Stop Sexualizing BJJ

Why “It’s Gay” Jokes Are Killing Our Sport

I’ve been training Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu (BJJ) for over fifteen years, and I’ve heard the joke a thousand times. Someone posts a photo of a tight closed guard or deep half position, and the comments roll in: “That’s gay.” “No homo.” “Sus.” We laugh. We move on. But we need to stop.

This isn’t about political correctness or sensitivity training. This is about the survival and integrity of our sport. Every time we sexualize BJJ—even as a joke—we’re actively destroying something rare and valuable: a space where human beings can engage in sustained, close physical contact without sexual intent.

The Homophobia Is Obvious (But That’s Not Even The Whole Problem)

Let’s get the easy part out of the way first. Using “gay” as a punchline is homophobic. Full stop. It doesn’t matter if you “don’t mean it that way” or have gay friends or teammates. When the joke relies on the premise that physical intimacy between men is inherently funny, shameful, or transgressive, you’re reinforcing homophobia. You’re making your gym less safe for LGBTQ+ practitioners, and you’re perpetuating the very attitudes that keep men isolated and emotionally stunted.

But here’s what people miss: even if you somehow stripped away the homophobia, even if your heart is pure and you’re just “joking around,” you’re still doing damage. You’re still sexualizing an activity that isn’t sexual. And that sexualization has consequences that ripple far beyond hurt feelings.

We’ve Forgotten How to Touch Each Other

Men, especially, have a crisis on our hands. We live in a culture where physical touch between men is so policed, so scrutinized, so laden with anxiety that most of us go years without meaningful physical contact outside of romantic relationships. We don’t hug our friends. We don’t touch each other’s shoulders during conversation. We’ve created a world where the only acceptable male touch is aggressive—a slap on the back, a punch to the arm—or sexual.

This deprivation has consequences. Study after study shows that humans need physical contact for psychological and physical health. Touch reduces cortisol, lowers blood pressure, and combats loneliness. Its absence contributes to the epidemic of male isolation that we’re finally starting to talk about.

BJJ should be—and can be—an antidote to this. On the mats, we’re forced into physical intimacy. We’re chest-to-chest, legs entangled, breathing on each other’s necks. We’re sweating together, struggling together, literally holding each other. And crucially, none of it is sexual. It’s competitive, it’s technical, it’s exhausting—but it’s not sexual.

Except we keep insisting that it is.

Every “that’s gay” joke, every “no homo” disclaimer, every juvenile comment about positions reinforces the idea that this kind of physical intimacy must be sexual. We’re collectively unable to distinguish between platonic physical contact and sexual contact. We’ve so thoroughly sexualized the human body that two people grappling for position becomes a source of sexual anxiety rather than what it actually is: sport, art, and human connection.

The Stage Dive Problem

There’s a parallel here in punk rock history that’s worth noting. In the 80s and 90s, stage diving and crowd surfing were staples of the punk and hardcore scenes. For men, it was usually safe, chaotic fun—you’d throw yourself off the stage and trust the crowd to catch you. But women who stage dived often had a very different experience. Groping. Clothes torn. Hands going places they shouldn’t. The same activity, the same space, but for women, it was sexualized in a way it wasn’t for men.

Many venues eventually banned stage diving altogether, but the real problem wasn’t the diving—it was that participants couldn’t separate physical contact from sexual opportunity. Sound familiar?

Women Pay the Highest Price

This brings us to the most critical point: sexualizing BJJ doesn’t just make our sport weird and juvenile. It actively drives women away and creates an environment where abuse flourishes.

At Rough Hands BJJ in Louisville, we’re fortunate to have an unusually high number of women training. It didn’t happen by accident. It happened because we’ve worked intentionally to create a culture where BJJ is treated as exactly what it is—a martial art and a sport—not a source of sexual innuendo.

Talk to women who’ve left gyms or quit BJJ altogether, and you’ll hear the same stories repeated. The “jokes” about certain positions. Training partners who make comments about their bodies during rolls. The unwanted touching that gets dismissed as accidental. The coaches who let it slide because “boys will be boys” or because confronting it might make things “awkward.”

When we normalize sexualizing the sport, we give cover to predators. We create an environment where women have to wonder whether that lingering hand placement was technical or intentional. Where they have to calculate whether speaking up about harassment will be taken seriously or dismissed as being “too sensitive.”

