Sex Work is Work

Part of a display at the Leather Archives & Museum in Chicago

What with increasingly puritanical laws like SESTA/FOSTA jeopardizing the livelihoods of sex workers on a daily basis, there’s a lot of discourse these past few years about the validity of sex work as a profession. I think people on both sides are arguing with (what they think are) good intentions, but one side is just flat-out wrong.

See, one of the primary arguments against sex work is that it’s inherently exploitative and bad for society because “selling your body” is somehow more evil, less virtuous, and less valid than other types of work. Critics often make the case that someone can’t freely enter into sex work and agree to “defile” their body in that way because there are inherently a lot of financial (and sometimes social) pressures that push them into that work.

The thing is, a lot of these anti-sex work bigots (or SWERFs – sex worker-exclusionary radical feminists) are either operating from a deeply religious and archaic ideological framework, or don’t even realize how much Christian values have seeped into their thinking. I know this because they hold sex to a different standard than any other activity one might be paid to do, and there’s no reason it needs to be viewed that away aside from the fundamentally Christian belief that sex is somehow simultaneously sacred and special, and taboo and dirty.

If making money using one’s body is what you have an issue with, you’d need to be equally angry with athletes, actors, dancers, personal trainers, lifeguards, models, etc. etc. in order for that position to be ideologically consistent. If you consider “taking something into your body” to be an act so sacred that no one can willingly do it for a living, you should be yelling at food critics and circus fire-eaters too. If you think “inserting part of yourself into someone else’s body” isn’t valid work, why aren’t you harassing surgeons? If touching someone for the purposes of pleasure and relaxation crosses a line for you, why aren’t you mad at masseuses, acupressure specialists, and manicurists?

Some of these examples are a bit ridiculous, sure – but that’s because the arguments they’re refuting are ridiculous too. For me, the wildest thing about anti-sex work criticism is that it points out some of capitalism’s fatal flaws, but rarely goes so far as to actually criticize capitalism – largely because many such critics are well-off, conservative-leaning people who benefit from, and advocate for, capitalism’s deepest inequalities. These people will say that no one can truly consent to a job they take due to financial pressures, that sex work is inherently bad because it’s exploitative and can be dangerous, that it’s gross that someone can pay to access someone else’s body – but all of these are problems with capitalism itself, and not with sex work in particular. If you truly believe financial pressures should be eliminated so everyone can make free choices about what they do with their time, advocate for socialism and a universal basic income. If you think no one should be subject to exploitation and danger at their job, advocate for better worker protections and higher pay. If you think having a lot of money shouldn’t give someone control over other people’s bodies, maybe take that up with Jeff Bezos, for starters.

Humans are prone to trying to come up with “logical” explanations for feelings we hold deep in our gut – and far too often it’s immoral, insulting, dishonest, and ineffective. It’s the reason bigots argue that queer and trans people are the downfall of society, when they actually just think queer and trans people are icky. It’s the reason some racists will argue that they have valid reasons for their prejudices, when actually they’re just propagating the racist values they were raised with and chose not to challenge. And it’s the reason lobbyists and lawmakers would rather make sex workers’ lives harder and more dangerous by, say, banning online sex work platforms, like the Craigslist personals section, Backpage, and escortsliaison.com on the basis of “protecting vulnerable people,” rather than admit that those people either need a different kind of help or don’t need “help” at all.

I’ve only dabbled in some forms of sex work, but even I have encountered these shaming narratives, so I know that people more entrenched in the field are struggling and suffering needlessly under the oppressive weight of discrimination. Sex work is work, and as with all other kinds of work, it can only be done safely if there are proper protections in place for workers, which in this case includes having access to websites that allow them to find and screen clients. And as with all other kinds of work, sometimes it’s freely chosen and sometimes it’s chosen out of financial necessity, and neither is more valid than the other, since we live in a capitalistic system and financial pressures are built into our daily lives by design. If your issue is the danger, take it up with the conservative lawmakers making sex work more dangerous. If your issue is financial hardship, take it up with the conservative lawmakers creating those conditions. And if your issue is just that you think sex work is icky, take it up with your therapist, and leave sex workers the hell out of it.

