Authors
Simona Chiesa - Senior Researcher Mondo Internazionale G.E.O. Cultura & Società
Giada Acquadro - Junior Researcher Mondo Internazionale G.E.O. Cultura & Società
Marco Rizzi - Head Researcher Mondo Internazionale G.E.O. Cultura & Società
Abstract
This article examines the way femicide is portrayed in the Italian media and how these portrayals often fail to address the root causes of gender-based violence. It looks at recent tragic cases, including that of Giulia Cecchettin, Ilaria Sula, and Sara Campanella, to highlight the common patterns in media coverage: focusing on psychological factors or blaming the victims, while downplaying the broader issues of power and control embedded in gender inequality. The article explores how sensationalist reporting tends to romanticize the crime, diverting attention away from the deep societal problems that allow such violence to persist. It also delves into how online platforms, such as social media and OnlyFans, contribute to a culture of objectification and control, offering an illusion of empowerment while reinforcing harmful gender norms. Through a call for more responsible media reporting and the need for comprehensive sex education, the article urges society to confront these issues head-on. It argues that true change can only come when we move beyond sensationalism and victim-blaming, fostering a culture of respect, equality, and genuine understanding of the systemic nature of violence against women.
1. Rethinking Media Coverage of Feminicide in Italy
“Femicide is not a crime of passion, it is a crime of power,” wrote Elena Cecchettin in the aftermath of her sister Giulia’s tragic death in November 2023 (Cecchettin, 2023). Giulia Cecchettin, a 22-year-old university student, was allegedly murdered by her controlling ex-boyfriend, Filippo Turetta. The case, which deeply shocked the Italian public, exemplifies the enduring and systemic nature of gender-based violence in Italy, violence that continues to claim the lives of women across the country.
In 2024 alone, Italy recorded 113 cases of femicide, 99 of which were perpetrated by relatives, current or former partners (Ministero dell’Interno, 2025). This pattern has shown no signs of abating. In March 2025, the body of Ilaria Sula, a 22-year-old statistics student at Sapienza University, was found in a suitcase near Rome. She was allegedly murdered by her ex-partner. Only weeks later, Sara Campanella, also 22 and a biomedical student, was fatally stabbed at a bus stop in Messina (Dondi, 2025). These cases garnered significant media attention and reignited public debate.
Yet, some institutional responses have drawn criticism. In particular, Justice Minister Carlo Nordio was widely condemned for attributing these femicides to the ethnic backgrounds of the perpetrators (Repubblica, 2025). However, data from the Italian National Institute of Statistics (Istat) challenge this narrative: in 2023, 94.3% of Italian women victims of femicide were killed by Italian men, while among foreign victims, 43.8% were killed by men of the same nationality (Istat, 2024).
Each of these tragedies underscores the urgent need for sustained societal attention, more effective preventive measures, and the promotion of a cultural shift grounded in respect and gender equality. A crucial dimension of this work lies in how femicide is communicated in the public sphere, particularly through the media.
Why media can’t be neutral spaces
Despite the frequency of such crimes, 13 cases recorded in Italy in the first months of 2025 alone, and the intense media coverage they receive, the quality of this communication remains deeply problematic. In the case of femicide, reporting does not simply relay facts; it constructs the very narrative through which the phenomenon is socially understood (Grasso, 2025).
Media representations often perpetuate stereotypes and reductive frameworks that obscure the structural nature of gender-based violence. The frequent focus on the perpetrator’s psychological state, the implicit or explicit blaming of the victim, and the sensationalist framing of the event serve to divert public attention from the deeper, systemic roots of violence: namely patriarchy, male dominance, and the cultural normalization of control over women (Allocco, 2024).
Moreover, news coverage continues to recycle long-standing and harmful narrative tropes: tragic and romanticized love, sudden fits of rage, mental illness, stress or substance abuse, jealousy, infidelity, or an inability to accept the end of a relationship. These discourses contribute to portraying femicide as an exceptional and unforeseeable act, rather than a predictable outcome of persistent gender inequalities. In doing so, the media reassures rather than informs, reducing public urgency to confront the structural dimensions of the problem (Allocco, 2024).
