Natalie Cassar – December 2021

Sex work exists in an informal labor market marked by criminalization and stigmatization. It comes with its own set of assumptions: human trafficking, desperation, exploitation and coercion. It has been widely criminalized by the state and strictly policed by law enforcement, media platforms, and financial institutions. Sex work is more than an informal labor market, however. It is uniquely experienced by individuals depending on their concurrent identities/statuses. I will examine sex work as a category for criminalization and stigmatization, and as a form of labor. Within the realm of criminalization and stigma, I will explore the ways that race, gender and class influence the societal views and experiences of sex workers. I will also unpack the debate around sexual labor being defined as work to understand how capitalism shapes our notions of work and exploitation.

Sex work is a compelling field to study for various reasons. Analyzing sexual labor through the lenses of gender and sexuality raises questions about how women’s and queer people’s bodies are controlled by the state and influenced by private actors. Conversations about sexual exploitation can be reframed to discuss how the body is exploited while laboring within a capitalist context, which also reveals parallels to other forms of precarious labor. The stigmatization of sex workers exposes how societal understandings of race, gender, and sexuality are enacted on the bodies of sex workers through state/institutional regulation and violence. By examining the shifting landscape of sex work – shaped by technological advances, evolving police practices, anti-trafficking advocacy, and targeted divestment by financial institutions – we can uncover what action needs to be taken to protect and promote sex workers’ rights.

This paper will review scholarship, research and personal stories related to sex work. It will begin by conceptualizing sex work as a labor practice, a criminalized activity, and a stigmatized identity. In doing this I seek to understand the value of understanding sexual labor as a form of work by overviewing conflicting ideas from scholars and sex workers (who often play both roles). I will then delve into the social stigmas surrounding sex work, including ideas about sex trafficking, coercion, race, and gender. The remainder of the paper will depict the changing landscape of sex work in the 21^st century through discussions on policing, online sex work, anti-trafficking legislation, and platforms hosting adult content. It will conclude by explaining how we can ensure the physical, emotional, and economic security of sex workers.

Conceptualizing sex work

Sex work is a vast field, and experiences within it vary widely. In this paper I will use Kate D’Adamo’s definition of sex work: “the intentional exchange of sexual services or performance for resources” (D’Adamo, 2018). This definition broadly encompasses the diversity of sex work and emphasizes its intentional nature which definitively separates sex work from forced sexual labor. D’Adamo underscores the complexity of trading sex, explaining that “trading sex can be both an experience of policing and liberation; an affirmation of sexuality and a dissociation of gender performance; a physical risk of violence and the security of economic stability” (D’Adamo, 2018). These complexities give way to larger debates, but D’Adamo maintains that despite any contradictory experiences, people who intentionally trade sex deserve safety and security. Fitzgerald, Elspeth and Hickey define sex work as “a broad term used to describe exchanges of sex or sexual activity” (Fitzgerald et. al., pp.8). Additionally, they argue that referring to the ‘sex trades’ rather than ‘sex industry’ emphasizes “the exchange aspect of these activities, while still allowing for both formal and informal conditions.” (Fitzgerald et. al., pp.9). This argument alludes to the varying degrees of criminality and legality within the field of sex work.

While prostitution (exchanging physical intimacy for money or resources) is illegal almost everywhere in the United States, pornography (creating sexual/erotic media for money or resources) is protected by the First Amendment. The legality of porn and erotic media has largely been defined by court decisions, such as the 1980s California court case of “Caught From Behind II” producer Harold Freeman. The court ruled that anti-pandering laws “were not intended to apply to porn films” and “applying the anti-pandering laws to these acted out performances would impinge on the first amendment” (HG Legal Resources). Ultimately, transactional sex is only legal if it falls within the realm of First Amendment protections. This establishes a contradiction in which people can consume porn (the product of sex workers’ labor) while simultaneously shaming and criminalizing sex workers’ behavior. D’Adamo explains that criminalizing sex workers “creates a target population for victimization” because they are more vulnerable to abuse by both clients and police. Legalization, alternatively, is “the allowance of sex work within a government crafted structure” (D’Adamo). Legalization is somewhat controversial, as many sex workers do not want to be subjected to strict governmental guidelines that regulate their bodies.

