We Need to Talk About Azealia Banks, Conor McGregor, & Consent

Earlier this week, Azealia Banks hopped onto X (formerly Twitter) and shared two explicit photos that she claims came from MMA superstar Conor McGregor’s camera roll. Her caption: “How you gonna send a b*tch crooked d**k pics then threaten her not to tell?” The photos, according to The New York Post, have since been deleted.

Banks insists McGregor has blitzed her inbox with “unsolicited nudes since 2016,” while McGregor—celebrating his 37th birthday, no less—has yet to comment. 

At first glance, it looks like another celebrity spat designed for doom‑scrolling. Scratch the surface, though, and the real headline isn’t tabloid shock value. It’s consent—who gives it, who ignores it, and why the law now treats digital violations almost as seriously as physical ones.

Consent starts before you hit send

Sending a nude without the recipient’s enthusiastic “yes” is more than tacky—it can be classified as sexual harassment in many jurisdictions. If Banks’ claim is accurate, McGregor chose self‑gratification over courtesy. That’s especially reckless for someone already orbiting serious allegations of violence against women. In November 2024, an Irish High Court jury in a civil trial found McGregor liable for sexually assaulting Nikita Hand in a Dublin hotel room and ordered him to pay nearly €250,000 in damages. He is appealing the verdict. 

No matter a sender’s fame—or infamy—digital consent works the same way it does offline: ask first. If the answer isn’t an unambiguous yes, don’t press “send.” Unsolicited nudes can expose the sender to civil lawsuits, workplace discipline, or even criminal charges under specific cyber‑harassment statutes. 

Posting intimate images without permission is revenge porn

Banks deleted the photos, but not before they spread across social media. Distributing someone’s private sexual images without consent is commonly called “revenge porn,” and U.S. lawmakers have closed loopholes that once let it flourish. The 2022 reauthorization of the Violence Against Women Act created a federal civil remedy for victims of non‑consensual pornography. 

Congress went further in April 2025 with the bipartisan Take It Down Act, a bill that criminalizes posting non‑consensual intimate imagery—including AI‑generated deepfakes—and requires platforms to remove flagged content within 48 hours. Violators now face fines and potential prison time, and victims finally have a clear legal path to hold uploaders accountable.

Banks may argue she posted the images to expose hypocrisy, but motive rarely matters here. In most U.S. states—and increasingly worldwide—sharing someone’s nude without permission invites criminal investigation, civil liability, or both. 

Likeability doesn’t change the rules

McGregor’s public image has taken repeated hits: bar fights, sexual assault allegations, and a highly publicized civil judgment. Azealia Banks, meanwhile, has a reputation for feuds and erratic online rants. Their respective histories make them easy targets for jokes, but that doesn’t change the ethical math. Society’s baseline standards—no unsolicited nudes, no revenge porn—apply to villains and folk heroes alike.

Dismiss Azealia Banks as “crazy” and McGregor as perpetually problematic, and it’s easy to scroll past. But using mental health stigma or leaning on “he’s a bad guy anyway” only distracts from the core issue: consent. Everyone deserves the same privacy and autonomy, regardless of their PR track record. Upholding that principle is how cultures protect the vulnerable and remind the powerful that fame doesn’t equal immunity.

The bigger picture for digital culture

Smartphones turned every user into a potential publisher; the law is finally catching up. Social platforms now have dedicated hotlines for non‑consensual intimate imagery (NCII), and new federal rules threaten severe penalties for hosts that drag their feet. That’s progress, but it can’t substitute for individual responsibility.

If you didn’t ask for it, say no, or hit block. If you receive it anyway, don’t forward, screenshot, or share. If you consider posting someone else’s nude, don’t. The legal and moral consequences aren’t worth the fleeting clout.

Consent is straightforward: respect someone’s right to control their own body, even in pixel form. Ignore that, and you’re no longer flirting—you’re violating.

As digital laws tighten and public empathy grows for victims of image‑based abuse, ignorance becomes a weaker defense. Whether the culprit is an outspoken rapper airing dirty laundry or a world‑famous fighter sliding into DMs, the rulebook remains identical: no consent, no content.

Read Next

• A Guide to BDSM—Beyond What ‘50 Shades of Grey’ Taught You
• Now That the Diddy Trial Is Over, Gabby Windey Has Some Opinions
• Thanks to AI, It’s Now Easier To Harass Women Online