Several decades ago, the prominent figures behind the largest pornography enterprises relished their fame, showcasing a lavish lifestyle that they aimed to portray as glamorous. Public appearances often featured them in luxurious silk pajamas or with attractive companions. Icons of the industry like Larry Flynt of Hustler and Hugh Hefner of Playboy became well-known figures across households.
As Patricia Nilsson articulates in her latest publication, Guilty Pleasure: The Pornification of the Internet, the Economy, and Everything Else, while one may criticize these individuals, there was clarity about their identities and what they were promoting. She observes, “These days, the men in control remain largely invisible.”
This anonymity is not merely due to a reluctance to be photographed with the women who contribute to their wealth or a hesitance to engage in interviews. The leaders of the industry’s most significant firms have consciously chosen to maintain their privacy, often remaining nameless, recognizing that obscurity is more advantageous.
Nilsson’s decision to delve into the world of pornography for the Financial Times likely unsettled these largely faceless executives. Over a span of five years, she applied rigorous journalistic scrutiny to the industry akin to that directed at the oil and gas sectors. She questioned why pornography, unlike many other significant industries, rarely captured public attention in the media. “I began to ponder: Why is there an overwhelming presence of porn? Why is the digital landscape inundated with images of individuals compensated for sexual acts?” Nilsson reflects. She poses a thought-provoking question: “In a world where instant access to free porn is as common as access to clean water, why aren’t we more inquisitive about pornography’s increasing influence on our lives?”
At 34, Nilsson identifies as part of “the first generation raised on the internet, for whom vast amounts of free pornography were a normalized aspect of life.” This background informs her methodical and realistic approach to the topic. “While I do critique certain aspects of the industry,” she states, “my position is not one of neutrality. Instead, we must recognize and comprehend it as a legitimate industry and explore what its expansion indicates about our economy and labor landscape.” Currently residing in Frankfurt, Nilsson holds dual British and Swedish citizenship and has Polish heritage. She is nearing the conclusion of her maternity leave, having completed her book shortly after giving birth.
Through her investigations, Nilsson uncovered that the industry’s proprietors have transitioned into being predominantly technology experts and financiers, often lacking any genuine interest in pornography. “I started to realize that this industry is no longer fundamentally about porn. When I attended these industry conferences, I struggled to find individuals directly involved in the production of porn; most participants were entrenched in web traffic or payment processing,” she explains. Having attended similar conferences, I too was struck by the prevalence of tech-savvy men discussing mundane concepts like affiliate marketing, while scarcely acknowledging their connection to adult content.
Nilsson was committed to exposing the identities of the industry’s leaders, motivated by a desire to highlight who is profiting from pornography and the mechanisms behind their wealth. She also found the hypocrisy of some wealthy individuals in the sector troubling. “Online sex workers often have to expose themselves completely; once their images are online, even if they technically own the rights, it becomes extremely challenging to remove them,” she comments. “It’s outrageous for those benefiting from the industry to then seek to protect their anonymity and distance themselves from sex work.”
In her quest for transparency, she was the first to locate Bernd Bergmair, the enigmatic individual who owned MindGeek, the largest pornography company globally, from 2013 to 2023. This conglomerate was responsible for operating Pornhub. Bergmair, an Austrian former Goldman Sachs investment banker, was so dedicated to anonymity that many in the adult industry regarded him as a phantom, doubting his existence. He had little knowledge of the porn industry, having written his undergraduate thesis on corporate acquisition financing, and he reportedly sought insights from competitors during meals to learn how the business operated.
Having worked in major financial hubs such as Frankfurt, London, New York, and Hong Kong, Bergmair appeared to show little interest in the sex work that formed the foundation of the empire he acquired. “His primary concern was the profitability of the business and ensuring that the structure was sound enough to facilitate the extraction of dividends,” Nilsson remarks. In 2020, Pornhub took significant steps to remove millions of unverified videos, some of which may have contained non-consensual content, including instances of rape and child sexual abuse.
Later on, she ventured to Prague in search of the elusive owners of WebGroup Czech Republic (WGCZ), a company operating from unmarked offices, intentionally adopting a low-profile name to disguise its true operations: the pornographic empire behind Penthouse, which distributes content viewed by millions. The French twins, Stéphane and Malorie Pacaud, who are in their 40s and own the company, managed to evade her inquiries; they occasionally appear on lists of France’s wealthiest individuals, yet have largely succeeded in remaining under the public eye.
