OnlyFans has a pottery channel now: The Hill Potters Guild. It is a Canadian ceramics organization that has spent decades introducing people to the craft, and on July 14, they launched their “Ceramics are SExy” campaign built around cheeky pottery tutorials. These tutorials are filmed in the visual language of adult creator content, complete with strategically censored pieces and suggestive clay forms that imply, well, exactly what you think they imply. 

The campaign was developed with creative agency Blackjet, which apparently spent time researching the ceramics category and arrived at the observation that working with clay is intensely tactile, hands-on, and, in the right framing, genuinely sensual. The Ghost reference was inevitable, and the campaign leans into it. While someone watches the steamy adult-content-creator-style video, they’re actually learning pottery techniques. These genius videos blur the line between innuendo and instruction in a way designed to make people curious enough to click and then interested enough to stay. 

“The Guild has spent decades helping people discover the joy of ceramics,” said Kathy Verbeek-Chawrun of the Hill Potters Guild. “What we loved about this idea is that it encourages people to look at pottery through a completely different lens and learn about the very real benefits that come from making something with your hands.”

Those benefits are real and documented, including reduced stress, increased mindfulness, and improved focus. The challenge has always been reaching younger Canadians who associate pottery with retirement hobby classes rather than a genuine wellness practice. Using OnlyFans as the delivery mechanism is a strategic piece of misdirection. The platform gets attention while the content delivers the message, and by the time someone realizes they’ve been watching pottery tutorials, they’re hooked. At least, that’s the goal. 

But what the Hill Potters Guild is doing isn’t unprecedented. The list of brands that have found their way to OnlyFans for reasons entirely disconnected from adult content is longer than most people realize, and it keeps growing. 

Nimbi, a London-based razor company whose products are made from waste wood pulp, pine oil, and clay, turned to OnlyFans after discovering the word “razor” was shadowbanned on TikTok. When your product’s name is algorithmically suppressed on your main marketing channel, you have to get creative. Co-founder Annie Reid initially suggested OnlyFans as a joke, but it became an actual strategy. While their OnlyFans page hasn’t been active in 2026, you can still watch their shaving tutorials and educational content on technique. And it seems their strategy worked, because Nimbi became a top-selling personal care product at Erewhon and expanded to over 900 Target stores. 

It’s becoming clear that OnlyFans offers something mainstream social media platforms can’t or won’t. With OnlyFans, these brands don’t have to worry about the algorithm changing, shadow-banning, or advertiser-friendly content requirements. People subscribe, and they see content. It’s as simple as that. 

OnlyFans is particularly attractive to products operating in a space that the mainstream platforms treat as problematic, like razors, adult wellness products, and basically anything to do with an actual body doing things. And for the Hill Potters Guild, trying to reach an audience that has tuned out conventional marketing, the platform’s built-in association with transgression is the point. People will click on their account out of curiosity, and curiosity is the first step for them. 

OnlyFans has spent years arguing that it’s more than what people assume it is, and now brands are making that argument for them in real time, with real results. While the Hill Potter’s Guild may be the most charming version, it likely won’t be the last. 

You can find anything on OnlyFans these days. Feet pictures, hardcore porn, razor tutorials, and now, the most interesting pottery class you’ve ever accidentally attended.

Turns out scammers are using that leaked content to hack government websites, and OnlyFans creators might be part of the solution. 

Here is a sentence you may not have expected to read today: OnlyFans creators are accidentally helping cybersecurity teams identify compromised government websites. Not intentionally, but as a byproduct of fighting the endless, exhausting battle against people stealing and redistributing their content without permission. 

The mechanics of how this happened are genuinely bizarre, nd they say something interesting about both the scale of the adult creator economy and the perpetual chaos of the internet. 

Start with the piracy problem, which predates OnlyFans and will likely outlast it. Adult content creator Laura Lux has been publishing content online for nearly two decades, on her own subscription site, a Patreon channel, and now OnlyFans. And for those two decades, people have been stealing it. “We do lose a lot of money just because the content is literally a Google search away a lot of the time,” she said. The solution most serious creators have adopted is aggressive use of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. This allows creators to file takedown requests, get stolen content removed from search results, and repeat the process over and over and over. “If you are not running a DMCA service, then you might as well probably not even be bothering doing the job, because it will be everywhere,” Lux said.

So creators and the companies that represent them send millions of DMCA takedown requests targeting every URL where their stolen content appears. 

Meanwhile, the scammers have been exploiting a specific vulnerability in how Google’s search algorithm works. Government and university websites (anything with .gov or .edu domains) rank highly in search results because those extensions carry institutional authority. If you can inject malicious content into a compromised government website, that content will show up near the top of search results for whatever keyword you’ve targeted. The scammers’ targets of choice have increasingly been the names of popular adult content creators, because people searching for “leaked” content are, as one cybersecurity expert put it, “primed to click recklessly”. Click the promising leaked OnlyFans video from a .gov domain and you end up on a page full of malware, online dating scams, and suspicious advertising schemes, all pumping money into the pockets of these fraudsters. 

The result, according to new research from a cybersecurity company UpGuard, is htat more than 2,000 domains belonging to governments and educational institutions across more than 80 countries have received copyright takedown requests linked to adult content creators over the past fifteen years. There have been 384,286 total takedown requests covering more than 631,000 URLS, and of those, Google has removed around 130,000. That means that the other 400,000 are still up and running. 

OnlyFans creators filing DMCA requests to protect their stolen content are inadvertently flagging compromised government infrastructure to Google, essentially doing the work of cybersecurity teams who may not know their websites have been hijacked. “The OnlyFans models are not setting out to help government websites,” said Greg Pollock, director of research at UpGuard, “but in order for them to police their copyright ownership, they wind up sending a lot of notices to Google about those sites.”

Yet the DMCA is simultaneously the best tool OnlyFans creators have to combat this kind of leaked content, while also being the tool that is being weaponized against them. Top OnlyFans creators have discovered that unverified filers are impersonating them to file fraudulent DMCA claims, some even using the creators’ own names to file takedowns against publishers who legitimately feature them. “My agent brought these fake reports to my attention — I didn’t even know this could happen,” said Kayla, a top 1% OnlyFans creator. “Other creators who don’t have agency representation lose traffic to their pages and have no idea why it’s happening or what to do.” Google processes takedown notices from unverified filers at scale, requires no identity verification, and has built no meaningful system to flag abuse because at the end of the day, it doesn’t really impact them. But the creators? They feel the consequences in both directions: their content gets stolen, and then the system designed to protect them gets turned into a weapon against them.  

