Combining ‘sex-as-dirty work’ and ‘CMM’ frameworks for recruiting cisgender, heterosexual men for a study on sex, sexuality, and intimacy

ABSTRACT

Recruiting cisgender, heterosexual young men for research participation can be a difficult endeavour. This is more challenging with qualitative research studies that require substantial time commitment, or be of a sensitive nature, such as discussions of sex, intimacy, and emotion. These challenges can be amplified with the shift to online data collection procedures due to COVID-19. In this paper I reflect on the process of recruiting cisgender, heterosexual men for a qualitative study on sex and intimacy that relied solely on online advertising during the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic. I build on a critical men and masculinity (CMM) studies framework by considering a ‘sex-as-dirty-work’ approach which centres the uncomfortable practice of talking about and researching sex. I highlight the success of this approach that counters recommended best practice in getting men to participate. I conclude with a discussion of the implications of this approach, and suggestions for researchers.

KEYWORDS:

• Recruitment
• men
• masculinity
• dirty work
• heterosexuality

Introduction

Getting cisgender, heterosexual young men engaged in research studies can be a difficult task (e.g. Bhar et al., 2013; Butera, 2006; Choi et al., 2017; Law, 2019; Oliffe & Mróz, 2005). Cisgender refers to a person who describes their gender in a way that corresponds to the sex they were assigned at birth. It has been noted that young cisgender women are more likely to take part in sensitive research involving topics like sexual or mental health than young cisgender men (Butera, 2006; Dickinson et al., 2012; Hammond, 2018; Jones et al., 2011; Range et al., 1990). Masculinity is often attributed as a rationale for this reluctance, whereby men may feel that they could threaten their masculine status if they participate in research and express vulnerability (Butera, 2006; Law, 2019; Oliffe & Mróz, 2005).

It is also presumed that men are less available than women to take part in research studies due to work and other commitments, although this is contested with women’s increasing engagement in the labour force (Slauson-Blevins & Johnson, 2016). Participation in qualitative research may also be regarded as too feminised since it involves talking, potentially greater time allocation, and emotional labour than survey participation (Jones et al., 2011; Law, 2019; Oliffe & Mróz, 2005; Randolph et al., 2018; Slauson-Blevins & Johnson, 2016). Other rationale include men’s limited participation in spaces in which recruitment may occur, for example, settings that may involve research studies on topics like reproduction, mental health, or weight loss are less likely to be engaged by men than women (Bhar et al., 2013; Lacey, 2014; Law, 2019; Rounds & Harvey, 2019). Certain topics may preclude men from participation, such as men who engage sex workers (Hammond, 2018), men’s Viagra use (e.g. Jones et al., 2011), sexually transmissible infections (STIs) prevention (e.g. Das et al., 2017; Raviotta et al., 2016), and mental health and wellbeing (e.g. Bhar et al., 2013; Oliffe & Mróz, 2005) due to concerns about shame, stigma, or legal repercussions. As a result of these challenges, there is increasing debate about the best way to get men engaged in research, most of which is centred on using a critical men and masculinity (CMM) framework (Law, 2019). There has been limited discussion, however, about how to get men involved in research that centres the challenges that occur in talking about topics such as sex, sexual health, and sexual intimacy (see Hammond, 2018 as an exception) or looks more critically at the shortcomings of a CMM framework for recruitment and data collection procedures. Additionally, while there has been some focus on analysing engagement rates and participation numbers (e.g. Jones et al., 2011; Leach et al., 2019; Ryan et al., 2019) there has been little reflection on how to use those rates for designing qualitative research recruitment with cisgender, heterosexual men.

In this paper, I reflect on the process of recruiting men for a study that explored their experiences of sexual practices, encounters, and understandings of sexual communication and sexual consent. I build on Law’s (2019) notion of using a critical men and masculinity (CMM) framework, as well as Janice Irvine’s (2014, 2018) notion of sexuality research as ‘dirty-work’ to shape design and recruitment for qualitative research in two ways. First, I highlight how my approach challenges CMM best practice for engaging men in research, and how it was successful in doing so by considering the ‘sex-as-dirty-work’ (Irvine, 2014, 2018) framework. Second, I contribute an understanding as to how many interested men it might take from the onset of a study to meet a final sample size. While my focus is on research that explores cisgender, heterosexual men’s experiences of sex, sexuality, and intimacy, it has implications for other qualitative research studies and topics with this demographic group that may be of a sensitive or emotional nature.

