Sex work was once thought to be anathema to women’s liberation.
Now, to some, we represent the tenacity of women’s struggles under
patriarchy and capitalism—that is, at least the white, straight,
cis, able-bodied sex workers who don’t engage in actual sex with
clients do. These are the workers who get the glossy media profiles
and are touted as feminist icons.
But the red umbrella
is wide and covers many: escorts, sugar babies, strippers, session
wrestlers, cam performers, fetish models, DIY queer porn stars, and
the full range of gender, race and ability. Our work and our
identities are as vast and variable as the spectrum of sexuality
itself.
We do the work. In
the streets, in the clubs, in hotel rooms and in play party dungeons.
We make dreams come true so we can afford a place to sleep. We do
business in a marketplace that politicians and police are constantly
burning down for our “own safety and dignity.” We have high heels
and higher anxiety.
This isn’t a
collection of sob stories of heartbroken whores. This is a testament
of life at ground zero of sexual discourse, the songs of canaries in
the coal mines of sex, gender, class, race and disability. We may
dance on the table, but we still demand our seat at it.
Sex workers of the
world unite. This is A Whore’s Manifesto.