Dan Purcell, CEO of creator content protection firm Ceartas, points out that sending DMCA requests to compromised government websites is legally questionable, as those sites aren’t intentionally hosting or advertising the content, so it’s likely not a genuine copyright violation in any meaningful sense. His company contacts the website’s security team directly when it encounters these situations instead of filing takedown requests. “Just because it smells funny and looks funny doesn’t mean that you just execute the most aggressive law possible to remove the content,” he said.

Yet for most creators, the DMCA is the only tool available to fight the very real piracy problem they deal with daily. For now, these OnlyFans creators will continue to file millions of takedown requests to protect their work, accidentally doing more for government cybersecurity than they’d ever imagine. If only the system would do something for them in return.

While some creators have credited OnlyFans with saving their lives, it was just hyperbole. But when Mikomi Hokina says it, she means it literally. 

Hokina, a Belgian cosplay creator with over two million Instagram followers, was in her twenties when a fellow creator noticed something unusual during a collaborative shoot. They were filming content together when her co-star touched something that didn’t feel right. A small, rocky lump in her breast. The kind of thing that could be easy to dismiss, but her co-star didn’t. She urged Hokina to get it checked. 

And when she did, she received a diagnosis of breast cancer. It turns out that Hokina carries the BRCA1 gene, a genetic mutation that significantly increases the likelihood of developing aggressive breast cancer. She’d known about the gene for a while, as her mother died of cancer and Hokina decided to have genetic testing done. But even though she knew the risk, getting that kind of diagnosis in her twenties, two hours before a flight to Thailand where she was scheduled to shoot more content, was a shock. 

“Two hours before my flight, I got the phone call that my test results were positive for cancer,” she recalled.

She did go to Thailand anyway. The doctors told her two weeks wasn’t going to kill her. So she worked, came home, and then broke the news to her loved ones. 

Hokina began chemotherapy quickly and found herself in deep grief over her hair. It may seem silly to some people, but for many women, their hair is central to their identity. It was for Hokina, especially since it was also part of her livelihood. “I was crying a lot, especially when I had to make that extra step of cutting my hair,” she said. “You lose so much and it was so patchy, so I decided to shave it short.” By Easter that year she was fully bald. She made a nest of the hair she’d lost, put eggs in it, and posted it as a holiday greeting. Dark humor as a survival strategy. 

“When I was sick, I used a lot of dark humor to cope with my illness in general,” she said.

Cosplay, unexpectedly, became part of how she rebuilt. Hokina had always been a cosplayer. She loved inhabiting fictional characters with both strengths and visible weaknesses, and the craft of costume construction is something she takes so seriously she wants to supply costumes for films one day. But during chemo, the hair loss opened a door she hadn’t previously considered: she could create content as Saitama, the bald protagonist from One-Punch Man, without a bald cap creating problems with her thick hair. 

The character she’d never been able to cosplay became, in the middle of her worst year, one of her most resonant. A bald hero with absurd strength, both physical and emotional. The dark humor of it lands differently when you understand the content. 

Hokina is 30 now. The cancer is, in her own words, “so far behind her.” She has built a six-figure career on OnlyFans, where she maintains a fan base that cosplay and content creation drew in. “I love it,” she said. “I keep my fans happy, and I’ve transformed my hobby into my job.” Cosplay is her passion, and OnlyFans is the platform (and income) that lets her do it. 

OnlyFans is also the reason Hokina is able to share her story today, all because a fellow creator on a shoot noticed something and encouraged her to check it out.

You might catch more than a few expecting influencers showing off their pregnancy belly or flaunting their extravagant baby showers & gender reveals, but what happens when they don’t even know they’re pregnant?

Meet the stunning Alex Paige Moore, the platinum blonde Aussie OnlyFans star who had a fascinating – if abrupt – introduction to motherhood. 

“I actually had a six-pack just before I found out that I was pregnant,” Alex says. “I have polycystic ovaries, so I wasn’t getting regular periods anyway, I’d get maybe one or two a year. So, not having a period wasn’t unusual.”

Alex’s social calendar and fitness routine inadvertently enabled her to explain away pregnancy’s more conspicuous signs.

“As for morning sickness, I had a bit of heartburn, but again, it was after I’d taken pre-workout, so I was like, ‘It’s probably just the pre-workout.’ I was really sick one day after I drank, basically vomiting all day. But I was like, ‘I had a big night. I didn’t finish till 3:00 a.m. So, I’m not going to be like, ‘am I pregnant?’ I think I’m just hungover.’”

Initially believing her exhaustion and lapses in consciousness to be the result of an eating disorder, Alex eventually went to the doctor at the behest of her mother. After all, it could be something as simple as a nutrition deficiency, as Alex had thought.

“I went to the doctors and did the blood test and never went back for the results,” Alex explained. “And it was a month later. Mum was like, ‘Did you go back and get the results because you’re not feeling any better?’ And I’m like, ‘No.’ So, she’s like, ‘You need to call up and get the result.’ So, I went in and then they’re like, ‘Yeah, everything’s normal. It’s probably just the fact that you’re pregnant.’ I was like, ‘What? I’m pregnant?’ And they’re like, ‘Yeah didn’t you know?’ I was like, ‘What the hell?’”

At only 21, Alex knew her environment was less than ideal for becoming a mother. She lived at home, trapped in a toxic relationship with her then-boyfriend. It seemed parenthood would condemn this freewheeling young adult to a life of sacrifice and structure.

“When I immediately found out I was pregnant, I assumed, ‘Okay, I must be 4 weeks pregnant.’ Did I have a thought of ‘I don’t know if this is what I want right now?’ 100 percent. I was thinking that,” Alex said. “But then me and my partner were talking about it and before we even found out how far along we were, I felt like the logical thing to do was terminate, even though we were really sad about it.”

What shocked the couple was just how far along Alex was. She had been pregnant for five months. 

“She was posterior, her spine was against my spine,” Alex explains. “I also had an anterior placenta, so a lot of the movement and everything was muffled. It was insane because it was only a week or two after I found out that I started noticing a bump.”

This discovery hamstringed Alex’s ability to terminate her pregnancy and she began to spiral into uncertainty. Like most 21-year-olds, Alex was no stranger to alcohol consumption and drank regularly before she knew she was pregnant. She could only hope that her baby, now undoubtedly on the way, was healthy.