 

If you want to help sex workers, consider donating to sex workers’ rights organizations like SWOP Behind Bars and Red Light Legal, advocating for sex workers’ rights to your local politicians/lawmakers, and even just donating directly to individual sex workers. This post contains a sponsored link; as always, all writing and opinions are my own.

People Can Dress Slutty If They Want to, Dammit

I was interested in fashion from a young age, and so I started reading fashion magazines in my early teens or perhaps even before that. There’s a lot of positive stuff I took away from those mags – including the overall sense of feeling justified in caring about clothes, because so many other people evidently did too – but I think that consuming that type of media at such a young age also kicked off a lot of insecurities for me.

And frankly, it may not even matter that much what age you are when you read fashion magazines. One of the first pieces of advice I give to people who ask me how they can develop more body confidence is to immediately stop consuming media that is critical of people’s bodies, and lord knows fashion magazines are included in that category. Even the well-intentioned ones use coded terms like “flattering” when they mean “makes you look thinner,” or “professional” when they mean “helps you meet the sexist, racist and ableist standards of the hegemonic class.” Truly, it’s astonishing how much ideological garbage you have to wade through just to find info about what denim silhouettes are trending or which up-and-coming shoe designers to check out.

But what I want to talk about today is whorephobia and slut-shaming in fashion, which sadly seem to be nearly as rampant now as they were 20ish years ago when I picked up my first issues of SeventeenCosmoGirl and Teen Vogue. People still talk about “dressing slutty” or “showing too much skin” as if they were mortal sins, even people who really ought to know better. It’s fucking bullshit. Here are a few of the many reasons why.

 

Reason #1: Who cares?

Sure, there are situations in which showing off large swathes of your body could be inappropriate or get you in trouble. I can understand, for example, why you might not want your young child to wear a miniskirt so short that she could unintentionally flash people, or why it would be inappropriate to wear a bikini to a funeral (most funerals, anyway).

But assuming we’re talking about a grown adult who isn’t beholden to a strict work dress code or attending a particularly buttoned-up event, I repeat: WHO CARES? It very likely isn’t affecting you or your life in any way, and if it is, I’d invite you to consider that maybe that’s a “you problem” and not a “them problem.”

I’m truly saying this with love and compassion: if you find yourself so concerned about how other people dress that it is regularly making you feel angry, indignant, sad, or otherwise upset, you have probably stumbled across some deeper issues within yourself that therapy could help you unpack and address. It has been my experience that people who make comments on what I wear are moreso commenting on their own feelings, hangups, prejudices and/or traumas around apparel and self-presentation, even if they’re not totally aware of that at the time.

 

Reason #2: Damn, your whorephobia is showing

A brief note on terminology: Slut-shaming and whorephobia are two related but separate concepts. Slut-shaming is judging, insulting or otherwise shaming someone for behaviors you deem slutty or sexually “immodest,” which could be anything from hosting a 30-guy gangbang to having a bra strap visible at church. Whorephobia is prejudice and discrimination against actual sex workers (and sometimes, against people who are perceived as acting or dressing like sex workers, whatever that means).

A lot of commentary on “revealing” clothing is deeply based in slut-shaming and whorephobia, which themselves have a lot of DNA in common with misogyny, racism, classism, homophobia and transphobia. You aren’t being smart or morally righteous when you tell people they’re dressing too sluttily; you’re just being a bigot.

Plus, oddly enough, a lot of people who make this argument are basing their notion of how sex workers dress on outdated media portrayals like Pretty Woman. A quick glance through online sex worker directories like London Deluxe can show you that folks in that line of work dress in all sorts of different ways. Negative stereotypes about sex workers literally contribute to the rates of violence and murder perpetrated against them, as well as the legal hurdles they’re forced to face (such as the laws known as SESTA/FOSTA). Again, whorephobia isn’t cool or smart or progressive. It’s just gross, dangerous and ignorant.

