someone might be feeling neutral or cautious (Barker, 2018; Edwards et al., 2022; Miller, 2022). Consent can change throughout an interaction, and someone might start with enthusiasm but then become less interested, or vice versa (Miller, 2022). The enthusiastic consent model might not always adequately capture this fluidity, leading to potential boundary-crossing if not addressed. The concept can also be understood as binary, overlooking more nuanced forms of consent, where someone might be comfortable and willing but not necessarily exuberant (Barker, 2018; Edwards et al., 2022).

Sexual consent has overtaken sexual communication in both academic and public discourse, with limited attention paid to the complex set of emotional and verbal skills required to manage varied sexual situations (e.g. Angel, 2021; Beres & MacDonald, 2015; Darnell, 2020; Jeffrey, 2024; Matthews, 2020). Instead, focus continues to be on whether individuals (mostly women) say “yes” or “no”, how that is achieved, and who (mostly men) either respects their partner or violates them through lack of consent, as opposed to providing ways to think about and learn how to manage awkward or difficult sexual and communication scenarios.

As such, some are advocating for a consideration of sexual communication and sexual consent within a particular framework of sexual agency (Bauer, 2021; Hindes, 2022, 2024; Jeffrey, 2024; Vanwesenbeeck et al., 2021). Vanwesenbeeck et al. (2021) contend that this framework of sexual agency needs to be understood as:

complex, multi-layered, utterly context-related, and variable phenomenon. It relates to individual-level behaviour, the opportunity structure (e.g., what choices do people have), and the interaction between them. Agentic behaviour is not one-directional towards healthy outcomes but includes navigating—sometimes contradicting or opposing—options, desires, and considerations. (p. 393)

In other words, people’s capacity to make decisions within a sexual moment is reliant on “the process of learning to navigate the complex structures which impact people’s sexual decision making” (Hindes, 2022, p. 5). Or, as Bauer (2021) contends, a limited field of choices.

In thinking about these gendered dynamics, sexual agency, and complexities around sexual communication and sexual consent, this paper looks at how young men in Australia are actively navigating the immediate sexual moment, from initiating potential interest to engaging in the activity. While plenty of research has looked at whether young men understand sexual communication and sexual consent as noted above, I wanted to know what it is men actively do in the sexual moment, both how they read varied cues within a situation, and how they themselves move about the sexual space. This is a strikingly significant gap in the field, where most literature notes “verbal cues” or “body cues” but very few papers provide detailed descriptions as to what this may sound, look, or feel like as a sexual moment evolves. Given the contradictory concerns about women’s autonomy, empowerment, and sexual decision-making within a framework of sexual agency, what restricted range of options are young men in Australia presented with when it comes to understanding and navigating sex? What gendered dynamics remain, and what may be shifting or transforming in a post #MeToo, Age of Consent (Angel, 2021) era?

Methodology and Method

This study of young men and their sexual communication practices is part of a much larger project that is examining dating, sex, and intimacy in Australia, funded through a sole investigator fellowship, the Australian Research Council Discovery Early Career Researcher Award between 2020 and 2023. The intended aims included (1) documenting contemporary public discourses concerning consent, men, and #metoo; (2) exploring how young (18–35), heterosexual Australian men interpret discourses around #metoo and broader expectations relating to dating, consent, and sex with women; (3) investigating how these men are navigating relationships and sexual intimacy with women in context of the #metoo movement, and (4) advancing knowledge on how social movements can facilitate and enact change regarding the prevention of sexual violence and to highlight where they can be more effective.

This project contains a range of studies including examinations of cultural discourses concerning sex, masculinity, sexual communication, #MeToo, and sexual consent (Waling, 2022a, b). It also explored expert stakeholder interviews working across various gendered violence, sexual health and wellbeing, sporting, and mental health and wellbeing sectors that work with young men and boys (Waling et al., 2022a, b). Another part of the project also conducted focus groups with young men and women on their understandings and practices of dating and communication (Waling et al., 2024). Portions of the project involved a research team; however, this paper reports on interviews with men which were conducted, analysed, and reported by the sole investigator (see Waling, 2023b).

Methodology

This work is framed by a post-structural understanding of subjectivity, that is, that gendered subjects are consistently in process (Angelides, 2019). Subjectivity emerges through a multitude of relations, practices, and discourses in an ongoing and everchanging project of “subject-act-ivity” (Angelides, 2019, 114). I build on several scholars’ contentions that research on men and sexual relations needs to find space to allow for work that pays more careful attention to desire, embodiment, pleasure, and agency, while also not dismissing or devaluing important work concerning sexual and gendered violence (Beasley, 2015; Beasley et al., 2015; Karioris & Allan, 2019; Monaghan & Robertson, 2012; Robertson & Monaghan, 2012). I also note masculinity as a core concept is often used to explain all men’s behaviours and practices (Allan, 2022; Haywood, 2020; McCarry, 2007; Waling, 2019). By that, the notion of masculinity, regardless of the typology or type (also heavily criticised, for a review of this, see Allan, 2022; Waling, 2019), is seen as the only reason men engage in certain practices or behaviours, and thus needs some kind of intervention. Instead, I move away from this domineering discourse to explore other more nuanced possibilities when it comes to sexual communication and sexual consent.

