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Sex Work Snobbery

One of my favorite aspects of sex work is the camaraderie. I often feel that I’m in a secret society; I’ve had people pull me aside and confess their own sex work past (or present) after learning of my own. There’s a level of honesty and candidness I assume with other sex workers that I don’t have with civilian friends whom I’ve known for longer. The girl I met on my first day of webcam, eight years ago? We still talk on the phone. The girl I met through an agency once I started doing in-person work? I was the officiant at her wedding. I find sex worker bonds to be more durable and more intense than the connection I form—or rather, don’t form—with civilians.

But it’s not all group hugs and gossip sessions. There’s a tremendous amount of classism and snobbery among sex workers. It runs both ways, existing within each facet of the industry and also cutting across job descriptions. That means an incall escort may trash talk street workers and turn up her nose at strippers, while a massage girl might think that her colleagues who offer more than handjobs are super skanky and dominatrixes aren’t “real” sex workers. The pressure of stigmatization and often operating in environments where one’s boundaries aren’t respected leads to this demonization of co-workers and other sex workers on the whole, when instead we should direct the frustation where it belongs: on bad laws, bad bosses, and bad customers.

The Language of Selling Yourself

Sex writer Melissa Gira Grant published a piece in the Guardian last week questioning the rhetoric of anti-sex work activists—particularly Ashton Kutcher, who’s been collaborating with wife Demi Moore in a highly publicized “Real Men Don’t Buy Girls” campaign. (Kutcher and Moore’s “activism” has been discussed previously in several other Tits and Sass posts, like this one, this one, and this one, to name just a few.)

In her article, Grant deconstructs the myth of clients “buying” prostitutes instead of exchanging money for labor. Sex workers don’t “sell our bodies” any more than pro-athletes, construction workers, ballerinas or models do. We use our bodies for labor; they’re not “things” that clients can purchase. To buy something implies a permanent change of ownership. After several years of being a prostitute I find that I still very much own my body—despite all the men who have allegedly “bought” me. 

A Protest of a Protest: SOS Oregon Takes on Casa Diablo

photos by Kat

I heard from a friend that Portland’s vegan strip club, Casa Diablo, was staging a protest against the meat served at the Acropolis Steakhouse* strip club. Then I saw on the Facebook event page that Casa Diablo were rallying for the OLCC to approve a liquor license for their soon-to-open second location (which happens to be next door to Acropolis). Then I read on OregonLive that SOS Oregon, a Beaverton organization, were protesting the Acropolis. I checked SOS Oregon’s site to learn that they were protesting three things: the new Casa Diablo, the mere existence of the 35-year-old Acropolis, and another strip club two miles away, Blush. Because SOS Oregon were staging a protest, Casa Diablo decided to counter-protest. Confused yet?

From the Front Lines of Slutwalk: Portland

Elle and friends rallying in Portland.

On the day of SlutWalk Portland, I was irritated because I was running late; I’m consummately punctual and tend to feel anxious if otherwise. (I’m the girl who arrives one hour early to her strip-shift, every night for the last two years). So I was relieved when my boys found a parking spot reasonably close to the starting location of SlutWalk, at the park near the courthouse in downtown Portland, at 4th and Jefferson.

I wasn’t sure what to expect from SlutWalk, but I had high hopes. Previously, I had been asked by a man named Sean Scott to speak candidly for a short video that he was working on. Sean asked me what I hoped to experience at SlutWalk Portland. Speaking honestly, I replied that I was hoping that it would be a gathering where victims and survivors could feel free from harassment, in public, together.

There were dozens of bicycle cops in small hordes, lining the street. Faces partially obscured by identical sunglasses and helmets, standard issue no doubt. They, for the most part, looked less than amused. Another gathering, another parade to babysit. I tried to smile sheepishly at them as we crossed the street.

What’s Your “Real” Name?

Janice Cable

Google is becoming like that irritating customer who thinks he’s so clever for figuring out that stripper probably really isn’t named Fantasia, what with asking people, “No, really, what’s your real name?” Welcome to our world, online handle users! Choosing a work name is one of the first things nearly every sex worker does when entering the business. My name isn’t really Bubbles, Kat’s driver’s license says something else, and Charlotte wasn’t given that name at birth. We all have different reasons for using other identities online from the frivolous (to bitch about work without trouble) to the very serious (malevolent stalkers).

One of our own contributors, chelsea g. summers, has battled with serious online harassment. She’s “come out” under her real name as part of a project that hopes to demonstrate the importance of pseudonyms, the My Name Is Me site, that uses personal stories to illustrate the importance of retaining control over what name you use online.

That site/project came about in response to the (admittedly spotty) enforcement of the use of “real names” on Google Plus. One of the reasons Twitter is my favorite social network is how it allows users freedom to present themselves as they wish. Facebook and Google Plus require more constant vigilance about your privacy settings and who you friend. Maintaining a presence on those sites while protecting your privacy requires a constant battle with ever-changing visibility settings and name requirements.

My Name Is Me has a dedicated category for sex workers. Artist Molly Crabapple describes how she started using her name while working as a nude model, and unlike Janice, chooses to only identify herself that way today, as should be her decision to make. We’re willing to make a deal: You don’t ask us what our real names are, and we’ll put up with the occasional troll, sock puppet, or middle-aged man posing as an escort blogger in order to keep whatever degree of privacy, safety, and anonymity we can still maintain online.