 

Reason #3: People should be able to wear whatever the fuck they want

Bodily autonomy is a huge component of my personal ethical framework, and I consider clothing and other self-presentation choices to be part of that. When people choose to “dress slutty,” they do so for a myriad of reasons that may or may not be visible to an outside observer, including anything from making a political statement to alleviating gender dysphoria to reclaiming their body after an eating disorder or sexual trauma.

But people shouldn’t need a “good reason” to dress how they want to dress. They should just be able to do it.

I always find it hilarious when random people make critical comments about what I wear, because I just cannot fathom believing my opinion mattered that much, especially to a total stranger. While I used to be much quicker to jump to judgment when I was younger, at this point the most I’ll react to seeing a revealing outfit is to think “Good for them!” or maybe, if it’s chilly out, “Aren’t they cold?” My opinion of their outfit could not be further from the point.

What I really want is a world where – in the area of fashion and in every other area – we are all able to accept each other’s harmless personal choices and even celebrate them, instead of judging them. When we perpetuate whorephobia and slut-shaming, we’re perpetuating centuries-old systems of oppression and discrimination – and personally, I don’t think there’s a miniskirt short enough in the entire world to justify that.

 

This post contains a sponsored link. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

Book Review: Brothel’s Kitchen

Sex work is such a normalized field in my sex-positive, feminist communities that sometimes I sort of forget just how stigmatized it is in the world at large – even among people who claim to be “liberal” and “progressive.”

Narratives persist about how all sex work is nonconsensual and exploitative, despite sex workers screaming on social media for years that they’ve chosen their career path and don’t want or need to be “rescued.” Many people still use phrases like “selling your body” to talk about what is actually just the sale of your time and your body-based services, just like what happens in many other fields like massage, modeling, and professional sports. Far too many well-intentioned people try to argue that sex work is bad because it’s “disempowering,” as if the slog of earning a living is held to the same standard of “empowerment” in any other field. It’s perplexing and enraging – especially since so many of these folks think they’re being helpful by parroting their bullshit opinions that are (you guessed it) actively disempowering to sex workers.

I think a lot of this misinformation has to do with sex work’s representation (or lack thereof) in mainstream media, from the evening news to procedural dramas to blockbuster movies. For decades, if not longer, it’s been framed over and over as something one would only do under the direst of financial circumstances, or to get access to drugs, or to quench a psychological craving based in “daddy issues” or other trauma. While obviously there is poverty, addiction, and trauma in the sex work community (just as those things exist in pretty much every other community too), these narratives usually leave out the ways in which sex work can be incredibly positive and enriching for workers and their clients. And hey, newsflash: a job doesn’t have to be 100% peachy all the time to be a valid job worthy of respect and protections. We live under capitalism! Work sucks! Let people choose work that they like to do and feel able to do, since we all have to work anyway!

All this to say, I think positive portrayals of sex work are invaluable in shifting public perception of this misunderstood field. So I was pleased to be asked to review Phillipa Zosime’s new memoir, Brothel’s Kitchen: Flavours of Women.

The book follows Phillipa’s induction into the sex work industry in Austria. It opens with a series of scenes set at a massive orgy held by one of the brothels she works for, at which she’s expected to fuck and fellate clients for 7 hours (with breaks to shower, hydrate, eat, and rest). After she enjoys herself and gets paid, there’s a classic “You’re probably wondering how I ended up in this situation…” flashback and we turn back time to when she first entered the sex work world. Once an archaeology student and political intern, she decided instead to follow her fascination with sex and start having it professionally.