To do this, I used a qualitative approach of semi-structured interviews combined with interpretative phenomenological analysis (IPA) techniques (Smith, 1996; Willig, 2008) and emotional reflexivity (Holmes, 2010, 2015) to better understand how young men in Australia navigate both verbal and non-verbal forms of sexual communication between them and their sexual, intimate, and/or romantic partners. Importantly, qualitative research is not intended to be generalisable; rather, it is designed to explore deeper meaning. I chose semi-structured interviews so I could explore how young men not only understand but also actively experience sexual communication and sexual consent, paying close attention to how these men describe their physical and verbal practices and sensory processes. This included descriptions of movements of their own bodies, and that of their partner(s). I chose IPA as it is interested in the world as it is experienced by human beings within contexts and at times, rather than in abstract statements about the nature of the world in general. To support this process of IPA, I engaged emotional reflexivity, which focuses on men’s capacity to reflect on their cognitive processes including how they may feel about certain practices or choices in their lives (Holmes, 2015). This was done during the analysis of the findings.

I note my position as a queer, white women, identified and presenting as a researcher, with a background in counselling, when conducting this research. There are some advantages to this position, as research has consistently shown that men are more likely to open to women on sensitive, vulnerable, and challenging topics (Pini, 2005). This is because they are not having to perform a masculine acknowledgeable self, which is more important in engaging with another man then it is with women, who are often regarded as lesser. My background in counselling also allowed for a degree of understanding, openness, and compassion, even when discussing difficult topics.

Method

Ethics for this study was approved by La Trobe University Human Research Ethics, HEC20110.

Data Collection

Between May and September 2021, 30 semi-structured interviews were conducted with young men residing across Australia, between the ages of 18 and 35. 30 interviews were chosen, as qualitative data saturation is believed to occur anywhere between the 15 and 20 mark, with around 10 interviews to account for potential outliers (Guest et al., 2006). Facebook advertising was used to recruit participants, whereby participants were directed to an eligibility survey to express interest in participation. This survey hosted by REDCap (Harris et al., 2008) a survey platform that outlined details of the study and asked a series of questions to determine a participant’s eligibility to take part. A website was also created that housed more detailed information about the study participants could visit. Participants needed to be between 18 and 35, reside in Australia, identify as a cisgender heterosexual man, and have had casually dated and/or engaged in casual sex in the last five years from the time of interviewing.

Participants filled out the survey, were assessed for eligibility, and then were contacted to take part in an interview or focus group of their choosing. Research has noted that men are one of the more difficult general population groups to recruit for research, even more so for studies on sensitive topics such as sex and sexuality (Hammond, 2018; Law, 2019). A total of 214 were eligible to take part in the study, and more than 186 were contacted, but only 41 men ended up enrolling to completion. Out of these 41 men, 30 opted to complete an interview, while 11 opted to take part in a focus group (see Waling et al., 2024). The challenges in recruiting men for this study are explored in more depth in another paper (Waling, 2023a). While there could be concern for fraudulent activity regarding the expression of interest process (Johnson et al., 2023), the very limited uptake in completing the interview in contrast to the high number of expression of interest submissions suggests that this is likely not the case.

To participate, participants were first sent a copy of a participation information statement that included consent and withdrawal of consent forms. Participants signed the consent forms, and then were scheduled to be interviewed over Zoom technology. Zoom was used as interviews were conducted during one of several COVID lockdowns in Australia and also as it enabled interviews from across Australia. Participants had the option of a Zoom video, Zoom audio only, or instant messaging interview. At the interview, participants were first read a statement about the project, alongside a statement of reporting concerning disclosure of experiences of sexual or other violence. This statement of reporting indicates that any admission of sexual violence committed by an adult to someone under the age of 16 results in mandatory reporting and was a requirement of the institution’s ethics committee. At the end of the interview, a debrief protocol was used to support participants if they needed help in accessing services, alongside follow-up check-ins if required. Participants were given a $50 gift voucher as a thank you for their participation. Member checking (Birt et al., 2016) was used whereby participants could review their transcripts prior to analysis. Seven participants took part in the member checking process. Participants were asked a series of questions concerning their dating practices, sexual practices, their sexual health knowledge and practices, and their perspectives on potential impacts #MeToo may have had on their experiences of dating and sex. In this paper, I am focused on how participants described and discuss sexual experiences in relation to sexual communication and sexual consent practices. Interviews were audio recorded using Zoom technology, and professionally transcribed and verified. NVivo (Lumivero, 2023) was used to organise interviews in preparation for data analysis.