In response to this, various associations and networks of women journalists across different countries have developed guidelines, manuals, and recommendations for more responsible and gender-sensitive reporting (Il Post, 08/04/2025). These documents, in line with the principles of the Istanbul Convention, which assigns a key role to the media in the prevention of gender-based violence, emphasize the need to move beyond sensationalism and to include narratives that highlight the resilience and strength of survivors (Council of Europe, 2011). Central to these recommendations is the recognition that male violence against women is not a private or isolated matter, but a widespread and systemic issue rooted in structural inequalities, as affirmed by the 1993 UN Declaration on the Elimination of Violence against Women (United Nations - General Assembly resolution 48/104, 1993).
Empirical evidence confirms that gender-based violence follows recurring and well-documented patterns: it is not an emergent or declining phenomenon; it overwhelmingly occurs in private settings; and it is most often committed by individuals known to the victim. Nonetheless, media reporting continues to reproduce distortions and omissions, frequently disregarding the ethical and linguistic standards set by the International Federation of Journalists (IFJ), principles formally adopted in Italy by the National Order of Journalists (Il Post, 08/04/2025).
These persistent journalistic automatisms reveal the urgent need for a cultural and professional shift: a transformation in language and perspective that promotes inclusive, democratic, and plural forms of storytelling. Only through such a transformation can the media contribute meaningfully to the prevention of gender-based violence and to the broader goal of gender justice (Il Post, 08/04/2025).
2. Culture of Rape and Objectification
Catcalling might sound like a silly or harmless term, but it actually refers to a form of street harassment that many people, especially women and girls, experience almost daily. It includes things like unwanted compliments, whistling, car honking, making sexual or vulgar comments, asking inappropriate questions, staring intensely, or even yelling things on the street that make someone feel uncomfortable, judged, or unsafe. You might think, “It’s just a joke” or “They’re just trying to flirt,” but catcalling is not a compliment. It’s a way to reduce someone, often a woman, to an object, to make them feel watched, judged, or even scared, especially in public spaces. And the most important part? It’s unwanted. It doesn’t make the person feel good. It often makes them feel disrespected, unsafe, or powerless. Even though catcalling is nothing new, only recently have people started talking more openly about it. Activists around the world, especially on social media, are raising awareness to explain that this is a real problem. They’re pushing for change: not just to stop the behavior, but to change the mindset behind it. Catcalling is often the first visible stage in a much bigger problem: gender-based violence. It may seem “minor,” but it reflects the same ideas of control, objectification, and power that lie behind more serious and dangerous forms of abuse. (Bertocchi, 2024)
Gender-based violence doesn’t happen all at once. It’s a process. It can start with words, but escalate to serious harm,even death. These are some of the most common types (EIGE, 2025):
- Verbal abuse: name-calling, humiliation, shouting, insulting someone in private or in public. This often begins in early stages of a relationship or even among friends.
- Psychological abuse: controlling what the victim does, isolating them from friends, making them feel guilty or afraid, gaslighting. This kind of violence is invisible but deeply damaging.
- Physical violence: hitting, pushing, slapping, grabbing: actions that cause physical pain and often leave visible marks. It’s usually what people recognize first, but it’s rarely the beginning.
- Sexual violence: any kind of sexual act or contact that is forced or done without consent. This includes rape, but also unwanted touching, pressure to have sex, or sexual comments. Many victims don’t even recognize it as violence, especially when the aggressor is their partner.
- Economic abuse: when someone limits your access to money, stops you from working, controls what you can buy, or takes away your financial independence.
- Online violence: this includes cyberbullying, non-consensual sexting, sharing intimate photos without permission, and online threats.
- Stalking: when someone constantly follows, messages, or watches you, creating fear. It may start after a breakup or after being rejected.
- Domestic violence: repeated violence within a relationship, where one partner tries to control the other. It often includes many of the types of abuse listed above, mixed together.
- Femicide: the most extreme outcome. he killing of a woman, often by a partner or ex-partner, just because she is a woman. It’s a social tragedy, and it happens far more often than people think.
One of the most dangerous parts of gender-based violence is silence. Many women, especially young ones, don’t realize they are being abused. They might think it’s normal for their partner to be jealous or controlling. Others might feel ashamed, scared, or worry they won’t be believed. Sometimes, society teaches girls that “boys are just like that,” or that “if he’s mean, it means he likes you.” These messages are harmful and allow violence to continue. In many families, violence is passed from one generation to the next. If you grow up seeing your parents treat each other badly, you might think it’s normal. That’s why talking about violence is so important, in school, with friends, online, everywhere. (Senato della Repubblica Italiana, 2018).