Is sex work really work?

Within the sex workers’ rights movement there are varying perspectives on defining sexual labor as “work.” The dominant view is that identifying sexual labor as work shifts the narrative from the polar concepts of criminality or victimization toward a larger exploration of labor exploitation within a capitalist economy. Cecilia Benoit notes the “importance of utilizing a labor perspective to understand the complexity of sex work as a form of labor, the importance of inter-occupational labor comparison for studying sex work in the capitalist economy and a longitudinal methodology for examining these changes across time” (Benoit, pp.5). According to Benoit, using a labor perspective allows us to compare sexual labor to other forms of work under capitalism. Svati P. Shah concurs, explaining that “the shift from ‘prostitution’ to ‘sex work’ represents an explicit attempt to bring prostitution into the sphere of labor, to define people selling sexual services as workers who are entitled to workers’ rights within an existing industry” (Shah, pp.6). Perspectives based in a labor understanding of sex work underscore the value of viewing sexual labor as a legitimate form of work that deserves protections afforded to other workers.

Kathi Weeks asserts that using the term sex work rather than prostitution “helps to shift the terms of discussion from the dilemmas posed by a social problem” and is “reconceived as an employment option that can generate income and provide opportunity” (moon, pp.16). Weeks does, however, believe that “it shifts the discussion from one moral terrain to another, from that of a suspect sexual practice to that of a respectable employment relation” (moon, pp.16). The moral terrain of ‘respectable employment relations’ is largely premised on capitalist understandings of labor. In conversation with Heather Berg, moses moon (formerly femi babylon) explains that they “see work as a capitalistic refinement of labor” which is “this umbrella term under which work (waged, legally sanctioned labor) exists” (babylon and Berg, pp.631-632). To moon, conceptualizing sexual labor as work seeks to “expand the scope of the work ethic to new groups and new forms of labor, and to reaffirm [conventional work values’] power” (babylon and Berg, pp.632). In conjunction with Kathi Weeks, moon reveals that defining sexual labor as ‘work’ can be seen as an attempt for sex workers to assimilate into a capitalist framework. Though many people engage in sex work due to inequality within/exclusion from capitalist labor markets, the ‘sex work is real work’ movement strives to assimilate into the very structure that originally excluded them. Understanding sexual labor in terms of sex work is complicated. It resituates sex work as a legitimate form of labor rather than an identity seeped in stigma. However, this legitimacy is derived from its recognition by the state under a capitalist organization of the economy.

Stigmas & Oppression

While sex work has changed immensely over the past twenty years, the stigmas mobilized against sex workers have remained fairly stagnant. Pluma Sumaq explains the pervasive nature of stigma in relation to prostitution:

Stigma is deeper than ignorance and larger than individual discrimination. Because this stigma is socially sanctioned when we discriminate against someone stigmatized as a prostitute, we not only have the permission of others to do so, but are equally validated and supported by a pervasive cultural belief.

Sumaq, pp.2

This explains how cultural hegemony perpetuates harmful stigma. In the case of prostitution, the hegemonic beliefs surrounding it are bound up with misogyny, racism, and economic disenfranchisement. Sumaq notes that the stigmatization of prostitutes “intensifies or lessens in direct relation to how she is perceived racially and economically” (Sumaq, pp.2). The idea that stigma fluctuates based on the other identities one holds is echoed throughout the literature on sex work. moses moon asserts that “poor, queer, trans, and disabled nonwhite people…are multiply marginalized and engaging in deviant occupations, and thus we cannot disentangle one mode of oppression from another” (moon, pp.12). moon explains that queer, nonwhite sex workers have multiple marginalized identities, the stigmas of which are compounded with their role as sex workers.

An analysis of the 2008-2009 National Transgender Discrimination Survey (NTDS) by Fitzgerald, Elspeth and Hickey found “Black and Black Multiracial NTDS respondents had the highest rate of sex trade participation overall (39.9%), followed by those who identified as Hispanic or Latino/a (33.2%). Those who identified as “White only” had the lowest rate of participation at 6.3%” (Fitzgerald et. al). Additionally, the authors discovered that “People of color were more than twice as likely (46.8%) than their white counterparts (18.3%) to report being ‘arrested for being trans.’ Similarly, 58.8% of people of color and 35.2% of respondents reported being sent to jail/prison ‘for any reason’” (Fitzgerald et. al., pp.5). These disparities reveal that nonwhite trans people are more likely to be involved in sex work, and that racism exacerbates the police harassment they face.

