When I’m talking to anyone, really, I turn into a lobbyist for sex workers. I start worrying that this person could somehow affect the lives of other sex workers. Maybe this person will be in a position to vote on a bill decriminalizing prostitution. Maybe this person has a family member who is in the industry. Maybe my presentation of a likable sex worker—a human face, as they say in the nonprofit world—will help the person I’m addressing to treat other sex workers with respect.
The consequence of wanting to be liked as a sex worker is that I scrutinize my speech and edit the stories I tell. For instance, let’s say I have a stressful client situation. Maybe a client tries to bargain me down over the phone, leading to fiscal tension once we’re together. Maybe I’m feeling self-conscious about my weight and the client says something about how I look different than my pictures. Maybe the client makes rude comments about homeless people who live near his hotel. When I’m with the client, I try to maintain a neutral demeanor so that our interaction will be smooth. I suppress whatever irritation, body shame, or anxiety I’m feeling.
Then, later, if I talk about the interaction with someone else, I take on an additional responsibility to reframe the situation so that I’m ultimately untroubled by it. I don’t want to hear a non-sex worker tell me that s/he’s concerned about me or that I should think about leaving the business. I don’t want people to think that every client causes that sort of anxiety. Every job causes a certain degree of social friction, and I feel a relentless duty to normalize sex work as an occupation so that non-sex workers are less threatened and are shielded from my day-to-day concerns. It’s exhausting.
”- Kirk Read, “Origins,” in Nobody Passes: Rejecting the Rules of Gender and Conformity (edited by Mattilda, a.k.a. Matthew Bernstein Sycamore)