The term femicide is used to describe the murder of a woman because she is a woman. This includes killings by husbands, boyfriends, or ex-partners, but also murders by strangers who act out of hatred, misogyny, or a sense of ownership over a woman’s body or life. Even though many countries don’t have a specific law for femicide, international conventions like the Council of Europe Istanbul Convention define it as a gender-based crime, deeply connected to a culture of inequality and violence. Femicide is the final step in a pattern of abuse that usually lasts for years. It’s not a random act but the result of a system that fails to protect women (Council of Europe, 2011).
This isn’t just a “women’s issue.” It’s a human issue. Anyone can take action to break the cycle of violence: by listening, by believing victims, by calling out sexist behavior, and by supporting each other. Raising awareness is the first step. That’s why workshops, campaigns, and discussions, like the one you’re reading now, are so important. They help us recognize violence, talk about it, and stop it before it escalates. Let’s remember: catcalling is not the start of a joke but it’s often the start of a long process of violence. And femicide is not just the end but it's a brutal reminder that we have to act sooner.
In patriarchal societies, women have historically been positioned as objects within the framework of the male gaze: figures to be looked at, desired, and ultimately controlled. This perspective, deeply rooted in cultural norms and media representations, constructs femininity not through autonomy or subjectivity, but through the reflection of male desire. The female identity is defined externally, shaped by how she is seen and interpreted by the male viewer, while masculinity is framed through action, autonomy, and dominance. Bianca Gelli, in her analysis of gender differences, highlights how the male gaze not only objectifies but also disempowers women by placing them in a passive, aesthetic role. In this view, to see is to dominate, and by being the object of this gaze, the woman becomes subordinate. Her value is measured by her appearance and her ability to attract male attention, reinforcing power dynamics that privilege male agency and female submission. This mechanism serves to maintain patriarchal control, as it subtly but persistently reduces women to images and bodies, rather than recognizing them as full subjects with agency and voice. The desire to possess and control is masked as admiration or attraction, but it ultimately enforces a system in which women’s roles are limited and their identities constrained. Understanding the male gaze as a tool of power allows us to critically examine how deeply entrenched gender norms are sustained, not only through explicit oppression but also through everyday visual and cultural practices. It challenges us to reflect on the ways in which women are still expected to conform to roles that prioritize their visibility over their autonomy, and their desirability over their dignity (Gelli, 2006).
3. OnlyFans and Pornography: a (false) liberation
The rise of OnlyFans has often been framed as a revolutionary shift in the landscape of sexual representation. Promoted as a platform where individuals, particularly women, could exercise unprecedented control over their bodies, images, and incomes, it seemed to herald a new era of self-determination (Baker, 2022). Yet a critical examination suggests that OnlyFans may not represent true emancipation. Instead, it appears to reproduce many of the dynamics historically critiqued within pornography studies: the commodification of female bodies, the reinforcement of the male gaze, and the concentration of wealth and power in the hands of platform owners and financial backers. In Italy as elsewhere, OnlyFans raises urgent questions about whether so-called empowerment is merely self-objectification repackaged for the neoliberal age.
At the heart of OnlyFans’ promotional discourse is the notion of empowerment: the idea that women can reclaim agency by choosing to sexualise themselves on their own terms. This narrative aligns closely with liberal feminist arguments that stress individual choice and sexual freedom (Gill, 2007). In a context like Italy, where the stigma surrounding sex work remains potent yet media hypersexualisation is pervasive, OnlyFans presented itself as a seductive middle ground during the COVID-19 pandemic, when traditional employment sectors collapsed (Giomi, 2021).
Many creators endorse this framing, portraying their work as a conscious assertion of autonomy. As one OnlyFans worker stated, “I have full control over what I post, how much I charge, and what I say no to. That's freedom” (Baker, 2022, p. 985). However, from a radical feminist perspective, this apparent freedom is illusory. Andrea Dworkin and Catharine MacKinnon famously argued that pornography itself constitutes a system of female subordination, not by force alone but through social conditioning that eroticises inequality (MacKinnon, 1987).