D’Adamo explains how the term ‘sex worker’ itself can be exclusionary, and “who has been able to access the terminology has had much to do with privilege. While some have been able to ‘reclaim’ the identity of sex worker or prostitute, many people who engage in sex work have not felt that opportunity” (D’Adamo, 2018). This is due to racialized and classist notions of prostitution. Shah refers to anti-prostitution rhetoric as the ‘whore stigma,’ in which “women’s social worth and rights as citizens are based on their ability to distance themselves from the identity of the ‘whore’ by adhering to standards of ‘respectability’” (Shah, pp.3). Using the ‘whore stigma’ as a lens, it can be understood that women of color and poor women are less able to distance themselves from the ‘whore’ label due to centuries of racist mythology or the lack of financial resources to appear ‘respectable.’ A respondent from Blunt and Wolf’s survey of sex workers on the impact of FOSTA-SESTA, explains:

Trafficking was a word that I never heard when I first got into the business in 2002, back then it was called pimping. In my opinion, the terminology changed to conjure up images of white women being forced into sex work. Pimping is mostly associated with African-Americans and if I know anything to be true, it’s that America is a deeply racist country that doesn’t value black women as much as it should.

Blunt and Wolf, pp.18

The respondent further illuminates how labelling/terminology intersects with race. They highlight how the shift from ‘pimping’ to ‘trafficking’ is premised on racial attitudes. Pimping is associated with Black women and heavily criminalized, whereas trafficking is associated with whiteness and receives empathy from outsiders. In this explanation, we can see that the public response to prostitution changes based on the concurrent identities one holds, however all categories created for sex workers exist as a way to regulate women’s bodies.

The intersection of class and sex work compound in the notion of ‘survival sex,’ or “trading sex for basic resources or other material goods” (moon pp.7). While sex work is often a means of survival, the popular usage of ‘survival sex’ carries many assumptions. D’Adamo explains; “Owing to overlapping systems of oppression, queer people have been disproportionately disenfranchised from formal forms of labor and thus the sex trade has been a backbone of the story of LGBTQ survival” (D’Adamo). This explanation tells us that many queer people, due to oppressive systems, engage in sex work as a way to survive in a world that actively excludes them from formal work. Many people, however, do not use this lens when they discuss ‘survival sex.’ moses moon asserts;

The word survival is supposed to convey a level of intense poverty/risk/disability and give outsiders a sense of our social location both within and without the sex trade… Survival sex as term also reinforces the idea that marginalized sex workers—who are usually nonwhite, trans, or gay/bisexual—are engaging in risky behavior more often than other classes of workers.

moon, pp.5

The impact of the term varies. First, it paints those who engage in survival sex work as underserved and pitiful. Rather than looking to the larger economic system sex workers exist in, the attention is focused on their mode of survival as something that they must be saved from. This ignores the structural conditions and may encourage stricter regulations on the sex trade which ultimately harms workers. Others see survival sex as a product of addiction or laziness and advocate for the criminalization of those selling sex. Neither of these address the underlying reasons sex work is often turned to as a means of survival, and both ultimately harm vulnerable people involved. Rather, we should contextualize ‘survival sex’ within a larger framework of racialized, gendered exclusion.

Sex trafficking and sex work are notoriously conflated in a way that advances the stigmatization and policing of sex workers. Anti-sex trafficking campaigns permeate cultural understandings of sex work, influence legislation, and lobby financial institutions to act against ‘sex-trafficking,’ which is often coded for pornography or prostitution. Cecilia Benoit explains this position, saying that it “understands prostitution as fundamentally based on unequal gender relations, therefore, there should be a “moral limit” to capitalist markets, so men are banned from purchasing women’s sexuality” (Benoit, pp.1). This understanding is infantilizing towards women, who are deemed incapable of making decisions about their own sexuality. Additionally, the argument of ‘moral limits’ ignores the exploitative, precarious working conditions of workers in other markets.

