Blogger Belle De Jour's coming-out press parade has been an ugly glimpse into how the public responds to well-educated sex workers who act with apparent awareness and agency. When Brooke Magnanti, a young neurotoxicologist working at a university, revealed herself to be the famous anonymous prostitute who spawned a book and TV series, the reactions were characteristic of those aimed at her while her identity was unknown: incredulity, crude criticism, and outright denial of her experiences.
The most common complaint leveled at Belle both before and after the reveal is that her memoir "glamorizes" prostitution—as though simply telling the truth about one's life is synonymous with promoting those circumstances. It's fascinating that in both England and the US, selling sex for money is assumed to be so alluring to most women as to need nothing more than one woman's non-traumatic experiences to convince thousands of others to join the hooker ranks. (Perhaps this is, in some ways, tacit acknowledgement of how few high-paying careers seem readily accessible to women or the pay gap that exists in both countries?)
It's this predictable and unhelpful line of discourse that's prompted Magnani to talk about drug addiction and street prostitution in her interviews, neither of which she has experience with, and to admit that some women have "terrible experiences" even as she tries to insist upon the integrity of her life in the biz: "You can't say I'm not real, and that my experience isn't real, because here I am." This lip service expected from every well-adjusted and passably happy prostitute in the Western world severely hampers our ability to discuss their work in a constructive way. Magnanti's insistence that she was "unbelievably fortunate"—as though the only thing that keeps a sex worker from ending up emotionally scarred and physically abused is luck—diminishes the circumstances that allowed her to work in a healthy, safe way: screening measures, assistance from a woman with experience, and a legal status that made possible turning to the police should an emergency arise. (Indoor prostitution is not illegal in England, so Magnanti wasn't breaking any laws with her work. Nor did she skip out on paying taxes, as some press outlets have bizarrely suggested.) American prostitutes are not afforded these rights: should they contact police for help with an abusive john, it's likely they will face charges in addition to or in lieu of any charges for the client. Accepting advice from another prostitute renders the helpful peer in danger of arrest for pandering.
What few people turn their attention to amid this talk of self-delusion and constant cries of street prostitution and trafficking is the one act of Magnanti's related to her sex work that wasclearly coerced: her coming out. Magnanti decided to take her story to the press under threat from a nasty ex-boyfriend who was poised to pull back the curtain himself. Although she admits she's relieved to be free of the burden of a secret life, she won't go as far as to say she'd have done so quite as publicly without that impetus.
Particularly here in the States, where prostitution is illegal and many other forms of sex work, like domination, sit in legal limbo, fear of blackmail is considerable for many in the sex industry. Although the public foresees threats to prostitutes only in the form of clients, friends and family can sometimes exert even more destructive control through the privileged information they posses. Romantic relationships are particularly fraught with potential danger. When spouses divorce, one can use the other's employment, current or former, to gain full custody of children without a court battle. And scorned ex-boyfriends or ex-girlfriends can take out their anger by alerting friends and family of their former partner's work.
Some may even go as far as to try to endanger their sex working ex by revealing his or her personal information to their clients. Kristen, a sensual massage provider in New York City, dealt with this after her split from a boyfriend of several years. "He got ahold of my client information and gave them my real name, my home address, " she says. "It was a really scary time. Thank God I'd screened carefully enough so that nothing bad came of it—most of my clients were just confused and angry that some strange guy was calling them. I did sever ties with everyone he contacted, though."
Ryan St. Germain, a fetish performer and director, found his personal information toyed with in a different but similarly frightening way. He and his wife at the time, Madeline, thought they were helping an aspiring model by entertaining her in their home and giving her tips on what had led to their success. But when the model didn't achieve the type of recognition she'd been hoping for, she became jealous and vengeful. Ryan explains:
She attempted to sabotage Madeline's [webcam] shows, giving out Madeline's personal information and real identity so that she could steal the costumers if Madeline was made to quit. When we realized who was behind it all, it was a real eye opener for us. Madeline was devastated and had a hard time trusting people after.
I'm glad Magnanti was brave enough to risk the inevitable public derision in order to relieve herself of her secret, and I hope it's not a choice she regrets. But I doubt many prostitutes will be compelled to follow in her footsteps after the treatment she's received.
Through their crude suggestions of father issues (attendant with the implication that if prostitution was really "so enjoyable" she would never have quit) to their paranoia that this is still all the hoax of a pervy old man, mass media has proven that it's simply not mature enough or thoughtful enough to handle the real deal.
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