Contemporary critiques echo this view: while participation may be nominally voluntary, women’s “choices” are shaped by deeply ingrained gender norms and economic constraints (Bernstein, 2007). A 2021 survey on Italian creators found that economic hardship was the primary motivator for joining OnlyFans, particularly among young women from precarious backgrounds (La Repubblica, 2021). In this light, so-called self-determination may mask a deeper auto-objectification, where women internalise and monetise the male gaze to survive.
Moreover, earnings disparities reveal how empowerment rhetoric masks structural inequalities. While OnlyFans claims to democratise income generation, internal data show that the top 1% of creators earn 33% of all money on the platform, while the vast majority make less than $150 a month (Chatterjee, 2021). The reality for most is far from glamorous entrepreneurship: it is long hours of content production, emotional labour with subscribers, and a constant battle for online visibility. As Duffy and Hund (2015) note, “being one’s own boss” in digital economies often entails intense self-exploitation under the guise of empowerment.
One might expect that self-produced content on platforms like OnlyFans would diverge from the stereotypical scripts of mainstream pornography. After all, creators ostensibly have more creative control, unbound by traditional studios and directors. Yet research suggests that the same representational patterns persist. Consumers’ expectations, heavily shaped by decades of mainstream porn, exert invisible pressures on content creators (Berg, 2021).
A qualitative study on OnlyFans performers found that most creators quickly learned which tropes attract paying subscribers: youthfulness, hyper-femininity, submissiveness, and racialised sexual stereotypes (Blunt & Wolf, 2021). These align closely with the critiques Laura Mulvey (1975) articulated regarding the male gaze in cinema: women are framed as passive objects of visual pleasure, rather than active agents. Despite claims of independence, creators often self-direct content that replicates patriarchal sexual norms because that is what the market demands.
This dynamic is particularly visible in Italy, where the sexualised representation of women in media has been a longstanding feature of public culture: from 1980s TV variety shows filled with scantily dressed “veline” to contemporary Instagram influencer culture (Giomi, 2021). Italian creators on OnlyFans often adopt similar visual aesthetics and tropes to maximise their commercial appeal, perpetuating rather than subverting established images of femininity. Thus, self-production does not automatically equal progressive representation; in many cases, it reinforces the commodified femininity that mainstream pornography already mainstreamed.
Even creators seeking to offer alternative narratives, such as body-positive or queer content, report difficulties gaining traction within the platform’s discoverability algorithms, which tend to favour conventional beauty and normative sexual scripts (Baker, 2022, p. 991). As Dines (2010) has argued, the pornography industry thrives on "narrow definitions of desirability", and OnlyFans appears to reproduce rather than challenge this dynamic.
Beneath the surface of personal agency lies the inescapable logic of platform capitalism. OnlyFans, like other tech giants, operates through an algorithmic infrastructure designed to maximise engagement, subscription retention, and revenue extraction (Srnicek, 2017). The platform takes a 20% commission on creators' earnings and uses proprietary algorithms to prioritise certain content, creators, and interactions.
Research shows that OnlyFans’ internal search and recommendation systems disproportionately favour those already successful, creating a winner-takes-all economy (Blunt & Wolf, 2021). Visibility is not evenly distributed; it is algorithmically engineered to drive profits by promoting highly profitable accounts to users. Consequently, creators who conform most closely to mainstream beauty ideals and conventional sexualised performances are algorithmically rewarded, while others struggle to be seen (Blunt & Wolf, 2021).
This system reveals the deeper truth of OnlyFans: creators are simultaneously workers and commodities, producing not just content but data streams, such as user interactions, viewing habits, spending patterns, that the platform monetises. As Gillespie (2010) argued, platform governance structures invisibly shape participation, nudging users toward behaviours that maximise platform value.
The so-called capitalism of desire thus functions by monetising both emotional labour (personalised interactions with subscribers) and sexualised performances, turning intimacy into a marketable asset (Paasonen, 2018). Italian media have also noted the exploitative underside of this model. La Repubblica (2022) reported that OnlyFans’ meteoric revenue growth, reaching €4.5 billion turnover in 2022, primarily enriched its owner, Leonid Radvinsky, who received $500 million in dividends over two years. Meanwhile, most Italian creators reported modest or unstable incomes.
