Why Kink Isn’t a Red Flag (But Sometimes It’s a Distraction From One)

Interest in kink doesn’t excuse poor boundaries or harmful behaviour.

When I was first exploring kink, I remember being absolutely dazzled by someone I met at a social. They knew all the terminology. They talked about negotiation, subspace, drop, and even brought their own custom-made toys in a velvet-lined case. I was new to it all, still learning how to hold a flogger properly, still learning myself. Their confidence was magnetic. They talked about power exchange with such conviction, such depth, that I assumed they must also understand care and responsibility and would be an ideal Mentor.

They weren’t.

Within weeks, I found myself feeling confused, anxious, and unsure about whether certain interactions we had were okay. Boundaries I thought we had discussed weren’t being respected. They’d brush their behaviour off with comments like, “You said you wanted to explore your limits,” or “That’s just how Doms play.” And because I was new, I second-guessed myself constantly. I thought: maybe this discomfort is just part of learning. It wasn’t. It was a sign.

That experience taught me a crucial lesson: being into kink doesn’t automatically mean someone understands consent, safety, or emotional accountability. And worse, sometimes a deep knowledge of kink language and protocol can actually mask harmful behaviour.

There’s a tendency—especially among newcomers—to conflate confidence in kink with character. We meet someone who speaks the language fluently, who looks the part, who name-drops the right authors or workshops, and we think: They must be safe. They must know what they’re doing. But that’s not always true. In fact, that kind of polished presentation can sometimes distract us from noticing red flags that would otherwise be obvious.

This isn’t just anecdotal. A 2018 study published in the Journal of Positive Sexuality found that while most people engaged in consensual BDSM report high levels of communication and mutual satisfaction, the risk of boundary violation increases when there is a power imbalance combined with unclear or unchecked negotiation. In other words, it’s not the kink itself that’s the problem—it’s when people use kink as a justification or smokescreen for manipulative behaviour.

Another study in the Archives of Sexual Behavior (2021) highlighted how social status or perceived expertise within kink communities can create environments where experienced individuals are less likely to be questioned, particularly by newcomers. This dynamic can make it harder for people to speak up when something feels wrong, especially if the person crossing lines is well-liked or seen as an authority.

This creates a difficult paradox: we want to believe that kink communities are built on consent, openness, and negotiation—and often they are. But like any community, they’re not immune to power abuse. And sometimes, the very structures that make kink feel thrilling—dominance, submission, control—can be exploited by people who are more interested in power than in connection.

That’s why we need to stop treating kink itself as a red flag. Interest in impact play, bondage, or power exchange doesn’t make someone inherently dangerous. In fact, many of the most ethical, caring, and emotionally intelligent people I’ve met are in the kink community. They understand the weight of power and the responsibility that comes with it.

But we also need to stop treating kinkiness as a personality trait that overrides behaviour. I’ve seen people excuse blatant disrespect, manipulation, and even emotional abuse because someone claimed it was part of a dynamic. I’ve heard submissives say things like, “I didn’t feel like I could say no—he said I’d agreed to give him control,” and dominants say, “She’s just bratty; she likes being pushed.”

These aren’t expressions of consensual kink. They’re red flags hiding in plain sight.

So how do we tell the difference?

For me, it comes down to whether someone respects limits, honours communication, and centres consent—especially when it’s inconvenient for them. Do they listen when you say “not today”? Do they check in after a scene? Do they welcome renegotiation, or do they roll their eyes at it? Do they make you feel like you can say no—or like you should feel guilty if you do?

It’s okay to walk away from someone, even if they have a wall of rope certificates and a thousand Instagram followers. You don’t owe your submission—or even your curiosity—to anyone who treats kink as a shield for poor behaviour.

If you’re reading this as someone newer to kink, I want to say: it’s not your job to impress or endure. You get to have limits. You get to change your mind. And you’re allowed to ask questions—even of the “experts.” The best players I know are the ones who are still learning, still asking, and still listening.

If you’re more experienced, this is your reminder that power is never a shortcut to trust. We don’t earn someone’s submission by being dominant; we earn it by being worthy of it.

Kink can be beautiful, intimate, and transformative—but it only works when built on mutual respect. So let’s stop looking for red flags in someone’s kinks, and start paying closer attention to their conduct.

Because being into kink isn’t a red flag. But ignoring someone’s boundaries, manipulating negotiation, or hiding behind a role?

That always is.

https://www.researchgate.net/publication/348977864_Partner_Selection_Power_Dynamics_and_Mutual_Care_Giving_in_Long-Term_Self-Defined_BDSM_Couples

https://www.counselling-directory.org.uk/articles/when-a-kink-or-polyamory-lifestyle-becomesproblematic#:~:text=The%20kink%20and%20polyamory%20social%20scene%20need,boundaries%20are%20not%20well%20defined%20and%20enforced.