“I was shitting myself the whole pregnancy. I was like, if I’ve done something, if she’s not healthy… I was already freaking out at the fact I’m going to be a mum, let alone having a child that might need even more care. But she came out perfect with five fingers on each hand and ten toes, and I was like, ‘Okay, we’re all good.’”

With her fears about giving birth to an unhealthy child now assuaged, the true challenge began: reckoning with her failing relationship with her child’s father. They eventually decided to end things.

“One of the first things I did after the breakup was get a boob job. I was like, ‘I’m spending it on tits.’  I figured these weren’t going to make money as little saggy things, it was an investment.”

Alex, now a single parent, worked at a dentist’s office as a nurse. Her salary was far from adequate for her and her new baby’s needs, but her mother routinely stepped up to help. 

“I was living at home with my mum, so I didn’t have to pay rent. She was very nice about that. No bills. They provided food. Obviously I would just buy formula and stuff, but yeah, I was looking at that and I’m like, there is no way I’m ever going to buy a house or move out. I can’t afford it. And I was like, ‘That’s just ridiculous.’” 

The dead-end feeling of living off of $30,000 a year eventually became too much to bear, so Alex decided to become an OnlyFans model. Her ex was far from a fan of this, as she explains.

“I suggested it a few times while we were together. I said, ‘I think I want to do an OnlyFans because I can’t live like this. I have no money.’ And he’s like, ‘No, that’s disgusting, selling yourself.’”

Lo and behold, after starting her page and enlisting a friend for help, Alex’s financial worries evaporated almost instantly. Alex became a mother prior to joining OnlyFans, so she was never a pregnant creator, but the Pregnant OnlyFans niche is popping in more ways than one!

“The first couple of weeks, I think I made maybe $800, $2,000, and then we just went really hard. In a couple of months I was making $100,000 USD a month. I knew I had to keep going, I was not going back to being a dental nurse.’”

Though she now had a steady cash flow, Alex’s ex-partner continually urged her to discontinue her page; a position Alex found ironic due to this gentleman’s reliance on child support funds.

“My ex is so reliant on child support. I earn so much more than him that I have to pay him 12 grand a year just for being a dad. He still has digs at me and says I’m disgusting, but he’s happy to take the money. If I wasn’t doing this job, he’d be paying me.” 

Alex Moore’s unbridled positive outlook is something she hopes will guide her on this new journey as a mother.

“I have this mentality where I just know everything’s going to work out for me. I’ll buy an $8,000 a month mortgage that I can hardly afford, and I’m like, ‘I’ll make it work.’ I would rather do something and then work it out than have the regret of missing out.”

“Being a mum has been the most incredible experience of my life. I’m forever grateful that I found out I was pregnant when I did, because I truly can’t imagine my life without my girl. She has made my world a million times better, and I love her more than words could ever describe.”

The platform that turned creators into millionaires is looking for new investment — and deserves more credit than it gets

In news that will surprise exactly nobody who has been paying attention to where the internet’s money actually goes, OnlyFans — the platform the mainstream tech press spent years condescending to — is in talks to sell about a 20% stake to San Francisco investment firm Architect Capital. The deal would value the company at more than $3 billion. For context, that’s more than Twitter was worth for most of its existence, and OnlyFans has never once had to beg advertisers to take it seriously. It found a better way.

The timing carries some weight. The deal comes just weeks after Leonid Radvinsky, the Ukrainian-born entrepreneur who purchased OnlyFans in 2018 and quietly transformed it into one of the most creator-friendly platforms on the internet, died of cancer at 43. He was famously reclusive, gave almost no interviews, had barely any public photos, and somehow managed to stay one of the least visible billionaires alive while making nearly $2 million per day from the platform in 2024. Whatever you think of the content OnlyFans hosts, Radvinsky built something that worked, and worked spectacularly, on terms that actually benefited the people producing the content. That’s rarer than it sounds.

OnlyFans takes a 20% cut of creator earnings. Instagram takes 100% of the attention and gives creators a follower count and a prayer. YouTube’s ad revenue share has been a subject of creator grievance for fifteen years. OnlyFans, for all its cultural baggage, built a model where the people doing the work got paid directly by the people who wanted to see it, with minimal algorithmic interference and no brand safety department deciding whose content was acceptable. It is, structurally, one of the most straightforward creator economy platforms ever built. And it got there before “creator economy” was even a phrase people used at conferences.

The numbers are hard to argue with. Spending on the platform hit $7.2 billion in 2024. The platform grew from 13 million users in 2019 to 188 million by 2021, a surge driven in large part by the pandemic when millions of creators, suddenly without their usual income streams, turned to OnlyFans and actually found a reliable one. That’s not an accident or a fluke. That’s a platform delivering on its promise at exactly the moment people needed it to.

Now, with Radvinsky gone, OnlyFans is navigating a transition that would be complicated for any company and is particularly complicated for this one. The Architect Capital deal, which will be a minority stake, could close as early as next month and would reportedly bring new financial services and products for creators. And here is where the story gets genuinely interesting, because this is a real and longstanding problem OnlyFans creators face. 

Many of them can’t get basic banking services. Payment processors have historically treated adult content creators like financial pariahs, leaving people with six-figure incomes unable to get a mortgage or a business account. If Architect Capital’s financial services background translates into actual infrastructure that helps creators manage and access their earnings like normal human beings, that would be a meaningful improvement in the lives of a lot of people the traditional financial system has spent years pretending don’t exist.

This is not OnlyFans’ first attempt at a sale. Reuters reported in May 2025 that the company had been in talks with LA-based Forest Road Company at an $8 billion valuation. In January, the Wall Street Journal reported Architect Capital was eyeing a majority stake at $5.5 billion. Now we’re at a minority stake and $3 billion. The number has drifted downward, which is either a sign of a cooling market for private tech assets generally or a reflection of the unique friction that comes with selling a business that makes squeamish investors reach for their pearls. Probably some of both.

OnlyFans has not been without its stumbles. The platform’s 2021 announcement that it would ban explicit content (which was swiftly reversed after an eruption of entirely justified creator fury) remains the clearest example of what happens when a platform forgets who built it. The reversal was the right call, and OnlyFans made it quickly. Age verification has been an ongoing challenge, and one the platform has faced regulatory and legal pressure over. These are real issues that deserve real solutions.