This massive concentration of wealth at the top underscores that, despite the language of empowerment, the primary beneficiaries of OnlyFans are not the creators, but the platform owners. The platform's brief 2021 attempt to ban “sexually explicit” content under pressure from financial institutions (later reversed) also exposed creators’ vulnerability: their livelihoods depend on decisions made by private corporations far removed from the realities of sex work (Myles & Breeze, 2021).
In sum, while individual empowerment stories exist, they are exceptions within a larger framework where OnlyFans profits from the systemic sexual commodification of women's bodies.
OnlyFans exemplifies how neoliberal capitalism absorbs and repackages feminist language to serve its own ends. The platform invites women to imagine themselves as entrepreneurs of their sexuality, masters of their images. Yet beneath this veneer lies the familiar dynamic of objectification, male-centred desire, and structural exploitation.
In Italy, where public discourse still struggles to balance sexual freedom with persistent gender conservatism, OnlyFans represents both a genuine opportunity for some and a profound trap for many others. For every creator who finds agency and financial independence, countless more grapple with precarious earnings, online harassment, and the internalisation of market-driven self-objectification.
Ultimately, OnlyFans does not overturn the old structures of pornography; it updates them for the digital age. It shifts the location of production from the studio to the bedroom but maintains the essential dynamics: female bodies as commodities, male desire as the engine, and corporate platforms as the ultimate beneficiaries.
Thus, rather than a true site of emancipation, OnlyFans often embodies a false liberation.
4. Female Image in the Digital Age
The digital age has profoundly reshaped how young people learn about sex and intimacy. In Italy, where comprehensive sex education is not uniformly provided in schools, many adolescents are left to fend for themselves online (Romito & Beltramini, 2021). Over half of Italian teenagers report that they primarily learn about sex through the internet (Save the Children, 2022), while only 37% do so at school. Inevitably, curious teens often stumble upon pornography in this process: one in two Italians under 20 has encountered porn while seeking information about sex (Save the Children, 2022). They access explicit content not only out of curiosity but sometimes to fulfil emotional needs, such as seeking guidance or reassurance (Graziottin, 2021).
The trouble is that pornography, acting as a de facto “sex educator,” delivers a very distorted curriculum. It is a curriculum devoid of context, tenderness, and communication, what Italian experts call educazione sentimentale, or sentimental education (Graziottin, 2021). As sexologist Alessandra Graziottin warns, when sexual learning comes solely from the web, it lacks the fundamental lesson of emotions and empathy; the result is an “emotional illiteracy” where adolescents engage in sexual acts with no awareness of feelings and with ignorance of real risks (Graziottin, 2021). In other words, teens may learn what to do mechanically, but not how to navigate the emotions of intimacy or respect boundaries. This gap has tangible consequences: recent data in Italy show rising rates of sexually transmitted infections among adolescents, and a striking 70% of young people acknowledge that pornography influences their expectations about sex and relationships (CNR, 2022).
Researchers and educators are increasingly alarmed at pornography’s outsized role in youths’ sexual socialisation. A nationwide study by Italy’s National Research Council found that 46% of adolescent boys and 8% of girls consume online porn, often beginning at very young ages (CNR, 2022). This early exposure appears to imprint different lessons along gender lines. Among young male viewers, pornography tended to reinforce misogynistic notions, such as encouraging a view of women as submissive and subordinate to male control (Dines, 2010; Flood, 2010). By contrast, the study noted what it cautiously termed “emancipative effects” for young female viewers (CNR, 2022). In other words, some girls interpret porn as liberating, perhaps feeling more free to explore their sexuality or seeing women being active in sexual scenarios.
Yet this apparent empowerment is double-edged. The same research emphasises that, overall, habitual porn use correlates with poorer mental and emotional well-being for all genders: both boys and girls who frequently watch porn showed deteriorated self-esteem and heightened negative emotions like anxiety, fear, and even depression (CNR, 2022). Moreover, mainstream porn’s hyper-masculine, often aggressive imagery reinforces traditional gender roles, valorising male dominance and female objectification, which can skew young viewers’ ideas of what normal sexual relations look like (Dines, 2010; Flood, 2010).