Analysis

While it is a form of analysis that does not subscribe to conventional thematic techniques of data saturation or cross-referencing codebooks, IPA is still completed in a series of steps. To start with, I created research diaries after each interview to capture initial thoughts and ideas that would be useful during data analysis. A codebook was then developed that utilised both deductive and inductive coding. Deductive top-level codes were developed based off the interview schedule to capture major areas of inquiry in relation to the study’s research questions. These included (1) dating experiences, (2) sexual intimacy, (3) sexual consent, (4) sexual health, (5) sex education, and (6) #MeToo and dating/sex. Then, for each of these top-level codes, several second-level descriptive codes, and in some cases, third-level inductive codes that described emerging themes and patterns in the data, were developed. For this paper, top-level codes (3) sexual consent and (1) dating experiences were explored to answer the research question, how are young men understanding and navigating sex and intimacy during the sexual moment? Qualitative analysis software NVivo (Lumivero, 2023) was used to code the transcripts using specific keywords. Next, the transcripts were manually coded for a second time by exploring the initial codes. The codes related to were further broken down into sub-themes that explored the contradictions and tensions in how these men understood and engaged in sexting practices. Descriptive themes were first determined, followed by a careful analysis to explore the tensions that emerge within the data. Quotations have been edited for clarity, and participants have been denoted using pseudonyms as well as age and interview type.

Findings

Below, I discuss the findings of the research. Table 1 outlines the demographic characteristics of participants. Percentages have been rounded off to the nearest whole number. 

Table 1 Demographic characteristics (N = 30)
Full size table

The findings are reflective of a particular diverse group of participants who elected to take part in the study and speak about their experiences. Most of these men were university educated. While it is not the focus of this paper, it is relevant to note that men in this study had a range of experiences of RSE or related programs (i.e. gendered violence prevention school-based programs), from some noting they had comprehensive education in this area to others indicating they had none, and many opting to do their own research about sex and sexual communication (Waling, 2023b). Very few noted a focus on sexual consent in RSE, if RSE had been provided to them. This was a group of men who were open to discussing their experiences and, as such, they are not necessarily reflective of all men in Australia. I also note that considerations of sobriety and providing sexual consent, such as the use of alcohol or drugs, is not a focus of this paper. I was more interested in how young men navigate these situations without a consideration of alcohol or drugs, to better understand how encounters occur when capacity is not hindered, to better understand the complexity of navigating encounters beyond “consent is simple” rhetoric. Where appropriate, men did offer discussions of experiences of consent and alcohol without prompts. I also wanted to focus on casual encounters, since there are more opportunities for ambiguity and uncertainty that young men may have to navigate. I focus on men providing detailed descriptions of moments in their lives when they engaged in sex with women. It is also crucial to highlight that there exists longstanding evidence indicating that men often experience surprise when confronted with their own behaviours that can be interpreted as sexist or harmful (Drury & Kaiser, 2014), or that men may not admit to harmful and violent behaviours. When engaging in conversations with men and analysing the collected data, I kept this in mind, but note that I am approaching the data from the perspective that these men are sharing genuine lived experiences. Such experiences are still shaped by various socialisation processes and their memories of the events. As such, I also highlight that descriptions of encounters are not necessarily taken at face value, but rather, in alignment with IPA, their subjective experience of the event.

Determining Genuine or Coerced Interest

Participants were asked how they might gauge whether a woman might be sexually interested in them, and how this would lead to potential initiation of a sexual encounter. Importantly, they were asked to describe situations and practices that indicated to them, either verbally or non-verbally, that a woman may or may not want to engage with them. Logan (25, audio chat) notes that “I’ll just have a few glances and then smile at them. If they smile back, then I normally go over and have a conversation […] Sometimes I won’t go and approach, if they don’t seem, like, that friendly, that open, and they seem a bit more closed off”. When asked what he meant by closed off, Logan highlighted, “probably crossed arms; basically when you look over at them, they immediately turn away, then that’s a sign of probably disinterest”. Layton (33, video chat) described changes in the vocal tone if a woman was interested in them, “It sounds more caring, more – it’s more caring and more like puppy dog love […] I think it’s more softer and I think it’s a bit more lower, yeah, than usual”.

Both Logan and Layton along with several other participants noted rather subtle verbal and non-verbal gestures that indicated whether a woman might be sexually interested in them, including eye contact, facial expressions, and the vocal tonality of their voices.