The anti-sex trafficking movement’s fixation on exploitation within sexual labor over all other forms of physical labor reveals their obsession with regulating sexuality rather than the stated intentions of fighting unequal gender relations. Messaging by anti-sex trafficking advocacy groups adds new dimensions to how sex work is perceived, with contributions from both conservative religious organizations and carceral feminists. Whereas puritanical religious arguments center on morality and purity, carceral feminists emphasize inherent exploitation (even in consensual encounters) and family values. Elizabeth Bernstein defines carceral feminism as “a cultural and political formation in which previous generations’ justice and liberation struggles are recast in carceral terms” (Bernstein, pp.237). Bernstein goes on to explain that these feminists frame sexual labor as a human rights issue, which they narrowly define in terms of sexual violence and bodily integrity rather than the “gendered dimensions” of socioeconomic oppression. The arguments set forth by this coalition, and the very real suffering of sexually exploited people, beg the question – is sex work exploitative?

Benoit posits that all work is exploitative under capitalism, and one may be predisposed to labor exploitation based on the roles they embody. Blunt and Wolf concur, asserting: “under capitalism, all labor is vulnerable to hyper-exploitation. The risk of exploitation is increased in criminalized economies that lack labor protections, such as sex work.” (Blunt and Wolf, pp.5) They introduce how laws that criminalize certain types of labor increase the vulnerability of workers in unprotected industries. Benoit cites writers Ana Paula Da Silva and Gustavo Camgaro, who argue “sex workers are no more transformed into ‘objects’ than other workers who exchange their physical and mental labor for a wage under capitalist relation” (Benoit, pp.4). In short, the way that sex workers ‘sell their bodies’ is parallel to any other form of paid physical labor under capitalism.

The changing landscape of the sex trade

The landscape of the sex trade is shaped by the regulatory regime it exists under (Benoit). New technologies and tools also play a major role in these shifts. It is important to note that as legislation and technology change, not all people engaged in sex work will have the capacity to change with it. Therefore, we cannot hyper-fixate on one facet of sex work and ignore the others as obsolete. Blunt and Wolf concisely explain the multifaceted, collective approach to suppress sex workers:

The movements of sex workers are surveilled, policed, and restricted through both traditional law enforcement and online-platform policing. This policing is done in the streets, through police using the carrying of condoms as evidence of prostitution; it is done indoors, through brothel-keeping laws; it is done through data collection, through gang databases and predictive policing; and more recently, it is done online through banishment from advertising and social media. (Blunt and Wolf, pp.9)

This analysis provides a succinct description of the diverse ways that sex work is regulated. The most familiar example, to many of us, is the traditional policing of sex workers in public spaces by law enforcement. Fitzgerald, Elspeth and Hickey found that 79.1% of trans sex workers “reported high levels of interaction with the police.” 26.3% said they were ‘somewhat uncomfortable’ getting help from law enforcement and 31.8% were ‘very uncomfortable.’ Of those interviewed, 64.1% reported mistreatment including 12.9% experiencing physical assault and 9.2% experiencing sexual assault (Fitzgerald et. al. pp.5).

An additional obstacle faced by trans sex workers is the destruction of personal belongings – specifically condoms – by police. Fitzgerald, Elspeth and Hickey cite a 2012 report which found “about half of all respondents reported that police had confiscated, damaged, or destroyed their condoms; 67% reported that police destroyed condoms they were carrying solely as a means of harassment, without making an arrest.” The survey also indicated that “75% percent of transgender women surveyed reported that they carried no condoms for fear of police” (Fitzgerald et. al. pp.10). This is harmful, not only because of the arbitrary yet consistent exposure to police violence, but also because the most basic method for having safe sex has become unofficially criminalized. This forces trans people into unsafe sex relations, which is reflected in the HIV rates in the trans sex worker community: 15.3% of sex worker respondents were HIV positive, 25.9% of trans people of color in the sex trade were HIV positive, and 40.6% of Black/Black Multiracial respondents in the sex trade were HIV positive (Fitzgerald et. al. pp.6). These statistics reveal not only that trans sex workers have concerning rates of HIV positivity, but that race exacerbates the likelihood of a trans sex working becoming HIV positive.