In this article I use the term ‘masculinity’ rather than ‘masculinities’ in wake of increasing conceptual criticism of the use of masculinities in the plural, where it is used to produce numerous typologies and taxonomies or types of ‘masculinity’ (see Waling, 2019b, Haywood, 2020; Waling et al., 2020; Beasley, 2015a). I begin with an overview of CMM and critiques of this approach.

Critical Men and Masculinity (CMM) framework

To best engage men in research, Law’s (2019) contends that research studies with cisgender, heterosexual men should be conducted with a critical men and masculinity studies (CMM) framework. This framework notes that men may be subject to social pressures that can render it difficult for them to engage in research, such as needing to demonstrate a masculine self and avoiding any situation that can be potentially feminising. This is echoed by numerous others who also note the need to ensure the research is framed within a gendered mindset (Butera, 2006; Oliffe & Mróz, 2005). This includes thinking carefully about methods of recruitment that consider use of language in advertising, where advertising is conducted, advertising imagery, and varying sampling methods. Curated advertising consisting of images of men demonstrating strength and leadership, and concise keywords can be more effective than gender-neutral advertising and long passages of text (Choi et al., 2017; Leach et al., 2019; Ryan et al., 2019). Morgan et al. (2013) highlight the importance of branding that conveys scientific legitimacy in the study, whereby men may be more likely to engage in a research study that is regarded as scientifically objective. Oliffe and Mróz (2005) contend that men need to be actively recruited, rather than expected to volunteer their time of their own accord. Many have noted the effectiveness of this approach, and often cite it as being preferable to physical flyers or online advertising (e.g. Hutchinson et al., 2002; Jones et al., 2011; Randolph et al., 2018; Range et al., 1990). Butera (2006) notes that research needs to take on a selling aspect when it comes to men, that is, that men need to be sold the value of participation, which requires more effort in asking or persuading men to participate. The use of community settings, or friends or acquaintances are noted as widely successful in getting men to participate in research (Bhar et al., 2013; Jones et al., 2011; Leach et al., 2019; Randolph et al., 2018; Rounds & Harvey, 2019; Witty et al., 2014). There are also mixed debates as to whether or not men would prefer to engage in research conducted by other men or by women, with some studies suggesting that men are better to get men to open up and talk (e.g. Jones et al., 2011) while others suggest that in actuality, it is women who can create a safe space for men to talk about difficult and challenging issues (Pini et al., 2013).

However, I argue that there are some theoretical and logistical limitations in relying solely on a CMM framework to shape research recruitment concerning research on cisgender, heterosexual men, particularly that pertaining to sex, sexuality, and sexual health. The first, using a CMM framework relies on a preconceived idea as to how cisgender, heterosexual men understand, enact, and engage with their gender identity and sexuality. This assumes that such men will respond to specific kinds of advertising and branding that engage stereotypical masculine motifs, without accounting for the way in which those motifs reproduce those same assumptions about what sexually attracts men. There is also increasing recognition of the conflation of masculinity and heterosexuality, in which men’s engagements with sex and sexuality are always considered an outcome of their problematic masculinity (Beasley, 2015b). This reproduces assumptions about their sexual engagements, rather than creating space for new understandings. These assumptions about what sexually attracts men are premised on quite exclusive beliefs regarding what it means to be a cisgender, heterosexual man, notions that have been found to not necessarily resonate to varying degrees with contemporary men (Meenagh, 2021). Second, we are in an era of increasing recognition of the harms of traditional masculinity and heterosexual practices (i.e. sexual violence) in both academic and public discourse (Haywood, 2020). I have argued in theoretical considerations of masculinity informing this study that men are increasingly aware of these critiques (Waling, 2019). Use of traditionally masculine-focused or aggressively heterosexual advertising could potentially be a deterrent for some men in the wake of these public discourses about men, sexuality, and masculinity, as it may not reflect their actual lived experiences or gendered expressions.