Despite this, however, participants noted a reluctance to initiate encounters – uncertainty in the moment despite this awareness of interest – or take the lead:

Declan (28, audio chat): We just went straight to my bedroom, and we sat on the bed for a bit. Maybe it might’ve been a few minutes of small talk or something, I can’t quite remember, and then she lay on the bed and again it was with those speaking with the eyes, similar thing, just kind of rather than saying anything, and I was very cautious because I didn’t know what exactly she wanted. Like, because, how can I say it, there was what I wanted to do and then there was what I thought was best to do, and I didn’t want to do anything inappropriate, so I was very cautious, and I almost made it so that she waited almost too long for me to start, because she wanted me to initiate, she didn’t initiate anything, and because I thought because she wasn’t doing anything, so I didn’t know – I wasn’t sure if it was okay. And since there was that pause, before we started kissing, that’s when I thought, “oh okay, it must be what she’s waiting for”, so that’s when I started kissing her and then it [sex] progressed from there.

Declan describes a situation where he brought a young woman back to his place. He notes specific and parallel non-verbal moments to Layton and Logan, where he believes she may be sexually interested in him, such as the look in her eyes and her laying on the bed. Yet despite him articulating that these are non-verbal indicators of sexual interest, he also describes his hesitation and uncertainty about her genuine interest, using the word “cautious” twice. Here, Declan is navigating a complex relationality where traditional gendered expectations of men as sexual aggressors and women as sexually passive are synthesised with an awareness of how gendered power dynamics can impact women’s autonomy to engage in sexual activity without feeling coerced on an individual and systemic level. In Declan’s attempts to synthesise and enact this awareness, he is met with re-emerging tensions regarding these traditional gendered expectations. Importantly, he notes a self-in-process (Angelides, 2019), actively reflecting on how to navigate the situation and not entirely sure what to do.

These experiences were echoed across many participants, and on several occasions, participants often second-guessed themselves on their capacity to read cues or avoided initiating altogether. Sakash (26, audio chat) observed that he never made the first move, because he was too scared, and when asked why, he stated, “Maybe it comes from a place of being rejected or just not reading the cues right”. Sakash further explained that he worried he would be “misreading them [women’s cues], that this is a friendly conversation, and I might be romanticising it [the interaction/women’s sexual interest] in my head”. Archer (24, video chat) was similar, trying to determine whether a woman was smiling or enjoying the conversation, but said he found “it hard to read people, that is a bit of a weakness of mine”. When asked about what he found difficult, he also noted a hesitancy related to #MeToo, “big problem there can be that people misread body language”.

Sakash and Archer highlight concerns regarding their capacity to accurately read potential sexual interest cues. In the case of Sakash, he draws upon broader narratives around men’s sexual entitlement to women. He expresses an awareness of how women’s friendly interactions towards men can be and are often misconstrued as sexual interest. As such, he is unsure as to whether women may actually be interested in him, and does not trust his capacity to read their subtle verbal and non-verbal signals. Similarly, Archer also distrusts his capacity, despite observing very similar non-verbal forms of sexual interest as other participants. Archer draws from the #MeToo movement, which has brought forth renewed considerations of the need for verbal discussions around sexual consent. Archer highlights how it has reshaped his beliefs around ensuring appropriate conduct in soliciting sexual encounters, but that this has resulted in uncertainty as to what to do.

Understanding Yet Disbelieving Body Language

These complex interplays of traditional gendered expectations when it comes to sex and newer expectations that recognise women’s autonomy, sexual empowerment, and challenges in consenting to sexual encounters are echoed in the sexual moment. Participants noted an understanding of what they perceived to be positive and negative body language and verbal cues regarding women’s enjoyment (or lack thereof) during sexual encounters. Seth (25, video chat) described this as women pushing back or “withdrawing, if you will, so whether that’s from, like, you know, pulling their pelvis back or pulling their mouth back […] I think it’s pretty obvious that they’re not into it”. Neil (23, audio chat) made similar comments, observing that “if the body is rigid or like tense, then it’s maybe not a great sign, or if, like, fast rapid breathing probably, like more so than deep breathing, more like hyperventilating”. Steven (29, video chat) also saw stiffness of body language as a negative indication. He notes that for an encounter to be going well, “I’d expect us to be relaxed, I would expect the body language to be I suppose free, if I can use that word, and it’s, sort of, we’re all loose”. Myles (35, audio chat) echoed these statements, saying that “there is a level of pulling me in, then it’s engaging further”.

These verbal and non-verbal readings are in alignment with contemporary best practice enthusiastic sexual consent guidelines, which provide a range of bodily language and verbal cues that indicate whether an individual is consenting to a sexual activity (see Darnell, 2020). Importantly, these participants highlight awareness of subtle shifts during sexual encounters and awareness that such shifts are an indication of stopping an encounter.

