Everything Evaporates
I don’t remember anyone in my school filming themselves having sex. Four underage girls in Regensburg did it a few years back. Full pornography. Shared it on WhatsApp, Instagram, Facebook with their entire class. Spread across at least five different schools.
Since nobody was older than 13, the police opened an investigation for distribution of child pornography. Anyone passing it along committed a crime. The four girls themselves can’t be prosecuted—they’re below the age of criminal responsibility—so the city sent in counselors, psychologists, support staff to make sure they’re not destroyed.
One of the family counselors said something that rings true: it’s basically a mirror of what society has become, the fact that it seems exciting to make something like that and post it. He’s right. These kids grew up on platforms that algorithmically reward you for your body, your sexuality, your willingness to push boundaries. TikTok, Snapchat, Musical.ly—the whole ecosystem is basically designed to teach kids that exposure gets attention. So of course it escalates.
The part nobody tells them until it’s too late is that the attention doesn’t stop at your friend group. Parents see it. Teachers see it. It becomes a thing.
Here’s the advice: wait until you’re 18. Then you can film whatever you want, sell it, get paid. Don’t do this for nothing at 13. And to the guys I know are looking for the video already—don’t. Just don’t. Go watch Asa Akira. Go watch Sasha Grey. There’s an entire industry of legal porn from people who chose to be filmed. You don’t need this.
As for the four girls who are probably destroyed right now: it gets better. I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t feel catastrophic at this moment. But I had my own version of the public humiliation thing in my early internet days—something that circulated that I absolutely believed would define me forever. Seemed like the end of everything. Turns out the people who cared most about it were the ones trying to weaponize it, and then everyone just moved on. The people I was terrified of, I didn’t hear from again. Years later they seemed smaller, still stuck in that moment while everything else continued. So yeah. Right now it sucks and you want to die. In a few years you won’t think about it except maybe to laugh. And that’s not false hope—that’s just how it actually works.