One very interesting aspect of this book to me is the details about Austria’s legal and regulated sex work industry. Regular STI tests are required, workers are considered self-employed contractors for the brothels they frequent, and meticulous paperwork is kept to make sure everything is legit. Many sex workers I know in Canada and the U.S. advocate for decriminalization rather than legalization/regulation, since (among other reasons) legislative bodies don’t tend to know very much about what sex workers and their clients actually need and want – but nonetheless, it was intriguing to hear about how brothels are apparently run over in Austria. The book goes into detail about how profits are split up between workers, madams, and house owners, as well as how much they pay in taxes and what kind of legal due diligence they’re expected to keep up with on a regular basis. These procedural minutiae ought to captivate anyone who’s curious about sex work law around the world.

Another fascinating detail from Philippa’s story is that she had only had one sexual partner before becoming a sex worker. It hadn’t been the most satisfying relationship, and she ended up having her first-ever orgasm with a client at the brothel (which became a point of pride for him and a running joke between them!). This was the point in the book when I started to get excited: it’s a really uncommonly positive depiction of what a career in sex work can be like. If there were more stories like this out there – stories that showcase the good, the bad, the ugly and the beautiful parts of sex work – I think far fewer people would hold shitty misconceptions about the industry.

Yes, there are scary and sad parts of Phillipa’s story. Her friend dies; clients blow up in anger on occasion; women get into snippy arguments; someone’s money gets stolen from her safety deposit box at the brothel. But all of these details just felt really real to me. Writing a fully rosy sex work memoir would, I imagine, be just as absurd as making any other career sound 100% fun 100% of the time. Life has its ups and downs, and so do our jobs, no matter what field we work in.

In addition to heartwarming sex-work friendships and heart-pounding sex-work problems, this book also contains quite a few funny stories that had me literally LOLing. There’s one in particular about one girl accidentally spitting cum onto another girl’s face that I don’t think I will ever be able to forget…

I gotta say, I liked Brothel’s Kitchen even more than I was expecting to. It’s charming, and cute, and fast-paced, and full of strange and illuminating details. There’s a disclaimer at the beginning that explains that “the events and conversations in this book have been set down to the best of the author’s ability,” and that “the author’s recollection of the past occurrences may deviate from those of others,” but there are so many parts of this book that seem like you couldn’t possibly have made them up. That realness is the heart and soul of Phillipa’s writing, and it makes this one hell of a page-turner.

 

Thanks so much to Phillipa Zosime for providing this book for me to review! This post was sponsored, which means that I was paid to write a fair and honest review of the book I was provided with. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

5 Ways to Unlearn the Anti-Black Whorearchy

Remarkable photo by Scarlet Harlot

Racism and sex worker rights are two issues at the forefront of my mind these days, as my social media feeds overflow with white supremacist police violence, loss of income for many due to COVID-19, and the continuing fallout of the whorephobic SESTA/FOSTA laws that make life more difficult for people whose lives were already pretty damn hard.

Recently I listened to a lecture Tina Horn posted to her Why Are People Into That? podcast feed on the topic of the whorearchy – which I knew existed, but hadn’t thought about in much detail before. For those who don’t know, the whorearchy is the abhorrent sociocultural system of biases by which sex workers can be ranked into a hierarchy and then judged based on their place in it. “Trashier,” “sluttier,” more dangerous and/or more stigmatized forms of sex workers tend to end up near the bottom – strippers and street-based escorts come to mind – while those seen as “classier” or less directly/physically involved with their clients tend to be ranked near the top – think webcam performers, sugar babies, and phone sex operators.

While obviously this paradigm is classist, slut-shaming, and whorephobic, it can often be overlooked that it’s also racist, and specifically anti-Black. Clients and fellow sex workers alike can have both overt and covert racist views that affect how Black sex workers are perceived and treated, and what price they can command. As a white person who only dabbles in sex work here and there, I’m going to pull from writing I’ve read from Black women and sex workers, including Daniella Barreto, Jasmine Sankofa, Terri-Jean Bedford, and more, to recommend some ways you can work to unlearn and oppose the anti-Black whorearchy you’ve likely internalized.

Learn about the labor involved in different kinds of sex work.