Yet despite this awareness and capacity to understand when a woman may or may not be consenting to a sexual activity, the participants nevertheless did not fully trust their abilities to effectively read these cues, with several stating that they’ve opted to engage in verbal check-ins. Those who did engage verbal check-ins (i.e. “How are you going, are you okay?”) during sexual encounters found these to have mixed results with their partners. Sakash described situations in which he asked several questions, and that it “cost me a couple of relationships”. When asked about what he meant by that, he stated that on several occasions he had one night stands where “I asked questions during the entire process and they just kind of ghosted me afterwards … I feel like it’s because I was too, not exactly inquisitive, but too expressive during the process, or maybe I just ruined their mood completely”. Aadarsh (24, audio chat) had a similar experience, noting that:

I’ll just like periodically [ask] like, “Is this okay?”, “Do you want to try something different?” or, you know, things like […] It’s tricky, because, like, I would say 50% of the time people respond very well, the other 50% of the time it’s just, like, “Take it easy, I’ll tell you if there’s something wrong” kind of a thing.

Both Sakash and Aadarsh describe where their attempts to engage in check-ins disrupted the sexual moment. Sakash notes an awareness of how the use of alcohol can impact capacity to read body language and thus relies more on verbal cues. Yet such reliance has resulted in encounters not going well, and he feels that disinterest in seeing him again is a result of his check-ins (although this is not confirmed). Here, Sakash is trying to balance newer expectations regarding checking in during sexual encounters that account for concerns about women’s capacity to consent, and coming across as sexually confident and engaged. Aadarsh is similar, observing that some previous partners have asked him not to check in so frequently, and that they themselves will indicate if there needs to be a change. Like Sakash, Aadarsh is also attempting to synthesise new expectations about consensual sex and gendered power dynamics alongside more traditional expectations regarding sexual activity. Here, Aadarsh highlights a double bind whereby his attempts to be cognisant of gendered power dynamics (and his role within them) conflicts with respect for women’s capacity and autonomy to articulate their own sexual needs. This is not to suggest that frequent check-ins are a negative thing by any means. Rather, it highlights how these may play out in sexual encounters.

Others noted that while they were expected to check in with the women they were engaging, there was a consistent lack of reciprocation of checking in with them. Liam (20, audio chat) describes his experience of checking in:

Liam (20, audio chat): I don’t want to be that guy who coerces her into doing something that she’s going to regret […] It becomes sort of like a checklist of where, yeah, rather than a fun thing to do […] It definitely adds that sort of, the pressure to the checklist sort of thing. Not checklist, the making sure it’s all okay.

When asked if he received check-ins, he stated, “I feel like as the guy, it’s definitely one-sided. But […] like, if I’m the initiator, I have to take responsibility for my actions”.

Liam describes his experience as “a checklist”, which he sees is important and vital, but also as detracting from the enjoyment of the sexual moment. This is compounded with broader expectations in which he feels, as a man, he needs to be the one doing the checking in and leading the direction of the sexual activity. He is aware that women may feel coerced into sexual activity, and so actively works to ensure their interest and enjoyment. This practice, however, while important, also works to reaffirm particular traditional gendered expectations in which men are expected to direct and lead sexual activities, and deny women agency and autonomy to be equal participants (Angel, 2021).

As a result of these experiences, participants favoured, or hoped for situations in which women would initiate and directly communicate their wants, needs and desires (as opposed to using subtle verbal and non-verbal cues). Jason (29, video chat) described it as the dream, “not having to guess, and just tell me what you [person they are interested in] want”, and that “I don’t like the feeling that, like, someone’s just letting, like, trying to make me happy by letting me do something. Like, instead of, if I know that they want to do it or they’re enjoying it, then it’s more enjoyable for me”. Scott (32, video chat) was similar, “I would rather know what to do to give her enjoyment but, no, I don’t like, you mean more women who are just like, ‘do this, do that, do that not ––’ – just tell me what to do, just don’t do it in a, you know, strong way”.

John and Scott highlight an uncertainty as to whether women may genuinely be engaging in sexual activity with them, or if they may feel coerced/pressured. A solution to this for them is for women to speak up about their own wants and desires, and to take the lead in sexual encounters that can prioritise women’s enjoyment. However, as Scott notes, this needs to be done in a particular way that does not come across as too demanding or dominant. While this may be an effective solution to address their uncertainties, it also again points to a tension in which women are expected to take up the emotional and mental labour that is often apparent in other spheres of life, such as responsibility for contraception and barrier methods, household duties, childcare, educating men, and relationship maintenance and emotional support (Santhosh et al., 2020; Wigginton et al., 2018). As such, in their attempts to shift traditional gendered power dynamics through centring women’s needs, gendered expectations are reaffirmed in the additional labour required of women (Angel, 2021; Gilbert, 2018).