The last, a CMM framework does not provide a way in which young, cisgender heterosexual men who may feel shame and embarrassment about the research topic itself can participate in a research study. This is particularly important for a study asking men about their experiences of sex and sexual practices, an already highly stigmatised and tabooed research topic (Irvine, 2014, 2018), made even more difficult with the advent of the #MeToo movement (see Waling, 2022a, 2022b). The reliance on personal networks, for example, may run the risk of outing a participant who may feel shame about topics such as lack of experience with sexual practices, or, having engaged in potential sexual consent violations, but may also want to participate in a more anonymous or confidential manner.

The advent of COVID-19 also makes the use of relying on physical community and personal networks challenging. Research in many parts of the world had to shift swiftly to online-only forms of recruitment for the duration of the pandemic (e.g. Dodds & Hess, 2021). Alongside this has been a longer term, ongoing shift into the digital world, whereby many individuals are now connected and communicate using digital devices and social media platforms such as Facebook and Instagram among many others (Borgerson & Miller, 2016). Additionally, research ethics across many institutions are paying greater attention to the possibility of research coercion when individuals may be recruited or persuaded to take part from clinical or community settings, or personal networks (e.g. Israel et al., 2016; Nyirenda et al., 2020).

‘Sex-as-dirty-work’ framework

Considering the critiques made above, I note the significance of considering ‘sex-as-dirty-work’ as an additional framework to shape recruitment for cisgender, heterosexual men that weaves together some elements of CMM recommended best practice and nuanced understandings of how sex and sexuality research are understood in public life. The ‘sex-as-dirty-work’ concept is premised on the notion that research involving topics of sex and sexuality can be dismissed as being unimportant and invalid in the scientific and wider community (Dowsett, 2014; Irvine, 2014, 2018; Msibi, 2014). This can be linked to Foucault’s (1990 work that highlights how taboos and silencing around discussions of sex and sexuality contribute and reproduce binary logics as to what is and what is not permissible. Thus, research about sex and sexuality often needs to be approached from a risk prevention, medical, violence prevention, or health approach for it be considered worthwhile by funders, researchers, participants, and end users. For example, Msibi (2014) notes that most funded research on men who have sex with men in South Africa is premised within an approach seeking to reduce the risk of human immunodeficiency virus (HIV) transmission but pays little attention to the meanings and sexual practices of such men. Dowsett (2014) notes that in Australia, it can be difficult to secure nationally competitive funding for sexuality-related projects, thus limited resources may need to be used carefully and strategically. It can also be difficult to get participants for such a study if they do not see the value of its aims and objectives.

While the ‘sex-as-dirty-work’ is usually understood as challenges researchers experience to gain legitimacy for their work, it can also be utilised to better understand research participants. A ‘sex-as-dirty-work’ approach to research methodology can consider how silences, taboos, gendered expectations about sex, and shame and stigma can limit effective research participation. This can include reshaping data collection efforts, recruitment strategies, and interviewing techniques that can enable participants to feel more comfortable and confident in participating in a study about sex and sexuality. Some of the challenges raised by this framework do parallel that of a CMM framework. However, the distinction liys in how these frameworks address these challenges, which are markedly different to each other. For example, in contrast to the claims that in a CMM approach personal networks are better than online advertising, Hammond (2018) notes how using online methods were successful in getting cisgender, heterosexual men to talk to her about their experiences of engaging sex workers, since online methods allowed for anonymity and confidentiality. Raviotta et al. (2016) and Das et al. (2017) also note the success of using Facebook paid advertising over personal networks in getting men involved in clinical trials for the Human Papillomavirus (HPV) vaccine, a highly stigmatised and feminised sexually transmissible infection (STI). This is again in contrast to researchers who advocate the use of partners and personal networks to talk to men about less stigmatised topics, such as reproduction (Law, 2019) or general health and fitness (Ryan et al., 2019). In these examples, researchers recognised that addressing shame and stigma in talking about sex (i.e. ‘sex-as-dirty-work’) is needed to ensure effective research recruitment.

