You remember the Barstool era. Or maybe you're currently living through its ghost. Back around 2013 and 2014, social media wasn't the polished, corporate-friendly marketplace it is today. It was the Wild West. And in that dust-up, a specific phrase started screaming across college campuses: "Do it for State." It wasn't just a slogan. It became a permission slip.
The do it for state sex phenomenon wasn't some organized movement with a mission statement. Honestly, it was a messy, often controversial intersection of Snapchat, school pride, and a desperate race for clout. People were sending in videos of basement parties, table jumps, and—inevitably—very explicit encounters. All of it was fueled by the idea that if you did something wild enough, you’d represent your university on a national stage.
But looking back, there's a lot more to unpack than just some grainy 10-second clips.
The Chaos of the Snapchat Era
Before TikTok took over our brains, Snapchat was the king of the "disappearing" video. That sense of fleeting content made people bold. Really bold. The "Do It For State" (DIFS) movement capitalized on that boldness. It started as a way to show off crazy party stunts at big schools like Michigan State, Arizona State, or West Virginia University.
Eventually, the stunts weren't enough. The demand for crazier content led directly to the do it for state sex trend. Students began submitting "nudie" snaps and actual sexual acts to third-party accounts. These accounts acted as curators. They would screen the submissions and post the most "hardcore" or entertaining ones to their public stories.
It was a feedback loop. The more views a school got, the more "legendary" their status became. You weren't just hooking up; you were doing it for the "glory" of your state school. It sounds ridiculous now, but at the time, the dopamine hit of seeing your school’s name trending was real.
Privacy, Consent, and the Legal Grey Area
We have to talk about the dark side of this. It wasn't all just "kids being kids." The do it for state sex trend opened a massive door for non-consensual content sharing.
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Experts in digital privacy, like those at the Cyber Civil Rights Initiative, have spent years documenting how trends like this contribute to image-based sexual abuse. In many cases, one partner would film an encounter and send it to a "State" account without the other person's knowledge. They thought it was a joke. They thought it would disappear.
It didn't.
Once that content hit the internet, it was archived. People lost scholarships. Careers were nuked before they even started. The legal ramifications were—and are—staggering. Most states have since updated their "revenge porn" laws to specifically target this kind of third-party distribution. If you were involved in those circles back then, you likely saw the shift. The fun stopped when the police reports started.
Why Hookup Culture Peaked with DIFS
Why did it happen then? Why did do it for state sex become such a massive search term and a cultural moment?
Psychologically, it was the "Big School" identity. When you're one of 40,000 students, you want to stand out. Sociologists like Lisa Wade, who wrote Hookup Culture, point out that college environments often create a pressure to perform sexuality as a status symbol. "Do It For State" was just that theory put into a digital blender.
The "State" part of the phrase is key. It tapped into a tribalism that is unique to American collegiate sports culture. You didn't just want to beat the rival school on the football field; you wanted to "out-party" them on social media. Sex became another metric of competition.
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The Barstool Connection and the Fallout
You can't talk about this without mentioning the culture Barstool Sports fostered during that decade. While Barstool didn't necessarily own every "Do It For State" account—many were independent copycats—they certainly helped mainstream the "Saturdays Are For The Boys" vibe that made these videos go viral.
Eventually, the platforms fought back. Snapchat started cracking down on "NSFW" accounts. Instagram updated its community guidelines. The original creators of many "State" accounts were banned.
But the influence didn't just vanish. It mutated.
Today, we see the remnants of do it for state sex in things like OnlyFans and the way creators use "viral" moments to build a brand. The difference is the "State" part has been stripped away. It’s no longer about the school; it’s about the individual's "personal brand." The communal aspect of the chaos is gone, replaced by a more organized, monetized version of the same impulse.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Trend
A lot of people think this was just about porn. It really wasn't.
It was about belonging.
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If you look at the archives (and yes, they still exist in the darker corners of the web), the most popular videos weren't necessarily the most explicit ones. They were the ones that felt "authentic" to the college experience. A crowded dorm room, a specific jersey in the background, a recognizable campus landmark.
The do it for state sex trend was a digital version of a fraternity basement. It was exclusive, it was risky, and it felt like you were part of a secret club that the "adults" didn't understand. Of course, the "adults" eventually figured it out, and the lawsuits followed.
The Lasting Impact on Digital Footprints
If you’re someone who participated in this, or if you're just curious about the history, the takeaway is pretty clear: nothing is temporary.
The "disappearing" nature of the media was a lie. Data forensics show that content from the height of the do it for state sex era is still circulating on message boards and "tribute" sites.
- Employment checks: High-level background checks now look for these historical associations.
- Digital ghosts: Even if the original account is deleted, the metadata often remains.
- Consent education: Modern Title IX training at universities was largely shaped by the fallout of these 2010s viral trends.
Actionable Insights for Navigating Digital Sexuality
Understanding this history isn't just a trip down memory lane. It’s a roadmap for how to handle your digital life now. Whether you're a student or someone just navigating the modern dating world, the lessons of the "State" era are vital.
- Verify the Platform: Never trust "disappearing" features. If you can see it, you can record it. Screen recording software has made the concept of "temporary" media obsolete.
- Understand Third-Party Liability: Just because you didn't "post" it to a main feed doesn't mean you aren't liable. Sending explicit content to an aggregator or a "State" account can still lead to legal consequences under current privacy laws.
- Check Your Privacy Settings: If you were active during the 2013-2016 window, it’s worth doing a deep dive on your own digital footprint. Use tools like Have I Been Pwned or specialized "delete me" services to see if your old handles are linked to archived content.
- Prioritize Enthusiastic Consent: The biggest tragedy of the do it for state sex trend was the lack of clear consent. In the modern era, "doing it for the vine" or "doing it for state" is no excuse for violating someone’s privacy. Ensure every participant is fully aware of where the media is going.
The era of "doing it for state" might be officially over, but the culture of performing our private lives for public approval is only getting stronger. The platforms change, the slogans die out, but the risk remains exactly the same. Be smart about what you share, because the internet doesn't just remember—it keeps the receipts.