But the core of what OnlyFans built — a direct payment platform that lets creators control their content and their pricing and their relationship with their audience — is genuinely good. It gave economic agency to a category of creator who every other platform had either exploited or excluded. It made people real money. It treated the transaction honestly, which is more than most of Silicon Valley can say.

Radvinsky built something worth several billion dollars while saying very little about it publicly. There’s a version of this story where that’s suspicious. There’s also a version where a man simply built a product that worked, paid the people who used it, and let the results speak for themselves.

The results, as it turns out, are pretty loud.

Google went from “Don’t Be Evil” to letting anonymous trolls delete your content from the internet in minutes — and has no incentive to fix it

In 2000, Google adopted an internal motto that would become one of the most famous phrases in corporate history: “Don’t be evil.” It appeared in their corporate code of conduct, served as the Wi-Fi password on employee shuttles, and was cited by Google’s own founders in their 2004 IPO letter as a guiding principle. It was, for a time, one of the few examples of a tech company articulating a moral compass in plain language.

Then, in 2018, Google removed almost every mention of it.

The phrase had lived at the top of the company’s code of conduct for nearly two decades. Following a corporate restructuring under parent company Alphabet in 2015, Alphabet adopted the softer “Do the right thing” as its own code. Google initially kept “Don’t be evil” — until late April 2018, when a revision scrubbed it from the preface entirely. One lonely mention survives at the bottom of the document: “And remember… don’t be evil.” A whisper where there used to be a declaration.

The timing was notable. The removal coincided with a wave of employee resignations over Google’s involvement in Project Maven, a partnership with the U.S. Pentagon to develop AI for military applications. Over 4,000 employees signed a petition against the project. A dozen left entirely. Google’s former Head of International Relations, Ross LaJeunesse, would later write that the motto “was no longer a true reflection of the company’s values; it was now nothing more than just another corporate marketing tool.”

You might wonder what any of this has to do with a copyright law written in 1998. The answer is everything. Because the same company that decided “Don’t be evil” was no longer worth saying out loud has also built the single most exploitable content-removal system on the internet — and has made deliberate choices to keep it that way.

The Weapon Google Hands to Fraudsters

Here’s what bad actors can do today: submit DMCA requests that look valid on paper, then let Google’s default “remove first” machinery do the rest. In practice, that can mean pages vanish from search results fast, with little friction up front and no meaningful verification that the filer is who they claim to be.

That isn’t a hypothetical. That’s how Google’s DMCA takedown process works right now. And while the Digital Millennium Copyright Act itself has serious structural problems, Google has made a series of deliberate choices that go far beyond what the law requires, turning a flawed system into a weapon optimized for abuse.

This is what a fraudulent-looking DMCA notice can look like: generic sender, vague work identification, and a sprawling URL list — exactly the kind of filing that makes abuse hard to detect at scale.

Who’s Getting Hurt

The damage isn’t theoretical. It’s happening to real people, and it cuts two ways.

First, there are the creators whose identities are being weaponized against them. Top OnlyFans creators have discovered that unverified filers are impersonating them to file fraudulent copyright claims, using the creator’s own name and content as the basis for takedowns against publishers who feature them. Many creators without professional representation are watching their traffic collapse and have no framework for understanding why. The mechanism of attack is invisible to them. They see the symptom. They never see the cause.

“My agent brought these fake reports to my attention — I didn’t even know this could happen,” says Kayla, a top 1% OnlyFans creator. “I was shocked. It’s almost as bad as finding out you’ve been leaked. Other creators who don’t have agency representation lose traffic to their pages and have no idea why it’s happening or what to do.”

Then there are the publishers. Ad networks, roundup sites, and independent media outlets whose legitimately published content gets ripped out of Google search results overnight. They lose time, money, and traffic fighting bogus claims — and by the time they successfully counter one fraudulent takedown, the damage has already been done and hundreds more notices are waiting.

Matt M., a top creator agency owner, describes the operational reality: “We lose time and money fighting these bogus claims. In the end, it’s the creator who suffers. Some of them have been manipulated into paying for takedowns to protect their brand. What really happens is they lose access to the promotion they’re paying for from ad networks, so they’re effectively paying twice and losing traffic. I don’t blame the creators for this — these scammers make it sound like they’re some kind of intellectual property lawyer protecting the creator against theft.”

On the publisher side, the operational toll is just as brutal. Benjamin, a COO at a web publishing company, describes a business that’s been forced to build an entire role around fighting fraud: “We manage dozens of niche websites where humans compose longform editorial content and perform investigative journalism. We’re overly cautious about ensuring the graphics on our sites are eligible and fair use. And yet, we now have to have a full-time employee who does nothing but receive DMCA takedown notices, respond to explain our position, and then track and follow up on each one because Google is only reinstating our pages about 60% of the time on the first attempt.” The economics of abuse have made it even worse: “We’ve seen a huge increase in unethical providers on websites like Fiverr who will file DMCA takedowns anonymously for less than $10. This DMCA fraud is a daily struggle.”

What connects all of it is the same structural failure: Google processes takedowns from unverified filers at scale — and the people on the receiving end have no fast, affordable way to fight back.

Seven Things Google Could Do Tomorrow (But Won’t)

The DMCA requires platforms to process takedown notices “expeditiously” to maintain safe harbor protection, but nowhere does the law require Google to accept unverified notices, prohibit identity confirmation, or prevent flagging suspicious patterns. Google has chosen to do none of the things the law would allow. Every change below is legally permissible. They choose not to because the current system costs them nothing.

1. Verify the identity of complainants. Anyone can file a DMCA takedown with a self-attested name and zero identity verification. Fraudulent senders routinely use generic names like “DMCA Manager,” burying their filings in a sea of identical-looking notices. Google could require verified accounts or confirmed business entities before processing notices. The law requires a perjury statement that the filer is authorized to act on behalf of the copyright holder, but Google never actually verifies that claim. This is the single highest-leverage change Google could make, because every other reform depends on knowing who is actually filing.

2. Create a trust scoring system and verified publisher whitelist. Google processes millions of takedown requests annually. They have more than enough data to flag patterns of abuse — high-volume filers who get counter-noticed, notices that consistently target competitors rather than actual pirates. Google already does this in other contexts: think Google Ads quality scores, think search spam detection. The technical infrastructure exists. The will does not. Taking it further, Google could create a verified publisher whitelist — trusted publishers with clean compliance records receive “notice and review” treatment rather than instant “notice and takedown.” When a takedown targets content from a verified publisher, Google holds it pending brief review instead of auto-removing it. Unverified filers and unknown entities get standard processing. The current system doesn’t bother to distinguish between a publisher and a pirate. Google could make that distinction tomorrow.