The birth of the internet opened new opportunities for sex workers to network, build community, and vet clients. Using resources like Backpage and Craigslist Personals, sex workers were able to advertise their services and link up with clients in a safer way, with less fear of police harassment, violence, or arrest. The sites also fostered spaces where sex workers could share common experiences, safety tips, and spread the word about dangerous clients. However, platforms that hosted sex workers have been systemically targeted by anti-prostitution groups and the federal government. The prosecution of Rentboy, a site for male sex workers and their clients, is an illustration of this. In 2015, New York State charged the site’s founder and six employees with ‘facilitating paid sexual encounters,’ calling Rentboy an “internet brothel” that “made millions of dollars from the promotion of illegal prostitution” (NYT Editorial Board, 2015). A New York Times article addressing the case explained that the trial was charged with sexually explicit details of promiscuous gay men, and that significant resources were dedicated to prosecuting defendants who were not “accused of exploiting sex workers, featuring minors on the website, financial crimes or other serious offenses that would warrant a federal investigation” (NYT Editorial Board, 2015). Kate D’Adamo explains that while Rentboy did facilitate selling sex, the site also spread safety information and established a college fund for its users. The closure of Rentboy is indicative of the larger scheme of shuttering sites that host sex workers, which was codified into law three years later.

In 2018, FOSTA-SESTA was passed in the House and Senate. The legislation holds platforms liable for the content posted by independent users on their sites. Although it was marketed as an anti-sex trafficking law, the legislation resulted in the shuttering of many sites used by sex workers for safety and community building. Danielle Blunt and Ariel Wolf, in their survey of the impact of FOSTA-SESTA on sex workers, explain:

Street policing (including racist, sexist, and transphobic policing tactics) intended to ‘clean up the streets’ pushed sex workers online, and now with legislation such as FOSTA-SESTA, this policing is extended to online platforms, effectively, squeezing workers from both sides. (Blunt and Wolf).

This illuminates that when sex workers are out of reach by traditional, street-based law enforcement, the State must find new ways to police the bodies of women and queer people selling sex. Sex workers surveyed by Blunt and Wolf found the law to be overbearing and paternalistic and saw it as a way to censor sex work rather than truly address the harms of human trafficking. Blunt and Wolf assert that “This dismantling of an online-based sex work environment has played a role in the increased economic instability for 72.45% of the online participants of this survey, with 33.8% reporting an increase of violence from clients” (Blunt and Wolf, pp.22).

As sites purged sex work from their platforms (such as the removal of Craigslist Personals) and others (like Tumblr) banned nudity altogether, sex workers’ networks were disrupted and they were left with significantly fewer options to network and market their services. The narrowing of the market has facilitated the monopolization of platforms allowing sex work, so sites can charge more and take larger cuts with the absence of competition (Blunt and Wolf). Financial institutions exacerbate the financial insecurity of online sex workers, with banks closing their accounts due to suspicious activity and platforms like PayPal and Venmo seizing their funds, with some of the workers surveyed losing up to $500 (Blunt and Wolf).

Conservative Christians and other groups advocating for sexual purity are a driving force behind the criminalization and exclusion of sex workers from online platforms and banking. Kelsy Burke attended a conference hosted by an anti-porn organization and reported her experience. Speakers made claims that “Internet pornography is a cesspool full of rapists and pedophiles who are documenting their crimes,” and that porn sites are criminally obscene and facilitate illegal activity such as sexual assault and human trafficking (Burke, pp.2). Despite claims that the fight against porn transcends religious belief, Burke found that “religious actors continue to dominate anti-porn efforts” (Burke, pp.4). The National Center on Sexual Exploitation (NCOSE), a group founded in the 60s as Morality in Media, publishes an annual ‘dirty dozen’ list of companies that contribute to ‘sexual exploitation.’ OnlyFans, a platform popularized by independent sex workers selling porn videos and imagery, was added to this list in 2021. In August 2021, OnlyFans shocked users and creators by announcing a ban on porn beginning in October of 2021. OnlyFans claimed that their decision stemmed from pushback from banking institutions about hosting porn, but NCOSE took credit for the ban. NCOSE also claims to have been instrumental in MasterCard and Visa cutting ties with Pornhub in December 2020 due to their advocacy (Burke).