Taking this into account, I demonstrate how a careful consideration of ‘sex-as-dirty-work’ in combination with elements of CMM can support successful recruitment of cisgender, heterosexual men in a study concerning their sexual and intimate practices. My considerations were as follows:

1. Men may not be comfortable talking about their sexual experiences due to stigma etc., especially if they do not conform to typical expectations of men needing to be sexually aggressive and proficient;

2. Personal networks run the risk of ‘outing’ them and could contribute to further experiences of shame etc.; men may be more open to an anonymous and confidential form of recruitment;

3. Men are socialised into valuing objectivity and rationality over subjectivity and emotionality, they may better respond better to a sex research study that has a formal online presence and recruitment method to ensure its legitimacy and validity; and

4. Men can feel pressured to enact a particular kind of heterosexuality, recognise this pressure exists (Meenagh, 2021), and may not respond to research advertising that uses stereotypical imagery/language that does not resonate with their lived experiences.

Below, I outline the study and recruitment process.

The study & recruitment process

This paper reflects on a large, multi-study three-year project (2020–2023) that sought to examine how young cisgender, heterosexual men in Australia are navigating sex, dating, and intimacy, funded by a nationally competitive grant. The studies comprise of a cultural analysis of #MeToo articles focusing specifically on men, sex and dating (see Waling, 2022a, 2022b), interviews with expert stakeholders working across a range of sectors including sexual health and gendered violence prevention (see Waling et al., 2022a, 2022b), and interviews and focus groups with young cisgender, heterosexual men and women (the focus of this paper). The aims of this research included 1) documenting public discourses concerning sexual consent, men and #MeToo; 2) explore how cisgender, heterosexual men are navigating sexual intimacy with women in the context of #MeToo and broader expectations relating to dating, sexual communication, and sexual health with women; and 3) to advance knowledge on how social movements can facilitate and enact change regarding the prevention of sexual violence, and to highlight where they can be more effective. In this paper, I focus on the process of recruiting men and women for interviews and focus groups. Interviews with men were chosen to better engage and understand their lived experiences of dating, sex and intimacy, with a focus on them describing emotional reactions and the processes behind how they learned how to engage in sexual activities. Mixed and single-gender (women only) focus groups were chosen to see how participants discussed dating and sexual experiences with each other, and to see how they would navigate sexual communication vignettes. Men-only focus groups were offered; however, not one participant opted for a men-only focus group. I explore the potential rationale as to why later in the paper.

Recruitment considerations

For this study I relied solely on Facebook sponsored advertising to recruit participants for three key reasons. The first, Facebook and other types of SNSs have been noted as being useful in recruiting research participants for qualitative and quantitative projects (e.g. Das et al., 2017; Ryan et al., 2019). This is due to its affordability, global reach, data collection reliability, and ability to engage with participants in real time (e.g. Kosinski et al., 2015; Whitaker et al., 2017). SNSs have been effective in accessing a range of difficult-to-reach demographic groups such as substance abuse users, LGBTIQA+ people, and people with stigmatised medical conditions, as well as for sensitive topics such as sexual health (e.g. Waling et al., 2020a; Cavallo et al., 2020; Das et al., 2017; Hammond, 2018; Lyons et al., 2017; Raviotta et al., 2016; Ryan et al., 2019). While previous research suggests that women are more likely to use SNSs like Facebook than men (e.g. Tufekci, 2008), this is changing in which men are increasingly engaged with the use of SNSs like Facebook and Instagram (Pew Research Centre, 2021).

The second, my networks are not necessarily the right avenues for recruiting this demographic group. While I had made important connections with several organisations focused on gender violence prevention, counselling for boys and men, and sexual health and wellbeing for young people for another part of this study, I also wanted to interview ‘average’ young men, rather than those already enrolled in programs who may be perceived as at risk. This is in light of recent criticisms that most men and masculinity research has a tendency to focus on ‘men on the margins’ (i.e. men perceived to be at risk or vulnerable) and that average cisgender, heterosexual men are often invisible in research studies, especially on issues pertaining to sex (Dickinson et al., 2012). As such, using personal networks, community services or clinical settings, and snowballing techniques as many researchers advocate for doing research with cisgender, heterosexual men, would not have been appropriate avenues. The last, I recruited during one of the many COVID -192,021 lockdowns in Melbourne, Victoria, Australia. Recruitment efforts had to rely on online methods for health and safety. Dating apps were also not utilised for advertising, as several specifically prohibit the sponsored advertising of research studies.