3. Add a review window for suspicious notices. Instead of removing content the instant a notice arrives, Google could hold flagged notices for 24 to 48 hours of review. The DMCA says “expeditiously.” It does not say “instantly.” Google already takes days to process many notices anyway.

4. Require specific identification of the copyrighted work. Fraudulent takedowns are routinely vague about what’s supposedly being infringed. The law already requires identification of the copyrighted work — if it’s missing, the notice is technically deficient and Google has no obligation to act. In practice, they process incomplete notices because it’s easier to take things down than to push back.

5. Make counter-notices frictionless. Filing a takedown takes minutes through Google’s web form. A counter-notice requires the victim to provide personal contact information (which gets forwarded to the attacker), submit legal declarations, and wait 10 to 14 business days. Google could streamline this with an equally simple form and a one-click counter-notice option. They don’t.

6. Penalize repeat abusers. Google has a repeat infringer policy for people whose content gets taken down, but no meaningful repeat abuser policy for people who file fraudulent notices. There’s precedent for this: the Telephone Consumer Protection Act (TCPA) imposes fines of $500 per violation for unsolicited robocalls — real financial consequences that changed the economics of spam overnight. Google could apply the same logic: track abuse, escalate consequences, suspend filing privileges for filers whose notices are consistently bogus.

7. Publish transparency data at the complainant level. Google’s Transparency Report shows aggregate data but doesn’t reveal which complainants have high rates of rejected claims. Publishing that data would let the public (and courts) see who’s actually weaponizing the system.

The common thread: Google has optimized entirely for minimizing their own legal risk and operational cost. Their safe harbor protection doesn’t depend on accuracy. It depends on speed of removal. They’ve outsourced 100% of the consequences to everyone else.

How Google Weaponizes “Transparency” Through Lumen

Google sends copies of DMCA takedown notices to the Lumen Database, a Harvard Law School Library–affiliated research archive housing nearly 70 million takedown notices referencing well over 10 billion URLs. In theory, this creates transparency: the public can see who is requesting content removal and why.

In practice, the transparency is far thinner than it appears, and that’s by Google’s design.

Google’s own policy states that it generally shares the requestor’s name on copyright and trademark notices sent to Lumen. But “shares a name” isn’t the same as “verifies an identity.” The system still allows completely self-attested identities — names like “DMCA Manager” — to flood the record unchecked. Google never confirms that the person behind the name is real, that they represent who they claim to represent, or that they have any standing to file in the first place. The result is a database full of names that may as well be pseudonyms, with no mechanism to connect patterns of abuse across filings or hold repeat offenders accountable.

This matters because the DMCA statute itself requires that a takedown notice include the identity of the complainant. The entire premise is accountability: someone is making a legal claim under penalty of perjury, and the target should be able to evaluate who filed it and whether to counter-notice. When the name attached to a filing is functionally meaningless — self-attested, unconfirmed, and shared by thousands of other notices — that accountability collapses. The filer’s identity exists on paper. It doesn’t exist in practice.

Compare this to other platforms. When Reddit, GitHub, Medium, or Vimeo submit notices to Lumen, the sender information is often verifiable and intact. Google, by far the largest source of notices in the database, accepts whatever name a filer types into a form and passes it along without verification. The sheer volume of unverified Google notices dilutes the entire dataset, making Lumen’s research mission exponentially harder.

And Lumen’s own researchers have documented exactly what this enables. In 2022, Lumen Research Fellow Shreya Tewari identified more than 33,000 DMCA notices that appeared to be part of a coordinated campaign of fraudulent takedowns built on back-dated articles used to suppress legitimate journalism. Follow-up research brought the total to over 89,000 apparently fraudulent notices, used to suppress news coverage of corruption, drug trafficking, and political misconduct. The playbook is repeatable, scalable, and — thanks to Google’s lack of verification — virtually risk-free.

Lumen’s stated mission is to provide transparency on who sends content removal requests, why, and to what ends. Google undermines that mission not by hiding names but by treating self-attested identities as “good enough,” flooding the system with filings that technically have a name attached but offer no real path to accountability.

Why This Is an Antitrust Issue

In August 2024, a federal judge ruled that Google illegally maintained a monopoly in search. Judge Amit Mehta held that Google monopolized the markets for general search services and text advertising, controlling nearly 90% of computer searches and approximately 95% of smartphone searches. In April 2025, a second federal court found Google had also unlawfully monopolized the digital advertising market, with the DOJ declaring that Google’s “unlawful dominance allows them to censor and even deplatform American voices.”

As of March 2026, the fight continues. The case has moved into the remedies phase, where the DOJ has proposed major structural changes, including limits on Google’s search distribution agreements and the potential divestiture of Chrome. Google is simultaneously appealing the monopoly ruling. The case is expected to move to the D.C. Circuit Court of Appeals.

Those rulings are what elevate Google’s DMCA choices from a policy problem to a structural one. When a single company controls the doorway to the entire internet — and two federal courts have confirmed that they do — running a sloppy, easily exploited takedown system isn’t just negligent. It’s a weapon that any third party can pick up and use to destroy a competitor.

Take the Button Away

Google doesn’t need Congress to stop making this easy. It can verify complainant identity privately, rate-limit high-volume filers, build an abuse score, and give verified publishers “notice and review” instead of instant deindexing. None of that requires a new statute — just the decision that the people who depend on Google’s index are worth the engineering hours.

Right now, Google’s DMCA pipeline is optimized for the only metric that protects Google: speed. Everyone else eats the consequences. They took “Don’t be evil” off the wall. The least they can do is stop handing strangers the button that makes people’s work disappear.

How a broken copyright law became the internet’s most effective tool for anonymous competitive sabotage — and nine ways Congress could fix it (if they wanted to).

Imagine you wake up one morning to find that your website, your YouTube channel, or your OnlyFans page have been gutted. Content you created with blood, sweat, and tears, content that you own, content that pays your mortgage, is just *poof*. Gone.

Not because you did anything wrong. Simply because a stranger (or someone you know!) filled out a form, clicked submit, and the platform holding your work decided that was enough to remove your content.