There seems to be a common sentiment among those who harbor unexamined whorephobia that certain types of sex work are “easy.” This is why, for example, sometimes privileged women will joke that they’ll “just get a sugar daddy” or make an OnlyFans account when they have a few extra bills to pay, as if these roles are easy ones to slip into and start making money from.

In reality, just about every sex worker out there – from a camgirl in her Toronto basement to a stripper in a sticky-floored New York club to the finest luxury escort London has to offer – puts in waaay more work than you probably think. Marketing, grooming, skill-building, fitness maintenance, client relations… These things take a hell of a lot of effort and time. Researching what’s actually involved in the different kinds of sex work – especially the kinds you view, consciously or less so, as “trashy” or “low-class” – will avail you of those misconceptions pretty quick. (Make sure you’re reading accounts written by actual sex workers!)

Shift your language.

I’ve stopped using the word “whore” the way I used to – as synonymous with “slut” – because I’ve learned from sex worker activists that it’s a term used historically to slander and stigmatize sex workers, and thus only they can choose to reclaim it for themselves. Similarly, “ho”/”hoe” is a derivative form of this word which comes from African-American Vernacular English (AAVE) and thus isn’t for white people’s use. (This is just my understanding; those in the know can feel free to correct me on this if I’m wrong.)

There are lots of unsavory slang terms for various types of sex workers, and many of them have a racist tinge (to say the least). If you’re not sure of the best terminology for a particular type of work or worker, look to the writings of the people doing that work and see which terms they prefer and why. Then, commit to shifting the language you use when you talk about these issues.

Write to your political leaders about SESTA/FOSTA.

The laws known as SESTA/FOSTA were ostensibly created to prevent sexual trafficking – but in practice, they’ve mostly just deepened the existing issue of sex workers being unable to safely advertise and conduct their work, online or off. As with pretty much any issue involving legal repercussions or financial disempowerment, this has hit Black sex workers particularly hard, since (as the news lately has loudly echoed for us) the law enforcement system is hugely racist, and Black folks are likelier than white folks to struggle with economic lack and uncertainty.

For this reason, as Amnesty International USA has argued, sex work decriminalization is a racial justice issue, among other things. Write to your political leaders to demand they work to repeal SESTA/FOSTA – or whatever other anti-sex work laws exist where you live. Many people’s lives and livelihoods depend on it.

Call out whorephobic comments when you hear them.

When I was a kid, there was a strip club in my neighborhood, so we drove by it fairly often. My parents were fortunately chill about it, but I often saw people laughing, pointing, and staring at the signage when they walked by, as if the very idea of a stripper was something to be mocked and belittled. People make whorephobic comments all the time, in a wide variety of ways – many of which are subtly or not-so-subtly racist – and a small thing you can do to fight against sex work stigma is to push back when you hear those comments being made.

While some prefer a more direct or aggressive approach, I usually like to respond to these comments calmly, with facts. When someone pityingly or disgustedly describes sex work as “selling [one’s] body,” for example, I like to point out that tons of other workers – including athletes, massage therapists, dancers, and actors – also make money from the ways they use their bodies. Sometimes the simplest rebuttals and reframes can help someone look at sex work in a new light.

Follow more Black sex workers on social media.

The fastest way to comprehend a group of people you don’t know enough about, in my experience, is to surround yourself with those people and listen to them. Even if you don’t think the anti-Black whorearchy informs your perspective, it probably does – and you can shift its insidious influence over time by just spending more time reading the thoughts, opinions, and work of Black sex workers.

I need to do better at this, myself – most of the sex workers I follow are white, so I know I’m only getting a limited view of the industry and the problems within it. The @BlackSexWorkers account is no longer active, but its Following and Followers lists look like a good place to start. Feel free to recommend folks to follow in the comments if there are any Black sex workers you find delightful/enriching to follow!

 

This post was sponsored. As always, all writing and opinions are my own. I donated $50.00 USD/$70.00 CAD of my sponsorship fee for this post to the Black Sex Worker Collective; feel free to match me if you have the means!