The OnlyFans decision sparked a discussion about financial institutions and their role in online sex work. These institutions view platforms hosting adult content as risky partners due to high risks of disputed charges by customers, which results in higher fees for platforms that permit sex work (Robertson, pp.5). Public backlash ultimately led OnlyFans to reverse their decision, but creators are still wary of their future and losing the widespread audience they built on the platform. Despite the hefty 20 percent that OnlyFans takes from creators’ earnings, the platform is one of the few (and most popular) spaces that sex workers can independently sell their content, especially in a landscape where much of the free porn circulating has been pirated or posted non-consensually (Robertson, pp.4). In some ways, platforms like OnlyFans are empowering to sex workers who can independently distribute and set prices for their own content, but the scare of banning adult content and considerable fees the platform takes reveal the vulnerability of sex workers’ livelihood. In this example, we can see how financial institutions, conservative religious organizations, and host platforms dictate how and where sex workers behave in conjunction with federal legislation.

The future of sex work

Sex workers and their allies are fighting for a world where their bodies are not policed and their actions are not criminalized. The most common call is for the decriminalization of prostitution and other forms of sex work. Blunt and Wolf call for the decriminalization of sex work and repeal of FOSTA-SESTA to ensure that sex workers are not targeted by police harassment, feel safe to report assault they experience on the job, and have access to online platforms that allow them to build community, find clients and sell their work virtually. They also call for a larger discussion of labor trafficking rather than hyper focusing on sexual exploitation in order to uplift all trafficked people in a way that doesn’t ultimately harm a certain group. Lastly, they call for “additional and more easily accessible aid…for those living in poverty, domestic violence situations, and those with undocumented citizenship and chronic health issues” (Blunt and Wolf, pp.39). This ties in to the fact that many people enter the sex trade due to exclusion from formal labor markets, and that often times sex work is a product of economic instability.

Similarly, Fitzgerald, Elspeth and Hickey advocate for the full decriminalization of sex work and related offenses. This includes the repeal of criminal laws related to prostitution, reforming human trafficking policies that ultimately harm sex workers, and passing trans-positive legislation that combats discrimination and streamlines the process of updating name and gender on government documents. Additionally, the authors call for ‘rigorous civilian oversight’ and the adoption of monitoring practices that protect trans people and sex workers from police harassment. Finally, they promote the expansion of social services and health coverage for trans people and those involved in the sex trade to support the physical and mental health of already marginalized people.

Kate D’Adamo offers recommendations for sex work-positive organizations, encouraging policies that support full decriminalization, pushing back against anti-sex work stigmas, and allying with groups that advocate for sex workers’ rights. Rather than focusing on legislative responses, D’Adamo builds a framework for non-profits and other organizations to adopt staunchly pro-sex worker stances. Advocacy organizations guide public policy, so ensuring that more groups support decriminalizing sex work is essential in shifting public narrative and policy.

            In order to protect sex workers, we need to decriminalize prostitution and other forms of sex work. We also need to detangle consensual sex work from sex trafficking by establishing clear legal distinctions on what it means to be ‘trafficked,’ and ensure these definitions are inclusive of all forms of coerced labor, not just sexual labor. This includes understanding sex work as a form of labor within capitalist relations that is just as subject to exploitation as other forms of labor. FOSTA-SESTA and other anti-trafficking legislation that push sex workers to the margins must be repealed or restructured to ensure that people engaging in the consensual sex trade are not targeted by online policing efforts. Lastly, because sex work is often a product of socioeconomic inequality based on race, gender, sexuality, and immigration status, establishing robust social services and outlawing discriminatory labor practices is necessary.

Further research

            Because the field of sex work and related conversations are vast, further research is necessary to fully understand the landscape of sex work as well as its potential futures. For one, carceral feminism’s role in structuring anti-sex worker legislation raises questions of how feminism can be co-opted to build the carceral state at the expense of marginalized women. Their coalition with conservative religious groups also warrants further investigation, as this unlikely partnership uncovers relays a history of ‘anti-trafficking’ lobbying/advocacy. The location of sex work is a worthy field for exploration because it opens up conversations of legality, safety, and unequal access to privacy. Lastly, observing sex work in an international context shows the impacts of varying legislation and degrees of legality, which can be learned from and implemented in the U.S.

Works Cited

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