No verification. No burden of proof. Not even a phone call to give you a heads up. And you’re not even allowed to know who did it.

Welcome to the creator economy in 2026 where this is happening to people on a regular basis, all thanks to the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA).

The DMCA was signed into law in 1998, the same year Google was founded, eleven years before OnlyFans as a concept even existed. The law’s famous “safe harbor” provision was designed to protect platforms from liability for user-uploaded content, as long as they responded to takedown notices. It was a reasonable framework for its era. That era is over.

Now, the law is so structurally broken that it has quietly become one of the most effective tools for anti-competitive sabotage on the internet. And the people abusing it aren’t even trying to hide it anymore.

This is the DMCA’s least-discussed design flaw: not that takedowns happen, but that they happen anonymously, instantly, at scale, with no verification required and no meaningful consequences for abuse. For independent digital creators, many of whom depend entirely on search visibility to reach paying subscribers, this isn’t a theoretical policy problem. It is an existential one.

What a Fraudulent DMCA Actually Looks Like

Pull up the Lumen Database,  the public repository where Google logs DMCA takedown notices. The goal of Lumen is to collect and study online content removal requests.

Though their goal is allegedly to promote transparency on these notices, they aren’t really able to because Google usually only shares notice details — not the requestor’s name or contact information. So even if Lumen wanted to share that information, they don’t have.

For What do they have? Pull up the Lumen database and search for a notice like #78071520. What you’ll find is someone listed as “DMCA Manager.” No company name. No individual. No verifiable identity whatsoever. All other identifying information is either redacted or was never required in the first place. The only concrete data point is a country of origin, which can be spoofed to any location on earth using a VPN.

That’s it. That’s the paper trail.

What makes this more than just an anonymity problem is what that single form submission can accomplish. A fraudster using a generic identity like “DMCA Manager” can file thousands of takedown notices in a single session. Because Google’s response to any DMCA notice is immediate deindexing, every one of those notices removes a competitor’s page from search results within hours. Everyone is treated as guilty until proven innocent, and their content is vanished from the internet for a minimum of 14 days.

And because Google holds a court-confirmed monopoly on search, being removed from Google search results is, for most practical purposes, being removed from the internet entirely.

The asymmetry here is breathtaking. A bad actor willing to commit fraud can delete thousands of a competitor’s pages from Google search results with nothing more than anonymous form submissions. An honest publisher who refuses to commit fraud has no equivalent weapon and no immediate recourse. By the time a victim successfully contests even one fraudulent takedown (a process that takes at least 14 business days), the fraudster has had two uninterrupted weeks to file thousands more. There is no ceiling on how many notices a single anonymous filer can submit.

The fraud is further camouflaged by design. When a fraudster buries their filings under a generic name shared by thousands of other notices, any pattern of abuse disappears into the noise. There is no mechanism by which a victim, a platform, or a regulator can look at the data and say: this entity has filed ten thousand notices and lost nine thousand counter-notices. The anonymity doesn’t just protect the fraudster. It actively prevents the pattern from being visible.

Who Is Actually Getting Hurt

Creators who have professional representation are catching this problem. Many are not.

“My agent brought these fake reports to my attention — I didn’t even know this could happen,” says Kayla, a top 1% OnlyFans creator. “I was shocked. It’s almost as bad as finding out you’ve been leaked. Other creators who don’t have agency representation lose traffic to their pages and have no idea why it’s happening or what to do.”

That last sentence deserves to sit for a moment. Creators without representation, which is the majority of content creators, are watching their traffic collapse and have no framework for understanding why. The mechanism of attack is invisible to them. They see the symptom. They never see the cause.

For those who do figure it out, the road to remediation is its own punishment. Matt M., a top creator agency owner, describes the operational reality: “We lose time and money fighting these bogus claims. In the end, it’s the creator who suffers. Some of them have been manipulated into paying for takedowns to protect their brand. What really happens is they lose access to the promotion they’re paying for from ad networks, so they’re effectively paying twice and losing traffic. I don’t blame the creators for this — these scammers make it sound like they’re some kind of intellectual property lawyer protecting the creator against theft.”

The scam within the scam: fraudulent filers aren’t just hurting creators through false takedowns. They’re also creating a secondary market for “protection” that extracts money from the very people being victimized. It is, in structure, indistinguishable from a protection racket.

The Structural Problem Congress Built and Won’t Fix

None of this is accidental. The DMCA’s notice-and-takedown system was designed to make it easy to remove infringing content. It succeeded, but at the cost of building a nearly frictionless system for abuse. The law’s Section 512(f) technically allows victims of bad-faith takedowns to sue for damages, but courts have interpreted it so narrowly, as seen in decisions like Rossi v. MPAA and Lenz v. Universal, that it is functionally useless. The standard requires proving that a filer knowingly misrepresented their claim; subjective good faith is enough to escape liability even when a claim is objectively absurd.

In practice, filing a fraudulent DMCA notice carries no criminal risk, no civil risk worth calculating, and costs nothing. The incentive structure is perfectly engineered for abuse.

Nine Ways Congress Could Fix This

The fixes are not complicated. They have been discussed in policy circles for years and consistently blocked by the entertainment industry lobbying. Here is what reform actually looks like:

1. Make fraudulent filings genuinely costly. This is the biggest one. As mentioned above, Section 512(f) technically allows targets of bad-faith takedowns to sue for damages but this section is virtually useless thanks to the standard set by the Ninth Circuit in Rossi v. MPAA and reinforced in Lenz v. Universal. Those decisions basically say that a filer only violates 512(f) if they knowingly misrepresent their claim, and “subjective good faith” is enough to avoid liability even if the claim is objectively ridiculous. Congress could flip this by making the standard objective rather than subjective. If a reasonable person would have known the claim was bogus, you’re liable. They could also add statutory damages for fraudulent filings (similar to how copyright infringement itself carries statutory damages), so victims don’t have to prove exact financial harm to recover. Right now the cost-benefit calculation for abusers is completely lopsided: filing a fraudulent takedown costs nothing and has no consequences, while fighting one costs time, money, and lost revenue.

2. Require verification of copyright ownership before processing. The law currently says the notice must include a statement under penalty of perjury that the filer is authorized to act on behalf of the copyright holder, but critically, the perjury statement only applies to the authorization claim, not to the infringement claim itself. That’s an absurd loophole. Congress could simply extend the perjury standard to cover the entire notice, including the assertion that infringement is actually occurring. That single change would make fraudulent filers criminally liable rather than just civilly liable.