Italian researchers concluded that relying on porn as a primary teacher is fraught with risk and called for urgent intervention: they urge that schools and families provide comprehensive sexual and emotional education to “stem the tide” of stereotypes and misinformation, and to ensure the next generation learns about sex with respect, consent and emotional awareness (Romito & Beltramini, 2021).
If online pornography is one facet of the digital influence on youth, social media is the other side of the coin, especially in how it shapes female identity. Today’s young woman is coming of age in an environment where visibility is a currency (Banet-Weiser, 2018). Social networks provide instant visibility and a platform for self-expression, but they also subject girls and women to intense scrutiny. The imperative to be visible often becomes the imperative to be visually “perfect.” This can trap female identity between empowerment and objectification.
On the one hand, posting selfies or videos can be a fun assertion of one’s presence and individuality. On the other, the feedback economy of likes and comments can reduce that individuality to judgments on looks. Girls learn quickly that certain images get rewarded (usually those that conform to conventional beauty standards or even sexualised norms) (UNESCO, 2024). As a result, many feel pressured to constantly curate their appearance for online approval, a phenomenon that researchers link to mounting body-image concerns.
Facebook’s own leaked internal research found that Instagram made body image issues worse for one in three girls who already felt insecure (Wall Street Journal, 2021). Another survey in Britain found that 40% of girls aged 11–16 had seen images online that made them feel unattractive, rising to 50% among girls aged 17–21 (Girlguiding UK, 2022). The onslaught of filtered, idealised photos creates an unattainable benchmark.
A UNESCO report (2024) similarly warns that algorithm-driven social media feeds bombard girls with unrealistic body ideals and sexualised content, undermining their self-esteem and mental health. In essence, these platforms often amplify the message that a girl’s value is tied to her looks. This message can overshadow all her other qualities and achievements (Banet-Weiser, 2018).
The psychological toll is evident in many personal stories. For example, a 20-year-old student from the UK (one of many young women to speak out) described how her early enthusiasm for fitness influencers on Instagram spiralled into self-loathing; no matter how much she exercised, “my body still never looked like the bodies of these influencers,” she recounted, and by age 19 she was diagnosed with an eating disorder (Wall Street Journal, 2021). Such narratives are sadly familiar across countries.
Italian teens are no exception: scroll through the Instagram profiles of many adolescent girls in Italy, and you’ll see a highly curated gallery of posed, retouched images reflecting global beauty trends. The intent is often positive: to feel confident, to join in the social scene, but the process can engender self-objectification. Girls may start to view themselves as an object to be styled and judged, rather than as a whole person (Bartky, 1990).
Psychologists describe this as an internalisation of the gaze: effectively, girls begin to monitor themselves from an outside perspective, worrying incessantly about how they appear to others (Gill, 2007). As one feminist scholar put it, there has been a shift “from an external, male judging gaze to a self-policing narcissistic gaze” (Gill, 2007), in which the objectifying male perspective is internalised as a new self-discipline.
Italy’s cultural context adds its own layer to these dynamics. This is a society that has long placed emphasis on female beauty and glamour in public life (Giomi, 2021). The Italian media of the late 20th century, for instance, often reduced women to decorative roles (Ginsborg, 2003). In the 21st century, social media has to some extent democratised who gets to be seen and yet it has not dismantled the old aesthetic pressures; if anything, it has intensified them.
A girl posting on Instagram today knows that a glamourised, alluring image will likely garner more attention. Sociologists note that social media’s algorithms tend to reward posts that fit conventional patterns, effectively reinforcing traditional gender stereotypes rather than subverting them (UNESCO, 2024).
Thus, the platforms can end up reinforcing traditional gender stereotypes, rather than creating space for authentic diversity.
The concept of gender as performance, introduced by Judith Butler (1990), finds vivid expression on social media. In daily life, we all perform certain gendered scripts, such as behaviours and appearances we’ve learned will meet social expectations. Online, this performative aspect is magnified. Platforms like Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook provide a stage and encourage users to actively construct a persona (Banet-Weiser, 2018).
For women and girls, this often means performing femininity in a way that garners positive feedback. Profiles become curated exhibits of one’s identity: the sultry selfie, the caring friend, the ambitious go-getter, the quirky girl-next-door all are roles that can be tried on, filtered, and broadcast.