Recruitment process

Participants were recruited between June 2021 and August 2021 to take part in mixed and single gender focus groups as well as one-on-one interviews. One-on-one interviews were conducted with men while focus groups were conducted with men and women. Ethics approval was obtained from La Trobe University Human Research Ethics Committee (HEC20110). Recruitment was done using Facebook (trading under Meta) sponsored advertising and its associated platforms Instagram and Messenger, and initially Reddit sponsored advertising. However, Reddit performed poorly by only gaining 200 clicks, with 0 page visits (click throughs to the eligibility survey) in the first round of advertising. As the first round of advertising in Reddit proved to have no success, it was not engaged in further rounds. These advertisements linked up to an eligibility survey hosted on RedCap, a survey platform. Additional information about the study was also provided through a second link to the project website on this survey, www.m-sex.org.

The advertisement, however, was difficult to place due to the sensitive nature of the content, as Facebook sponsored advertising will automatically reject advertisements that use one or several keywords pertinent to the study (including sex, gender, romance, relationships, and dating among others) despite all these words being well within Facebook’s community guidelines for advertising regarding the use of sex and related language for health and education research purposes (2022b, 2022a). This is an experience myself and several colleagues have had in using Facebook for sex, gender and dating research (e.g. Power et al., 2022), and I was advised by my institution’s ethics committee I may experience this difficulty. To overcome this challenge and with approval from my institution’s ethics committee, I designed the advertisement by using language as text on an image which provided more details about the study.

Figure 1 shows the advertisement used and the accompanying ‘header’ text (below) used shortened keywords:

Figure 1. Advertisement.

Recruiting interview/focus group participants! $50 Coles Gift Voucher,18–35, straight, reside in AU? Come chat with us! Click Apply Now to find out more! (men and women);

Facebook actively encourages the use of text on an image as part of their advertising guidelines (Meta Business Help Centre, 2022). Facebook essentially turned a ‘blind eye’ to the use of certain terms otherwise not permitted as it does not necessarily pick them up when laid across an image as opposed to use in the header or description text boxes. The continued success of using text on images enabled the advertisement to run several times with no issues from Facebook’s automated detection system, thereby demonstrating that this can be an effective workaround in recruitment by sex and sexuality researchers that is still within Facebook’s community advertising guidelines when it comes to sex-related health research and education (Meta, 2022a, 2022b). There are some potential consequences to this approach, but these are minor. That is, Facebook may reject the advertisement but there are no legal repercussions in accordance with their section 6 agreement (Facebook, 2022), because the advertisements do not actually violate Facebook Community Standards and text on image is allowed (Meta, 2022a, 2022b; Meta Business Help Centre, 2022). A community member may report the advertisement, which may also cause it to be rejected with no further action. In short, this workaround is simple and effective, and can support researchers to maintain adherence to Facebook community guidelines without being automatically detected for rejection.

The sponsored advertisement directed participants to the eligibility survey allowing participants the opportunity to register their interest in participation. It asked a series of eligibility questions, including gender identity, original gender on birth certificate, sexual orientation, country and state of residence, age, and engagement in dating or casual sex in the last five years. Eligible participants had to be residing in Australia, aged between 18 and 35, cisgender, heterosexual men, or women, and have had casual sexual encounters in the last five years. Participants who did not meet all the eligibility requirements were exited out of the survey with a thank you message for participating, and an explanation as to why they did not meet the criteria. Participants who did meet all the requirements were directed to a page to leave their contact details. Sampling was done to ensure a representation across the states and age ranges. I needed 30 men for one-on-one interviews, 10–15 men for focus groups, and 30–35 women for focus groups.

Participants were each individually invited to take part via email which include further information about the study and the option to provide written, informed consent. This email outlined the details of the study, focus group dates and times, and for men, an option to do a one-on-one interview. Participants were then schedule in either for a one-on-one interview (men only), or to take part in mixed (men and women) or single gender focus groups (women). Participants could opt for what best suited them. For participants who opted for an interview, these were scheduled via the use of Zoom technology, in which they were sent a calendar invite with the link, as well as an email confirming the date and time. A reminder email two days before the interview was also sent. For participants who signed up for the focus group, they were sent a calendar hold invite. Closer to the date they received two emails, one which provided additional information about focus group participation, including respectful conduct, how to prepare for virtual set up for the focus group, and a list of counselling and support services, and a second email the day before with the Zoom link and a reminder about participation.