3. Create a “notice and review” option alongside “notice and takedown.” Right now, the process is brutally binary: content disappears first and questions get asked never, with platforms defaulting to immediate removal because the safe harbor incentive structure rewards speed over accuracy. A middle path, where certain categories of content are held pending brief review rather than auto-removed, without the platform losing safe harbor protection, would fundamentally rebalance that calculus. This reform is especially overdue for search engine deindexing, where the so-called “infringing content” isn’t even hosted on Google’s servers. It is a link. Removing it instantly, before any verification of the underlying claim, treats a URL like a live grenade when it is, at most, a question mark.

In a sense, Congress could make room for a verified publisher whitelist: trusted publishers with a documented compliance track record receive “notice and review” treatment because they’ve earned the presumption of legitimacy. Known piracy operations and anonymous filers get “notice and takedown,” because they haven’t. The whitelist transforms what is currently a blunt, one-size-fits-all instrument into something that actually reflects the difference between a publisher and a pirate — a distinction the current law, remarkably, doesn’t bother to make.

4. Shorten the counter-notice restoration timeline. The current 10-14 business day waiting period is arbitrary and punitive. A 3-5 business day timeline is more appropriate, with immediate restoration upon counter-notice unless the complainant obtains a temporary restraining order. If a copyright holder can’t get a TRO within a few days, their claim probably doesn’t justify keeping the content down. 

5. Establish a small claims or administrative review process. Right now, the only recourse for a fraudulently targeted party is federal court, which is expensive and slow. Congress could create a streamlined administrative process, something like the Copyright Claims Board established under the CASE Act in 2020, specifically for DMCA disputes. A low-cost, fast-track tribunal where targets of abuse can challenge takedowns and seek damages without hiring expensive litigation counsel would dramatically change the incentive structure.

6. Require platforms to track and act on abuse metrics. Congress could mandate that platforms track takedown accuracy rates by filer and implement escalating consequences, such as slower processing, required human review, and suspension of filing privileges for filers whose notices are frequently challenged or found to be inaccurate.

7. Add asymmetric bonding or fee-shifting for high-volume filers. If you’re filing thousands of takedown notices a month, Congress could require you to post a bond or escrow that gets forfeited if your notices are found to be fraudulent above a certain threshold. This wouldn’t affect legitimate copyright holders like movie studios or record labels whose claims are overwhelmingly valid, but it would make the economics of mass fraudulent filing untenable. Alternatively, mandatory fee-shifting in 512(f) cases where the losing party pays the winner’s legal costs would accomplish something similar.

8. Protect counter-notice filers’ personal information. The current law requires counter-notice filers to provide their name, address, and contact information, which then gets forwarded to the original complainant. For individuals and small businesses being targeted by bad actors, this is a serious problem. You’re essentially required to hand your personal information to the person who’s already attacking you. Congress could allow counter-notices to be filed through a registered agent or under seal, with personal details only disclosed if actual litigation is initiated.

9. Require verified identity for takedowns. Require notice filers to have verified identity with the platform (so Google knows exactly who you are and can hold you accountable), while allowing that identity to remain confidential from the target unless a counter-notice is filed. At that point, both parties should have to identify themselves to each other, because you’re now in a quasi-legal dispute that may be headed to court. And critically, the same standard should apply in both directions. If the counter-notice filer has to reveal their name and address, so does the original complainant.

The frustrating reality is that none of these ideas are novel or particularly controversial from a policy standpoint.

The current state of the DMCA in Congress

On its face, the DMCA was IP law written in 1998 by Howard Coble, a Republican legislator who was nobly trying to protect American creativity. In reality, the law was written by a congressman backed by entertainment industry interests. It was developed to protect big businesses that already have behemoth legal teams to defend their own IP.

Today, there is bipartisan support for DMCA reform, but not all of it is positive for creators. Senator Thom Tillis (R-NC) has championed a Notice and Staydown approach that critics warn would lead to more over-removal of legitimate content. Senator Ted Cruz (R-TX) and Senator Amy Klobuchar (D-MN) co-authored the TAKE IT DOWN Act, signed into law by President Trump in May 2025, which uses a similar notice-and-removal mechanism to compel platforms to remove deepfakes and non-consensual intimate imagery within 48 hours. Representative Sam Liccardo (D-CA), whose district includes Google’s headquarters, has championed AI transparency standards — an approach that could have implications for DMCA abuse as AI enables bad actors to scale fraudulent filings. Finally, Senator Marsha Blackburn (R-TN) has been one of the most active voices on creator-side copyright reform, but even her efforts stop short of addressing the core problem: Google can ignore infringement, and its negligent DMCA process hands a loaded weapon to fraudsters intent on destroying small creators.

Almost 30 years later, a law that removes the burden of proof from the accuser, imposes no cost on bad actors, and processes accusations faster than any human can respond isn’t a copyright protection system.

Even though Congress has the tools to fix it, they lack the incentive. So the law stays frozen in its 1998 form while the scale of abuse has grown exponentially with the internet. And creators are the ones paying for it. Literally.

The internet loves to call a successful woman a liar, which is why Sophie Rain spoke the algorithm’s native tongue in her clapback: receipts. The wildly successful OnlyFans creator recently shared that she’s hit $101 million in earnings from her OnlyFans page, but then, in her flex video proving to her naysayers that she isn’t lying, she warned other would-be teen creators that it isn’t “easy money.” Nothing makes the internet angrier than a financially successful woman… except maybe a financially successful woman who’s a girl’s girl. 

Here’s a quick breakdown of the facts: Sophie Rain is a Florida born and raised OnlyFans creator and viral social media influencer who found almost immediate success on the adults-only platform without caving to pressure to bang someone on camera. Her latest big money claim is that she’s broken the $100 million milestone due to OnlyFans, and shared her dashboard in video showing roughly $101,209,778.70 gross from her time on the platform. Quick reminder for those who don’t speak money: ‘gross revenue’ isn’t take-home pay, but Rain’s gross revenue is still a number that is high enough to make accountants need a minute to catch their breath. In 2024, she made headlines in mainstream entertainment outlets for reported earnings of $43 million, and that bottom line has clearly only continued to grow rapidly. However, her results are far from typical, and people who are new to the industry should not anticipate the same outcome. 