Not Taking Up Space yet Not Assertive Enough

Not only were participants cognisant of subtle body language and verbal cues of women in determining genuine interest and during sexual moments, they were also reflective and aware of their own body language when it came to engaging with women. Liam noted that he would “engage with a bit of touching and stuff before alluding to that [sex], and still see if that’s a potential pathway … it’s sort of just like moving closer, the arm around the shoulder”. Todd (33, video chat) observed, “you can obviously make yourself a little bit warmer by how you speak and, depending on the eye contact, and maintaining eye contact, I’d try very hard to the classic meet them on their level […] Which is I guess just being very cognisant of the self-project”.

Both Liam and Todd articulate an awareness of how they may position their bodies, or what they may do both physically and verbally when engaging with women. In Liam’s case, this is related to subtle hints about potentially moving further towards a sexual encounter with minute physical gestures. For Todd, he describes the technique of mirroring, a process in which individuals consciously or unconsciously mimic the behaviours and speech patterns of the individuals they may be engaging. Importantly though, Todd outlines an acute awareness of how he may present himself and how that may be received and the way he adjusts accordingly:

Todd (33, video chat): I’m 6’3” and 100 kilos, so I’m quite large compared to most females, so there is probably an intimidation without meaning to be. So I try really hard to make myself not small, because physically I can’t do that, but to be very approachable and calm, and probably soften my voice a little bit, and all those things to make sure that I’m not presenting as an oaf, I guess.

This awareness was also noted in how participants felt they could be regarded as too aggressive. Chris (29, video chat) also recognised he was quite tall and large, stating, “I feel like if I was to be forward with someone who was not open to that, it would come across as almost threatening […] I don’t want to be towering over a lady saying things that are making her uncomfortable, making her feel, like, threatened”.

Both Todd and Chris highlight how their body shape, size, and stature can come across as potentially threatening. Chris notes that this results in him being quite careful in how he approaches women, while Todd notes he attempts to shrink himself down and be approachable. In these examples, the men highlight a degree of feminist awareness and consideration regarding how they may take up space as men, and how that can be perceived (Jane, 2017).

Despite this awareness, however, the men observed that their attempts to be gentle and not too forward sometimes resulted in frustration from their sexual partners. Ulfat (29, audio chat) felt that he was not assertive enough, maintaining, “I feel like I come off as too gentle, and women don’t get, don’t understand why am I being too gentle”. When asked if women have requested him to be more dominant or aggressive, he responded in the affirmative. Seth noted that “I’ve had people who have told me when I have been like forceful, not forceful but, like, firm and, you know, like, strong with my arms […] they’ve loved it, and they’ve been, like, ‘that was really hot’ sort of thing”, suggesting that it was a reverse way of telling him he may have been too soft in his sexual approaches. Participants including Ulfat describe how their attempts to be softer were often misconstrued as a lack of confidence or taking too long to initiate encounters. For others like Seth, this comes through in having more positive experiences when they have chosen to be more aggressive and dominant, affirmed by feedback from their partner(s). In these cases, participants observe that their attempts to synthesise understandings about women’s experiences of men being too forward, aggressive, or violent before or during sexual encounters has resulted in tensions in which the expectation of their gendered role is in conflict with these attempts. This also demonstrates the tensions between sexual consent and sexual desire, where sex is often desired and exciting because there is an element of danger. Therefore, hot sex is often in tension with “good” sexual practices (Matthews, 2020). Sexual consent is generally understood as a response to sexual assault, while not necessarily reflecting the realities of negotiating sex. This further complicates sexual communication for men who are receiving contradictory messages from women about sexual aggressiveness.

Discussion

Young men in this study described varying strategies to determine whether a woman might have a genuine interest in them sexually, while also acknowledging their uncertainty in this manner. They could understand varying body and verbal cues as positive or negative but did not necessarily trust their readings. As the data highlights, they often were unsure if women’s interest was genuine, or could be potentially coerced. Participants engaged in verbal check-ins, but observed mixed reactions, in which some found that they were perceived as being too careful. Alongside this, participants noted an awareness of their own body language, how they took up space, and how that could be perceived by women as potentially threatening, and yet they were also regarded as being too soft and not confident enough. As men attempt to synthesise changing and varied expectations regarding sexual encounters with women, tensions are produced that lead to a messiness around what constitutes “good” sexual communication and sexual consent practices.

