Whenever a female celebrity publishes a provocative photoshoot, beside page after page of her breathtaking physical perfection, you can count on a soundbite explaining how empowered she feels to find herself in a state of semi-undress in a magazine targeted at straight male readers. But if a content creator working for the official channel of an entertainment institution cornered her and thanked her profusely on behalf of all men, we’d rightfully be sickened.

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Call me naive, but despite the #MeToo movement’s disappointing fade from public consciousness, I’d really like to believe that no red carpet host would pull out a candle claiming to smell like an actress’ orgasm and ask other celebrities to sniff it on camera. (Gwyneth Paltrow, stay out of this.) I still remember the controversy around the 2006 Vanity Fair cover in which Scarlett Johansson and Keira Knightley posed naked and heavy-lidded beside a fully clothed Tom Ford – but when Keoghan does it, it’s cheeky, it’s endearing, it’s hilarious.

Maybe it’s because we still largely approach male nudity with humour (witness the response to John Cena’s Oscars “streak” this week). Despite its R-rated content, Magic Mike and all its self-effacing permutations operated from a foundation of comedy. Because we’ve been taught that women’s bodies are for ogling and men’s are for giggling at, we don’t have the media literacy required to approach it with the same criticism.

Or maybe it’s because we live so much of our lives online now, dopamine receptors worn and dull from the barrage of content, and we require the envelope to be pushed further and further to get the same response. Maybe we’ve forgotten that it’s still just a bit gross to objectify people, and to bombard them with our drooling, panting response.

I never thought I’d say it, but as unfiltered lust fills my feed, as the double standards mount, I find myself asking – oh, God, it’s painful just to type it (am I one of them now?) – what about men?