Sophie Rain was incredibly smart about how she built her following. She gained attention on mainstream channels first, and then managed to direct that audience towards OnlyFans where they had to pay a subscription fee for access. Attention turned into conversion that she built on consistently, and that’s basically her whole formula for success. She’s also unique in OnlyFans land in that she’s a devout Christian, and claims to be saving her virginity for marriage. She has never had sex on camera, and most of her content can be described as “steamy” rather than spicy, and yet her followers love the tease and can’t seem to get enough of it. Did she get lucky with how popular she became so fast? Yes, but she  also did the work to build a funnel so that she would be able to capitalize on her audience as soon as they showed up. 

As always happens with Rain, skeptics have been raising eyebrows at her financial claims, not believing that it’s possible that a woman as young as she is could possibly make that much money on a digital platform. Sophie did what Sophie does, and essentially said “here, look at my dashboard, see for yourself,” and showed the receipts. She shared a video on Instagram where she shows her OnlyFans dashboard, and even refreshes it multiple times so that the audience can see her onscreen gross earnings figures for themselves. Regardless of your feelings on Rain and her line of work, she’s absolutely become the poster child for the top 0.1% of creators on the platform. 

Her clap-back video, however, wasn’t all celebrating her success. Rain got her start as a Teen OnlyFans creator, and many newly legal teens who would follow in her footsteps perceive what she does as “easy money.” Sophie makes it very clear that that is not the case, and warns people that her results aren’t typical, and not to assume they’ll hit the same numbers she has. Most people don’t, and that level of visibility comes with a very heavy cost that most teenagers— yes, even those who have crossed the threshold into legal adulthood— lack the age and experience to comprehend. OnlyFans content leaves a permanent digital footprint that can never fully be undone, especially once you factor in the risk of your content being stolen from the platform. Doxxing, harassment, and unwanted attention from obsessed fans (or haters) is another very real risk, as is the possibility of familial or future employment blowback. Money management is a problem that many younger creators don’t know how to tackle, as is the pressure to escalate the intensity of your content in order to compete with other creators for audience attention. The internet pushes a “get rich quick” fantasy, but the minute someone does, it’s ready to punish them for cashing the check. 

To make one thing clear, the Teen OnlyFans creators who are taking a shot at following in Sophie’s footsteps are all 18 – 19 year old adults, not minors. OnlyFans is 18+, and is very strict about verifying the ages of the creators sharing content there. There are many successful Teen OnlyFans creators and even Free Teen OnlyFans creators who make a decent amount of money from the content that they create and share, and no shade to these young women for collecting the money on the table for what they’re offering! 

The issue that Sophie is cautioning against is getting into OnlyFans believing that it’s a free ticket to a life of wealth without understanding the hidden costs associated with it, especially if you’re a young adult whose brain is still developing. If your plan for making money on OnlyFans involves crossing your fingers for virality while simultaneously hoping that strangers who don’t know you behave themselves online, then you need a business plan that is actually a business plan. I’m all for young women getting their bag, but I’m with Sophie on this one, and the fantasy math needs to go. Get after that money, just don’t confuse one lucky woman’s jackpot with a guaranteed paycheck. 

Whelp, another teacher lost her job over OnlyFans, but this situation’s a little… different. This time around, the teacher people were getting hot for was a part of the granny niche on OnlyFans, creating sexually charged content centered around her being older than your average content creator on the adults-only platform. While she was most definitely a consenting adult at least 3 times over, the primary school she taught at didn’t so much like that she was going from shaping young minds in the classroom to blowing everyone’s mind in the bedroom when she clocked out. 

Basically, here’s what happened. Lyndi Corston was a teacher at the Rye Community Primary School in East Sussex. She was also creating and sharing content on her OnlyFans page in her private time off the clock. However. Apparently another teacher got an OnlyFans notice on their phone one day, and the creator featured in the content on the other end of the notice? Corston. And because apparently the teacher who clicked on the notice had never heard the phrase “snitches get stitches,” they went to admin. The agency that Corston taught through (Engage Education) decided that while teachers do have a right to a private life… Corston’s activities on OnlyFans were at risk of marring the image of the teaching profession. 

At 61, Lyndi Corston is more than capable of making her own decisions. One of those decisions was to become a teacher, a position that required her to sign a contract stating that she would agree to meet certain professional standards in order to successfully execute the running of a classroom. Another of her decisions was deciding to create an OnlyFans page where she would create and share sexually explicit “granny” content from behind the safety of a paywall. All teachers have private lives outside of school, and Lyndi Corston is no exception.

Currently, Corston is under a permanent ban from teaching, though she can file to have her case reevaluated in 2028, so the ban is less permanent and more of a “go sit in time out until we feel like you’ve learned your lesson.” According to the Teaching Regulation Agency, Cornson’s actions on OnlyFans wasn’t technically against her contract, but because she was sharing “granny schoolteacher” content, the TRA had concerns that her actions could negatively influence students, or damage trust in the profession of teaching. 

And this is the part of the story where I remind everyone that OnlyFans is paywall protected, and users must past age verification in order to log in— especially in the UK, where the age verification process is stricter than most. If people are seeing naked pictures of someone on OnlyFans, it’s because they have paid money to do so, and I think that’s what’s really grinding my gears about this story. Teachers are allowed to have private lives, and they’re allowed to have side-hustles outside of their teaching jobs. What Corston was doing was work that is in demand, because yes. There is absolutely a demand for granny OnlyFans content, so why is Corston being punished for someone else paying up to see what was behind her paywall? There is also the issue of teachers in the UK facing many of the same hurdles that teachers in the US are facing. Being overworked and underpaid with an ample dose of unpaid overtime results in teachers— especially teachers who are 55 and older who are getting increasingly aware of their need to save for retirement— to look for side-hustles where they can work outside of teaching hours. Given that OnlyFans allows creators to set their own rates, schedules, and expectations, it makes sense that it’s a natural fit for teachers who are struggling to make ends meet. 

Are teachers held to a higher standard than most other humans? Yes. However, if Corston isn’t allowed to have an OnlyFans, but was outed to her employer by another teacher who looked at that OnlyFans, why is the only person facing consequences the person who makes money consensually creating the content, and not the people who went poking around to see what exactly she was creating on a platform that is fully legal for adults like Corston to utilize? Also, if the Teaching Regulation Agency doesn’t want teachers to turn to OnlyFans, maybe they should consider paying them more? Just an idea on some practical ways to avoid punishing teachers for what they do in their private time in the future.