The data on sexual abuse in BJJ is horrifying. High-level coaches and competitors have been credibly accused of assault and harassment, often with patterns spanning years. These aren’t isolated incidents—they’re symptoms of a culture that has failed to maintain clear boundaries between the physical intimacy required for the sport and sexual contact.

And it’s not just the high-profile cases. It’s the everyday experience of women on the mats who deal with comments, “accidental” groping, and an atmosphere where their bodies are constantly being discussed in sexual terms. When we joke about positions being “gay” or “sexual,” we’re reinforcing the idea that BJJ is inherently sexualized. We’re making it harder for women to be taken seriously as athletes rather than as bodies to be commented upon.

It Starts at the Top (But We All Have Responsibility)

Some of the most popular BJJ influencers, competitors, and coaches are the worst offenders. They’ve built their brands partly on crude humor and sexual innuendo about the sport. Their massive platforms normalize this language, and it trickles down to every academy, every locker room, every online discussion.

These influencers need to do better. They have a responsibility to the sport and to the next generation of practitioners. But we can’t wait for top-down change. Every academy owner, every instructor, every senior student has the power to shape their gym’s culture.

Here’s what that looks like in practice:

Set clear expectations. Make it explicit in your gym rules and in your onboarding of new students that sexualizing training partners or making sexual jokes about techniques is unacceptable. Don’t assume people know this. Say it out loud.

Address it immediately. When someone makes a “that’s gay” joke or a sexual comment about a position, don’t let it slide. You don’t have to make it a huge confrontation, but acknowledge it: “Hey, we don’t talk like that here.” Consistency is everything.

Model the behavior. Coaches and senior students set the tone. If you’re making these jokes, you’re giving everyone else permission to do the same. If you’re treating BJJ as a serious martial art and maintaining professional boundaries, others will follow.

Create reporting mechanisms. Women (and men) who experience harassment need to know how to report it and need to trust that reports will be taken seriously and acted upon. Have a clear process, and make it known.

Reframe how we talk about technique. We can describe positions technically—weight distribution, leverage, control—without sexualizing them. The vocabulary exists. Use it.

What We Stand to Gain

If we can collectively shift this culture, the benefits are enormous. More women training means better training for everyone—more diverse body types and games to adapt to, more inclusive community, better sport. Men getting access to healthy, platonic physical contact means better mental health and deeper friendships. Kids growing up in gyms with healthy touch boundaries means they’re less likely to become adults who don’t know how to distinguish physical from sexual intimacy.

And fundamentally, we get to preserve something increasingly rare in modern life: a space where human beings touch each other, struggle with each other, and connect with each other in ways that are profound without being sexual.

BJJ is intimate. It requires vulnerability, trust, and physical closeness that most people never experience outside of romantic relationships. That’s part of what makes it transformative. But intimacy doesn’t have to be sexual. Physical closeness doesn’t have to be sexual. We’ve just forgotten how to tell the difference.

The Challenge

I know this article will make some people defensive. I know the response will be “it’s just a joke” or “everyone knows we’re kidding” or “this is too serious, it’s just training.” But the evidence is in our retention rates, in the stories women tell about why they quit, in the abuse scandals that keep surfacing, in the epidemic of male loneliness.

The way we talk about BJJ matters. The jokes we make matter. The culture we create matters.

So here’s my challenge: for the next month, pay attention to how often you or people around you sexualize BJJ. Notice when someone makes a joke about a position being “gay” or “sexual.” Notice when training partners make comments about bodies rather than technique. Notice when conversations about BJJ devolve into juvenile innuendo.

And then stop participating. Don’t laugh. Don’t add your own joke. Don’t stay silent. Just say something simple: “We don’t need to talk about it like that.”

It’s not going to be comfortable at first. You might get accused of being too serious or no fun. But I promise you, the women in your gym will notice. The newer students who’ve been uncomfortable but didn’t want to speak up will notice. The culture will shift.

BJJ gave me a community, a sense of purpose, physical fitness, and friendships that have sustained me for fifteen years. It’s given me a place where I can be physically close to other humans without sexual expectation or romantic complication. That’s rare and precious.

We need to protect it. And that starts with how we talk when we’re off the mats, how we joke in the comments, how we describe what happens during a roll.

It starts with refusing to sexualize something that isn’t sexual.

It starts with us.