Young women thus navigate an endless tension between authentic self-expression and strategic self-presentation (Gill, 2007). On one hand, the digital arena can be liberating: it offers space to explore facets of identity, find communities of support, and challenge traditional gender norms (Abidin, 2016).
Indeed, researchers have noted that social media has supported an explosion of diversity in how youth express gender and sexuality, empowering individuals to share aspects of themselves that might have been repressed offline (Abidin, 2016). Italian LGBTQ+ youth or gender-nonconforming individuals, for instance, have used Instagram and TikTok to carve out spaces of visibility and solidarity.
On the other hand, even these performances occur under the shadow of societal conditioning and sometimes provoke backlash. The predominant scripts of feminine beauty and behaviour still hold sway over the most popular content (Gill, 2007).
Much of what goes viral or becomes influential falls in line with familiar tropes. Women are told they are free to present themselves however they want, yet the images that saturate popular culture still overwhelmingly reflect a heterosexual male fantasy (Gill, 2007; Banet-Weiser, 2018).
Critical analysts urge us to look at the power dynamics beneath this glossy veneer. The danger is that the performance of hyper-femininity online is mislabelled as pure empowerment, when in fact it often signals a new form of compliance. Women are invited to construct a certain kind of self, one that resembles traditional heterosexual male fantasies, and are told this is freedom.
Thus, the burden of upholding sexist norms is shifted onto women themselves, sold as personal choice (Banet-Weiser, 2018). Visibility does not automatically translate to voice or power, especially if that visibility is conditional on self-objectification.
5. Controlling Dynamics
The increasing digital interconnectedness has led to a rise in controlling dynamics within relationships, often fueled by jealousy related to online content. Two tragic cases of femicide in Italy, those of Donatella Miccoli and Valentina Di Mauro, highlight how social media can become the trigger for acts of violence, revealing a concerning trend.
On June 19, 2022, Donatella Miccoli, 39, was killed in Novoli (Lecce) by her husband, Matteo Verdesca. The tragedy began with an innocuous comment under a post on Instagram, which sparked her husband’s jealousy. Although it seemed like a trivial incident, Verdesca’s reaction escalated into murder. In a fit of rage, he killed Donatella before taking his own life. Jealousy, fueled by unfounded suspicions and an obsession with controlling social media activity, emerged as the primary cause of this tragic event (Il Messaggero, 2022).
The case of Valentina Di Mauro, 33, killed by her partner Marco Campanaro on July 25, 2022, underscores the extreme jealousy fueled by controlling behaviors. Campanaro not only constantly monitored Valentina’s phone, but was also obsessed with the idea that she was cheating on him. After finding conversations he deemed compromising, the situation escalated into a violent attack, during which Valentina tried to call for help: “Love, stop, you’re hurting me.” Valentina’s words, unfortunately, went unheard.
This case highlights how psychological violence, fueled by jealousy over perceived threats on social media, can escalate into physical violence. Control over a partner’s phone, reading messages, and monitoring online activities are forms of abuse that, if unrecognized and unaddressed, can lead to tragedy (La Repubblica, 2022).
In addition to the cases of Donatella and Valentina, numerous other incidents of gender-based violence related to online jealousy have emerged in recent years. The obsession with a partner’s digital life and control over social media often serve as triggers for aggressive behavior. One prominent example comes from Switzerland in 2014, where a man killed his ex-partner over jealousy stemming from content he found on social media.
This type of violence, often subtle and invisible, occurs within a broader pattern where social media becomes a battleground for psychological manipulation. The idea that a partner can be “digitally possessed” and that every online activity can be scrutinized creates pressure and anxiety that, in extreme cases, leads to violence (The Guardian, 2014).
Victim blaming consists of attributing, whether partially or entirely, the responsibility for a crime or misfortune to the person who has suffered it. This distortion of reality is particularly dangerous, as it not only alters the public understanding of violence but also has serious psychological consequences for the victim. The victim, in fact, may begin to internalize these accusations, leading to self-blame and a deep sense of guilt and shame.
To better describe this phenomenon and its harmful effects, we use the term “secondary victimization”. This expression refers to the second wave of trauma that victims often experience, not from the perpetrator, but from the very institutions and social systems that should be supporting them. These include the judiciary system, political leadership, healthcare services, the media, and even public opinion. Secondary victimization is often subtle and unintentional: it can manifest in the form of intrusive questioning, skepticism about the victim’s account, a focus on their lifestyle or clothing, or the suggestion that they “provoked” the violence in some way.
