Consentbands.com: The origin story

“Wow, what a wonderful idea! How did you come up with it?”

Well, I didn’t. It’s an idea thousands of years old.

People have always worn things to show preferences and group affiliation. Some have formal meanings, such as a Christian cross or a football team’s jersey; some only imply meanings, such as a business suit or leather jacket.

American gay men in the 1970s popularised the idea of using colours to show touch preferences through a “hanky code”. Different colours (mostly) showed different sex acts. Wearing it on the left meant that you wanted to take the more “active” role; on the right, the “passive” role.

The hanky code grew less popular as changing attitudes let men communicate more openly about their preferences. This was a positive development, but with an unfortunate side effect: No longer could you tell at a glance whether someone was a good match.

Years later, party organisers were looking for ways to make their events more welcoming. Specifically, women avoided events where they were likely to get touched, grabbed, and groped. And so the Red/Yellow/Green system of wristbands emerged. (A funny thing happened: Non-women started to think seriously about the level of touch they wanted.)

At one party, someone gave me a yellow band made of reusable silicone instead of disposable Tyvek and I found myself wearing it around long after the party. It’s a reminder to myself that I want to be asked, that I can say “yes” or “no” to every experience in life. (I still have that band.)

Fast-forward to 2023. The (non-sexual) dance party I organised, Otterdance, had just had its first sold-out event. It brought together people from very different backgrounds, from the most introverted to the most rough-and-tumble. Their ideas of “acceptable touch” — touch that’s O.K. without a conversation beforehand — spanned a wide spectrum. Most agreed that a handshake was O.K., but what about a hug? A hand on the shoulder? A hand on the ass?

So I started shopping around for plain wristbands in red, yellow, and green. One-use Tyvek bands are about 8 eurocents each; silicone bands are about 35 cents.

Then someone pointed out that shifting dance floor lights make it hard to tell one colour from another. But printing symbols on bands raises the price — and requires buying 250 of each colour to be economic. That’s not feasible for most organisers.

However… these per-piece prices go down as you print higher quantities. What if I bought a big lot and passed the savings on?

And what if I offered them with no minimum purchase? That meant every small party could replace their disposable Tyvek bands with a silicone one that looks and feels good — and is a fond party souvenir.

Consentbands.com aims to give you the communication tool you want: in the quantity you want; as quickly, easily, and inexpensively as possible.