Can Sex Workers Also Be Feminists?

Some feminists say no. I say yes.

Some feminists believe that sex workers perpetuate sexist tropes. We entrench stereotypes that show women can be bought at any price. The sex industry is a business where men control and use women. Escorts like myself pander to men, dress for men, satisfy men’s every need. Because of the sex industry, men feel free to objectify women while women are expected to use their bodies to get ahead.

And still, as a sex worker, I call myself a feminist. How?

This is how: I want the same things that feminists want. I want equal pay for women and legislation that respects our bodies. I want men to be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law if they rape, abuse or kill women. I want women to be safe and to have the same rights as men, period.

I’m just trying to make a living and so I choose sex work. For that reason, I’m blocked from a feminist dialogue that’s often dominated by privileged women.

These women are often married with shared incomes. They have an economic safety net that I do not. Or they’re not married but don’t have children, so they have no idea how difficult it is to support children on your own.

They are often uncomfortable about sex in general and project that discomfort onto me. They judge me by antiquated values. They keep their minds closed, and refuse to believe I deserve to be part of feminism.

I believe I do. I believe I have the same rights as any other woman. As such, I’ve had to create my own brand of feminism that includes my voice.

I support the struggle of women to achieve the same rights that men have. It’s just one way I support women to achieve this is through sex work.

Can’t feminists ever view me in a positive light? Or will I always be either a victim of men or a perpetrator of other women?

When I wake up each morning, I don’t rub my hands together maliciously, wondering how I can hold back more women from achieving equality today. I wake up, wondering how I can make more money, which will put me in a better position to support my children.

My children depend on me for everything. I receive no help from any man. And still, some feminists condemn me for not getting a different job — say, one that utilizes my brain.

Or they feel sorry for me. They want to rescue me. They chide me for not knowing my body is a temple. Don’t I know that sex is a sacred act that I blaspheme daily when I accept money for it?

Isn’t there another way to view my job? I alone choose this line of work. Can’t feminists respect that? Can’t they respect that my sexual boundaries may be different than theirs?

Can’t feminists ever view me in a positive light? Or will I always be either a victim of men or a perpetrator of other women?

My feminism is sex-positive with enough space for women to enjoy sex however they want.

I’d love to get a job that utilizes my creative skills but I’m having trouble doing that in our capitalist system. Capitalism values things over thoughts. I can’t seem to make the same money as a writer that I do as a sex worker.

Maybe the system is at fault, this system of inequality that deems certain occupations are more worthy of quality pay. Women are paid less than men as a rule. Ironically, one of the only industries where that’s not the case is sex work.

So I choose to make money from my body. But how do I rationalize it? And how do I dare to call myself a feminist? Everything about me appears to exist just to make men happy. My clothing (or lack thereof), my heels, my lingerie, my makeup, my acrylics.

But what about when I look in the mirror, and I like the way I look? What if I like my body in heels and lingerie? What if it turns me on? What if doing a job that focuses on my body has helped my body image? What if it’s helped me feel more beautiful all around?

What about sex? Do I only please men when I embrace my sexuality? What if I like sex, too? What if I like giving blowjobs? Does that mean I let men disrespect me? Is getting down on my knees to blow a man a reflection of my submission? What if that turns me on?

What if I like to be taken from behind in a position that looks like I’m letting men use me, but I’m getting off from it? What if I like anal sex that seems painful for women, but for me, it’s not.

Maybe the problem is that I’m not having sex the “right” way. I should have sex differently — say in a “feminist” way. Maybe only let men orally pleasure me but no penetration. Or maybe I should abstain from sex altogether. Maybe that would be more feminist.

And what about men? What if I like men? Is that sexist too? Should I hate men?

That’s the thing: my feminism is different. My feminism is sex-positive with enough space for women to enjoy sex however they want. My feminism allows women to determine their line of work without judgment. My feminism allows women to like men. That’s the kind of feminism I want to be a part of.

For me, feminism is inclusive.

I feel excluded from a feminism that’s dominated by privileged (often white) women. These women are often married, so a part or all of their income comes from their husbands. Or they’re not married but they don’t have children so they have no idea how difficult it is to get by in the world as a single mother.

Trust me, I’ve met many such feminists, and they’ve always judged me.

They never stop to think they have privileges I don’t have. They can’t begin to fathom I might have a different value system in terms of sex. They definitely can’t see that when they discount me because they don’t approve of my job, they help keep my work marginalized, stigmatized and illegal.

That kind of feminism makes my world a more dangerous one. I don’t want to be part of that kind of feminism.

For me, feminism is inclusive. We’re stronger together than separated. That’s the feminism I want.