The findings highlight that the men in this study are navigating sexual encounters with concerns about ensuring that their actions and behaviours are not violent or coercive. Rather, they are drawing from contemporary discourses surrounding the need to engage in verbal forms of consent and ongoing check-ins, alongside a broader feminist awareness of their own power and privilege, and women’s experiences of coercion in sexual situations. While one could argue that men are navigating “mixed signals”, I argue this is not quite the case. Rather, the men in this study are quite aware of what may constitute interest or disinterest, but do not trust their own capacity to accurately read those signals and determine whether they are in fact genuine or enthusiastic. In other words, it is not so much that they cannot tell whether women are or are not interested, but rather, they are unsure of women’s articulation of interest is genuine, or produced through obligation. By this, I mean that the men are reading body language signals that enthusiastic consent models articulate are positive signs of interest, but recognise that such signals may not necessarily be a genuine reflection of actual interest. This lack of trust in their capacity is moderated through important and much-needed feminist gains that recognise women’s experiences of coercion, violence, and oppression can lead to women feeling obligated within sexual situations (Benoit & Ronis, 2022). On a positive note, the men in this study are actively aware of, and are reflecting on, their potential positions of power within sexual dynamics. This is despite several of these men not receiving comprehensive RSE or any other forms of relationship or gendered violence education experiences in their formal primary or secondary schooling. They instead draw upon their own knowledge, such as that advocated by #MeToo. While there have been debates about the effectiveness of #MeToo or similar public movements in enacting significant social change (e.g. Gill & Orgad, 2018), findings in this study show that some men are taking up these important ideas about sexual consent and women’s experiences of coercion and violence.

The results of this study emphasise observations made by scholars that indicate that present-day discussions regarding sexual consent still impose responsibilities on women to navigate and guarantee positive sexual experiences (Angel, 2021; Gilbert, 2018). This is evidenced through men’s conflict in their attempts to synthesise these discourses of sexual consent practices with traditional gender dynamics and expectations, whereby their hesitancy and decision-making processes are underpinned by uncertainties around women’s wants, desires, and interests, alongside experiences (i.e. women wanting them to be more aggressive) that do not correspond with “good” sexual consent practices. As a result, in their attempts to navigate sexual encounters, they are drawing from varying limited fields regarding both their own and women’s sexual agency. Such fields include longstanding expectations of heterosexual relations, such as being the sexual aggressor, directing or leading sexual activity, and being responsible for procuring consent — as consistently found in other literature (e.g. Hayes et al., 2022; Hirsch et al., 2019; Ólafsdottir & Kjaran, 2019) — in conflict with respecting women’s capacity for sexual empowerment and sexual decision-making. These attempts to synthesise thus lead to several tensions between more traditional gendered expectations as to how sexual encounters should go, and newer expectations regarding “good” sexual consent practices, with little room for ambiguity, uncertainty, and exploration (Angel, 2021).

The findings are a departure from the broader literature, which suggest that men do not understand sexual consent (e.g. Hirsch et al., 2019; Jeffrey & Barata, 2019, 2020; Ólafsdottir & Kjaran, 2019). This may be due to increasing public awareness and advocacy of the need to engage in consensual sexual practices, such as that promoted by the #MeToo movement among others. It is important to note that these results are reflective of the men who opted to take part. Future research could explore how differing development stages and context (such as adolescence, young adulthood, and adulthood) may shape how men are thinking about and reflecting on sex, intimacy, and consent. Other considerations such as age discordance, financial discordance, or professional contexts with power imbalances would also be highly useful in how men think (or don’t) about sex and consent. Greater considerations of women’s experience of pleasure in relation to sex and consent would also be useful.

Policy and Practice Implications

Sexual consent education discourse in Australia is focused on educating young people, and more specifically young men, about what non-verbal and verbal cues are when it comes to sexual consent during sexual encounters. Such education often involves a variety of sexual consent scenarios alongside a list of potential positive and negative forms of body language and verbal phrases that indicate whether sexual consent has been given or withdrawn. Verbal language is regarded as ideal, with advocacy pushing for verbal language to be a more serious consideration for people engaging in sexual activity. Education concerning consent is now mandated to be taught in all schools across Australia. Importantly, this is termed “consent education” and not “sexual consent education”, which has implications for how consent is being pitched, framed, and discussed in formal school-based settings. Respectful Relationships in Australia is known as an appropriate program for the delivery of this content, and has had some important success as it explores gendered power relations within romantic relationships for young people (e.g. Ollis & Dyson, 2017). However, this program does not discuss sex or sex-related activities. As such, the “sexual” is implied when it comes to the discussion of relationships, rather than actively discussed. Comprehensive RSE, which may teach these aspects, is also inconsistently taught across Australia due to moral and political backlash, limited teacher training opportunities, and lack of funding for bringing in sexual health experts or youth workers (Heslop et al., 2020; Johnson et al., 2014; Waling et al., 2020). This means that discussions of navigating encounters, such as communication strategies and managing discomfort within sexual situations, are not taught, which often leads young people, such as the men in this study, to draw upon their various fields of knowledge (Vanwesenbeeck et al., 2021).