Participant recruitment results

Table 1 provides a breakdown of each round of advertising for Facebook and eligibility survey engagement.

Table 1. Breakdown of Facebook sponsored advertising and Redcap eligibility survey results.

	Facebook Sponsored Advertising					Redcap Eligibility Survey
	Timeframe^a	Reach^b	Impressions^c	Link Clicks^d	Cost^e	Survey Attempts^f	Survey Completions (cleaned)^g
AD 1	25	38,699	68,148	1,149	$441.94	719	394
Men	25	11,625	19,446	265	$113.95	225	108
Women	25	26,170	46,802	860	$318.12	494	276
AD 2	21	16,436	29,415	241	$199.96	99	48
Men	21	16,436	29,415	241	$199.96	99	48
AD 3	13	8,432	27,428	134	$179.99	22	12
Men	13	8,432	27,428	134	$179.99	22	12
AD 4	21	18,204	28,118	294	$127.87	106	46
Men	21	18,204	28,118	294	$127.87	106	46
TOTAL	80	74,290	153,109	1,818	$949.76	946	486
Men	80	54,697	104,407	934	$631.64	452	214
Women	25	26,170	46,802	860	$318.12	494	276

(a) The number of days the advert ran. (b) Defined as ‘the number of people who saw your ads at least once’ (estimate). (c) Defined as ‘the number of times any content from your Page or about your Page entered a person’s screen.’ (d) How many times the advertising link was clicked. (e) How much the advert cost (total). (f) How many attempts on the survey were recorded where individuals provided their gender and sexual orientation. (g) Survey completions in which all sections are filled out correctly, contact details are left, and participants meet all the eligibility criteria.

The advertisement recorded a total of 1818 link clicks to the eligibility survey, with 934 of these by men, and 860 by women. Once cleaned, this resulted in 394 eligible participants, 214 men and 276 women. Table 2 provides a breakdown of study participation results.

Table 2. Breakdown of study participation results.

Study Participation
	Contacted Participants^a	Participants^b	Final Participation^c	Didn’t Show^d	Cancelled^e	No Contact^f
TOTAL	355	96	76	22	9	13
Men	186	49	41	8	2	6
Women	169	47	35	14	7	7

(a) Participants who were contacted with an invitation to participate after filling out the eligibility survey. (b) Participants who responded to the initial invitation to confirm participation. (c) Participants who participated in the study. (d) Participants who after confirming participation, did not follow through. (e) Participants who contacted the researcher to cancel participation. (f) Participants who did not show up to participate, and did not contact to cancel.

355 of the 396 participants were contacted with an invitation to participate, resulting in 96 responses to the invitation, and 76 final study completions. 41 of these completions were men.

Table 3 provides a breakdown of link clicks as calculated as percentages of Facebook impressions and reach, eligibility survey attempts, completions, confirmed participation, and final participation. Overall, it notes that 0.08% of time a sponsored advertisement appeared on their Facebook, Messenger, or Instagram, men clicked through to the eligibility survey.

Table 3. Men’s participation rate across Facebook impressions, Facebook reach, eligibility survey attempts, completions, confirmed participation, and final participation calculated as percentages of Facebook sponsored advertisement link clicks.

n=934
Reach Engagement (n = 54,697)	Impressions Engagement (n = 104,407)	Survey Attempts (n = 452)	Survey Completions (n = 214)	Responded (n = 49)	Participated (n = 41)
1.70%	0.08%	48.39%	22.91%	5.24%	4.38%

Bridging together CMM and ‘sex-as-dirty-work’

Centring the challenging nature of sex and sexuality research, rather than ‘masculinising’ the research, became a successful way in for this study. Recruiting enough men for this study ensured a deeper understanding of men’s sexual practices experiences, including that most men articulated a surprising awareness and understanding of non-verbal cues of sexual consent, that they seek connection and intimacy over sexual gratification, and that they continue to forgo their responsibilities concerning sexually transmissible infections (STIs) and contraceptive use (Waling, 2022c).

