As important as it is for activists to establish sex work as work, it is equally important we acknowledge that not everybody who sells sex calls themselves a sex worker. As the current feminist debates about the Slutwalk march make all too clear, there is power and privilege in reclaiming a word and—like slut—to call oneself a “hooker” or even a sex worker is not everyone's preference, nor is it a privilege everyone can afford.
For me, sex work did not start out as some big political statement. Sex work began as work. Sex work activism, on the other hand, began as “participant-observational” research—the only socially permissible way I knew for a sex worker-feminist to admit that she existed, let alone contribute to the conversation about women's participation in the sex industry (i.e., my life). The fall semester following my first experiences working as a stripper, I began interviewing prostitutes and other sex workers across Europe and in the US. That research became my graduating thesis at Antioch College and was subsequently published in Research in Sex Work andSex Work Matters: Exploring Money, Power and Intimacy in the Sex Industry. In the back rooms of brothels, I invited women to speak about themselves and their professions. I listened to sex workers define sex work as work, similar and dissimilar to other jobs. They told me what they liked about their jobs, what they put up with and how the money made it all worth it in the end. Importantly, not one of the women I interviewed referred to herself as a sex worker. They were “dancers” or “models,” “entertainers” or “escorts.” They stressed their education. Those who had “real” jobs were quick to speak of them. They described themselves again and again as "normal." Clearly, normal was how they wished to be seen, although they were happy enough to not be seen at all. All the women I spoke with preferred to remain anonymous rather than identify themselves publicly and put that normalcy at risk.
By positing their work as such, and by describing themselves as normal and focusing on their lives outside of work, the women I spoke to buffered themselves from the stigmatized identity imposed upon them by their professions. Ironically, by calling myself a “researcher” and adapting the politicized descriptor “sex worker,” I was doing the same. Like the women I interviewed, I worked exhaustively to protect myself from having to think of myself or be thought of as a whore.
Nearly a decade later, "sex work is work" continues to be sex work activists' most important political claim. In an article by Melissa Gira Grant, “Men buy girls, not sex, and other myths of anti-prostitution moralists,” Grant challenges the notion that men buy actual people not a product skilled and marketed. She writes:
It's tempting to imagine that sex workers will do whatever men pay them to do, and that sex workers exist to cater to male desire. What sex workers are actually selling is our ability to make our customers think they are getting what they want, and we try to sell that with as little strain on our time and our bodies as possible.
Whereas some anti-trafficking activists believe that all sex workers are beholden to traffickers and pimps, sex workers themselves argue that they are beholden to no more than the same financial responsibilities as everyone else. Sex workers need money to pay babysitters and loan officers, landlords, grocery bills and car payments—demands no more excessive than what most working people struggle to meet. Without our input, even well-meaning feminists get it wrong, misplacing their energies supporting campaigns to shut down strip clubs, fine our employers, and censor cites like Craigslist and Backpage—efforts which only further hinder sex workers' labor processes. As activist Audacia Ray points out, the so-called advocates who devise these campaigns do a disservice not only to consensual sex workers—who, as Audacia says, are perceived as “an extreme minority whose opinions are irrelevant"—but to victims of trafficking as well (Audacia cites the 2009 Sex Workers Project report)—evidence, in her eyes, that “most anti-trafficking campaigns are anti-prostitution campaigns full stop.”
Like it or not, prostitution's not going anywhere. The economy being what it is, in fact, "the world's oldest profession" just may be becoming more popular than ever. Television shows like HBO's Hung popularize the idea that sex work is a viable option when a girl or guy's gotta do what a girl or guy's gotta do. The media, always slow to catch on, recently reported that the “sugar baby” phenomenon is becoming a popular way for college women to pay off student loan debt. Even scientific studies are willing to concede that affluent, educated white women are choosing prostitution under certain circumstances (seriously?! who knew!?).
These stories are interesting, but ignore the fact that there has always been a class of women and men who would rather sell sex than be poor, as well as people who choose to engage in sex work for reasons besides those economic. As we see more and more white, educated, middle-class faces speaking out as sex workers and speaking up for sex workers' rights, we just may be willing to believe prostitution and other forms of sex work are "normal." But let us never forget that the sex workers who speak, and who call themselves sex workers, represent only a part of a whole—and let us never stop working to include, however possible, everyone else in the conversation.
So what do you call a sex worker if not a "sex worker"? The best answer I've heard was suggested by sexuality educator Sarah Elspeth Patterson: "If you are unsure as to what to call someone who works in the sex industry, ask them. They will tell you what they want to be called." When I was selling sex on Craigslist, I would never have referred to myself as a prostitute. Somewhat ironically, when soliciting clients I called myself a “non pro"—short for "non professional or "not a prostitute." As anti-sex worker as this reads to me today, this is how I marketed myself then. In an effort to be inclusive and to buffer the person we are labeling from that label's sting, prostitution is oftentimes referred to as "transactional sex." Sex workers are "people who exchange sex for something they need," including people who participate in street or informal economies. A campaign in Uganda calls it "something for something love." When I think of a sex worker, I might include anyone who has sex or is in a romantic relationship for reasons economic, or anyone who uses their sexuality to get what they need. With language this inclusive, sex worker activism escapes the trap of being considered the politics of individualism. It becomes easy to see how the work of sex worker activists benefits the poor and economically disadvantaged, although inclusivity works in both directions: with language this inclusive, it's hard not to concede that someone you know who you'd never think of as a "hooker" just might be a sex worker. Maybe that someone is you.