A second implication is that the inclusion of sexual consent education is premised on the idea that young men’s enactment of sexual violence is produced through a lack of understanding and knowledge about what is and what is not sexual consent. Yet as the findings indicate, men are acutely aware of what constitutes consensual and, more importantly, non-consensual behaviour before and during the sexual moment. From direct and indirect verbal cues to obvious and discreet body language shifts and changes, the men in this study do understand what are normative beliefs about what consent does and does not look like (i.e. positive versus negative body language; see Darnell, 2020). This does not mean that sexual consent education should not be prioritised. Rather, it means that gendered dynamics and gender power need to remain at the heart of these discussions. For example, Beres et al. (2019) noted that men understood their violent actions and non-consensual behaviour with women, but engaged them anyway, as they could “get away” with it. Pascoe (2022) has argued that despite an increase in awareness of sexual consent and the push for comprehensive RSE in formal school-based settings, this has not necessarily decreased experiences of sexual violence experienced by women. As such, education framed around a “lack of knowledge” approach needs to consider these realities more carefully (Beres, 2022). On the other side of this, sexual consent education can be framed through a binary, fear-mongering logic premised within legal and criminal framings. This has been found to be a barrier for young people to engage with the content and an impetus for viewing sexual activity through a lens of fear (Waling et al., 2022b), which as Gilbert (2018) contends, only works to reaffirm longstanding taboos around talking about sex and pleasure.

A third implication is that some men’s practices in seeking to ensure respectful sexual engagements conflict with uncertainties as to whether the women they engage are feeling pressured, coerced, or are genuinely interested. For women, this means they are obliged to already be aware of their wants, needs, and desires, and have the capacity to articulate these as such, which conflicts with assumptions that they may feel obligated or coerced, and leaves no room for encounters to be exploratory or uncertain (Angel, 2021). This expectation can also be true of men, that they themselves should know what they want sexually, be sexual experts, and have the necessary skills to make sense of and navigate ambiguity and messiness of sexual encounters with confidence and ease. As noted in the findings, it also means that what may constitute as “hot sex” may in fact be in direct conflict with “good practices” of sexual consent. As other scholars such as Gilbert (2018) have observed, this means gendered power dynamics may remain, as opposed to being disrupted in heterosexual sex, even with the push towards enthusiastic consent models.

Conclusion

In taking these implications into account, it is important to revisit the idea presented by Vanwesenbeeck et al. (2021) and others who emphasise the need to reconsider sexual communication and consent from the perspective of sexual agency and limited fields. While attempts to achieve equitable sexual relationships have raised important considerations, they have also led to new conceptual problems that complicate sexual communication and sexual relations, particularly considering comprehensive RSE and legal frameworks focused on enthusiastic consent. While it may seem straightforward to suggest that comprehensive RSE should include more information about navigating sexual relationships, the complexity and uncertainty of the issue raise questions about what such education would actually entail, and whether it is even possible to teach something so nuanced and situation-dependent. This is not to invalidate the need for comprehensive RSE or the push towards enthusiastic consent in legal and criminal frameworks. Rather, the findings of this study highlight that even with awareness and understanding of issues concerning gendered power and relational dynamics, alongside practising “good” models of sexual communication and consent, young men still felt unsure and lacked confidence in their capacity to navigate sexual situations. Gendered expectations reemerged in this process, whereby women were situated as both potential victims and fully rational and knowing agentic beings.

In the face of the complex and nuanced nature of sexual encounters, those involved in sexual health education, advocacy, and policymaking are confronted with the challenge of combating sexual violence and providing guidance to support people in having positive, violence-free, and satisfying sexual relations. As I’ve argued elsewhere (Waling, 2022b), a way to achieve this is to start from the position that sex is inherently messy, multifaceted, and ambiguous (Angel, 2021; Matthews, 2020), as opposed to something that can be contained and easily structured. I return here to Angelides’ notion of the self-in-process, where people are in a constant state of self-discovery and the intricacy and uncertainty of sex should be embraced. This highlights the need for productive conversations about sexual communication that acknowledge and engage with this inherent ambiguity (Angel, 2021) and messiness (Matthews, 2020) to better support individuals navigating romantic and sexual encounters, as opposed to current frameworks that advocate already established awareness of wants and desires. For men (and women), it means developing skill sets that enable the capacity to navigate tricky conversations and ask the right questions when uncertainty is present within encounters. This requires teaching not only what enthusiastic consent looks like as a preventative, but also the necessary skills for when an encounter may not go as planned, and how to manage those situations. Such conversations can facilitate a more creative and curious approach to sexual encounters, one that does not presume a fully formed rational self (Angel, 2021; Matthews, 2020), but instead allows for the exploration of desires, wants, and dislikes that emerge and shift through these encounters. Beginning from a position of ambiguity presents an opportunity to deepen the understanding of sexual communication and explore new possibilities for both men and women.