There are several things I did that bridged CMM and ‘sex-as-dirty work’ frameworks to achieve this success. First, I took a more contemporary understanding of men and masculinity that does not reduce them to specific tropes or motifs as a CMM framework would suggest, but rather, recognises the complexity that cisgender, heterosexual men navigate when it comes to their engagements with their gender identity and sexuality (Haywood, 2020; Waling, 2019; Waling et al., 2020). This was premised on Holmes (2015) and Beasley’s (2015a, 2015b) arguments that cisgender, heterosexual men do have capacity to exist beyond assumptions concerning their presumed gender and sexuality, and that this needs greater consideration. As a result of this understanding, I designed my recruitment strategy to be reflective of these difficult tensions that emphasised the struggle men may experience in discussing sex, sexuality, and intimacy resulting from broader cultural beliefs that such topics are shameful and stigmatised, while navigating pressures and expectations concerning their gender identity. This rests on the recognition that sex and sexuality research be regarded as ‘dirty work’ (Irvine, 2014, 2018) and may provoke emotions of shame and embarrassment, as well as regarded as less legitimate by potential participants.

Despite research stating that online, cold-call methods are generally less successful in engaging cisgender, heterosexual men than using personal networks (Law, 2019; Oliffe & Mróz, 2005; Ryan et al., 2019; Witty et al., 2014), I, like others doing research on topics on men, sex, and sexuality (e.g. Hammond, 2018; Raviotta et al., 2016), found quite the opposite. The online-only method generated a significant amount of link clicks by men (949) to the eligibility survey within a short period of time (80 days, or approximately just under 3 months), and I only spent less than $660 AUD to attract to reach my final sample of 41 men. While this may seem relatively low, it is important to note that for a study on sex and sexuality which may already be predisposed to have limited participation with a very difficult group to reach, this is quite successful. For example, Ryan et al. (2019) spent over $1000 AUD to attract 1665 Facebook link clicks using stereotypical masculine imagery, but this resulted in less than a total of 50 expressions of interest from men to take part in their study, of which none of those men enrolled.

I’ll note the success in using an online eligibility survey as a part of the online recruitment practice, which can potentially come across as an additional step that may deter potential participants. Additionally, it does not provide the element of persuading or ‘selling’ the value of participation that researchers like Butera (2006) suggest are required, approaches that raise more contemporary concerns about the potential for research coercion (Israel et al., 2016; Nyirenda et al., 2020). Nor does it provide the personal network aspect that researchers also suggest are needed to get men engaged (e.g. Jones et al., 2011; Law, 2019; Leach et al., 2019; Oliffe & Mróz, 2005; Witty et al., 2014). Yet in using this technique, over 214 men signed up to participate in the study (in which I only needed a minimum of 40) within the short timeframe. An eligibility survey not only allows for men to leave contact details and to be approached for participation in a simple, time efficient manner, but also, may come across as more scientifically legitimate (Morgan et al., 2013) than a simple request to contact the researcher if interested in participating, or being approached through a personal network. Considering the nature of the project was about sex and sexuality that is often regarded as trivial, unscientific, and ‘dirty-work’ (Irvine, 2014, 2018), the existence of the project website linked to the eligibility survey and Facebook advertisement outlining details of the study may have also helped to legitimise and brand the research study (Morgan et al., 2013).

The less personal method of recruitment may have in part been successful because it allowed for a higher degree of anonymity and confidentiality not generally afforded in using personal networks. Rather than convincing them to participate (Butera, 2006) I instead invited them into an opportunity where they could discuss their experiences in a private and secure way, using a method that enabled them to maintain that confidentiality (Hammond, 2018). Additionally, by not using personal networks advocated by CMM techniques, I also created an extra degree of separation between myself and participants, as it has been noted that some people may prefer to speak openly about shameful or embarrassing topics with strangers (particularly those they may not see again) than with people with whom they know or share acquaintances (Colineau & Paris, 2010).