This mechanism is insidious because it operates unconsciously: both those who perpetuate it and those who suffer from it may not fully realize what is happening. Moreover, it is a cyclical and self-perpetuating process: the way one episode of violence is represented in the public sphere conditions how future incidents will be interpreted and judged, reinforcing existing prejudices and stereotypes over time.
Episodes of secondary victimization occur frequently, not only in institutional and public contexts, but also within the private sphere, particularly in cases of women who suffer sexual violence or abuse by their intimate partners.
In public contexts, we include all situations in which stories of violence or the personal histories of the victims are made public, either in institutional settings, such as police stations, courts, or social services, or through the media and communication channels. From crime news coverage to court rulings, it is common to find excessive focus on the victim’s private life, such as her sexual history, emotional relationships, or social behavior. These elements, which should be irrelevant when judging the seriousness of the crime, are instead often used to undermine her credibility, cast doubt on her intentions, or minimize the severity of the violence she endured.
This form of re-victimization reinforces a culture of silence and fear, discouraging other victims from speaking out or seeking help, for fear of being judged or not believed.
In conclusion, victim blaming and secondary victimization represent serious social and cultural issues that need to be addressed through education, institutional training, and a more ethical and respectful approach in media narratives. Only by shifting the focus from the victim to the perpetrator and by creating supportive, non-judgmental environments can we foster a culture that truly respects and protects the dignity of those who have experienced violence. (Parolin, 2020).
6. Where Do We Go From Here?
Addressing gender-based violence and the toxic narratives that sustain it demands both structural and cultural change. A key starting point is Education: specifically, comprehensive, inclusive, and early education in emotional awareness, respect, and consent. Yet, Italy remains one of the few European countries without a national legal framework for sex and relationship education in schools. This absence, coupled with the internet’s role as a substitute educator, exposes young people to distorted and often dangerous models of sexuality and gender relations (Giuliani, 2024).
The consequences are tangible: there has been a rise in sexually transmitted infections, increasing cases of homophobic and transphobic bullying, and the widespread normalization of violent or prejudicial behavior, especially online. When educational initiatives do exist, they tend to focus narrowly on the prevention of STIs and unwanted pregnancies, reflecting an outdated view that neglects the emotional, relational, and identity-related aspects of sexuality. As a result, key issues like emotional literacy, consent, and the dynamics of power and gender are often overlooked (Giuliani, 2024).
Internationally, the concept of Comprehensive Sexuality Education (CSE), endorsed by UNESCO, emphasizes a broader approach—one that integrates cognitive, emotional, physical, and social dimensions of sexuality. This model has yet to be embraced in Italy (UNESCO, 2023).
On the contrary, recent political developments have taken a more conservative turn: a proposed law would require schools to obtain explicit parental consent before offering any kind of sex or relationship education, effectively limiting access rather than guaranteeing it. Such decisions reflect a broader resistance to confronting gender inequality at its roots (Il Post, 30/04/2025).
Equally urgent is the need to transform public discourse. Media narratives must stop disguising gender-based violence behind euphemisms that minimize its severity. Feminicide is not a “crime of passion”, it is a systemic issue. We must name violence clearly in order to recognize, challenge, and dismantle it.
We also need to reclaim space for alternative representations of bodies, desires, and relationships. The dominance of a singular, hyper-sexualized, male-centered aesthetic, reinforced through social media, pornography, and platforms like OnlyFans, must be countered by narratives that restore complexity, agency, and dignity to female subjectivity. Women must be free to inhabit digital and physical spaces without fear of judgment, exploitation, or violence. Finally, men must play an active role in this transformation. They need to question the models of masculinity they have inherited and recognize how toxic norms harm not only women, but themselves. By embracing emotional vulnerability and rejecting dominance-based gender roles, men can become genuine allies in building a more equal society.
Real change demands a collective effort: from education to media, from policy to everyday relationships. If we are to dismantle a culture of objectification and control, we must begin by cultivating empathy, critical thinking, and respect: starting with how we speak, what we teach, and who we choose to listen to
Sources
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