While researchers using CMM techniques have suggested that the use of quite visibly masculine advertisements to attract participants, including images of strong and masculine men and/or their presumed interests (i.e. sexually objectified women) (e.g. Choi et al., 2017; Leach et al., 2019; Ryan et al., 2019), I again found that not doing this was effective. Instead, using an ambiguous, neutral but sexually suggestive image of a white bed and pillows, and dark-toned colours of a purple/blue overlayed onto the image (Figure 1) was quite successful. In doing so, I was able to allow for an ambiguity in the advertising that could resonate with a variety of men and how they come to understand their own sexual practices, rather than enforce a particular masculine and sexuality narrative onto them.

My success also rested on the premise that substantially more men will be interested in participating but will not commit to participating. I note less than a 5% final participation rate by men once they clicked through from the initial Facebook link within an 80-day period in this study. I was aware, however, that it would take substantially more interested men to participate than it would women. I functioned on my own principle that for every 10 men who expressed interest in participating, one might follow through to completion, regardless of the study topic. I was prepared with the adequate resources to achieve this. Surprisingly, this aspect has not been a key consideration of researchers advocating for a CMM framework and better engagement strategies with men, despite several studies also noting similar participation outcomes. For example, Jones et al. (2011) noted that in their first round of advertising, over 100 men were interested, but less than a quarter ended up participating.

Lastly, a CMM framework advocates men are more comfortable speaking to other men rather than women (e.g. Jones et al., 2011). However, I found that men refused to take part in a single-gender focus group, instead opting for a one-on-one interview with me (a queer cisgender woman) or a mixed gender focus group. This I did not anticipate, and had to change my focus group methodology to women’s single gender and mixed gender focus groups only. In interviews I undertook with expert stakeholders, it was noted that young men in relationships and sexuality education (RSE) spaces often feel unsafe to talk about sex and sexuality when in groups with just men, and that it is the presence of young women that makes them feel safer (Waling et al., 2022b). This could be due to pressures they may experience from to engage in a particular performance of aggressive, hypersexual-heterosexuality in front of other men that does not feel authentic to their personal desires (Meenagh, 2021). This can be another consideration within a ‘sex-as-dirty-work’ framework, and highlights that centring management strategies around shame and stigma in talking about sex needs to be at the forefront.

Conclusion

There are a few important takeaways that can support researchers recruiting cisgender, heterosexual men for research studies on sensitive topics such as sex, sexual health, and intimacy. While the use of a CMM framework is recommended for recruiting men for general research studies (e.g. Law, 2019; Leach et al., 2019; Oliffe & Mróz, 2005; Ryan et al., 2019; Witty et al., 2014), I note that that it may be not be appropriate for research pertaining to sex, sexual health, intimacy, or emotional vulnerability, as well as that it may reproduce assumptions about men’s engagements with their gender identity that does not speak to contemporary lived experiences. Instead, I advocate for researchers to think more carefully about the ‘sex-as-dirty-work’ (Irvine, 2014, 2018) framework as a potential resource to guide their recruitment process rather than just a stand-alone CMM framework. This includes devising a recruitment strategy that 1) offers confidential methods of expressing interest in participating, including a greater consideration of whether personal networks can be hindrances rather than an advantage; 2) allows for a kind of ‘branding’ that supports legitimising the research study to the public, and 3) carefully considers problematic assumptions that may be made about men in the recruitment process that can deter potential participants.

Researchers should also be prepared financially and timewise for recruiting high numbers of interested men, but this not translating into substantial participant numbers regardless of research study topic. Understanding what it might take to reach a target sample can be useful for qualitative researchers conducting studies with cisgender, heterosexual men. This can be a challenging population group to engage, especially on topics such as sex and sexuality. Bridging together the CMM framework and ‘sex-as-dirty-work’ can support effective recruitment for this difficult demographic group.

Acknowledgements

I’d like to thank Associate Professor Anthony Lyons, Associate Professor Jennifer Power, Dr Alex Russell, and Associate Professor Nicki Dowling for their helpful comments and feedback on earlier versions of this manuscript. I’d also like to thank the reviewers and editors of TSRM who helped shaped this publication.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

Additional information

Funding

This work is funded by the Australian Research Council Discovery Early Career Researcher Award (DE200101539)

Notes on contributors

Andrea Waling

Andrea Waling is a Senior ARC DECRA Research Fellow at the Australian Research Centre in Sex, Health and Society at La Trobe University.