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My Undoing: Love in the Thick of Sex, Drugs, Pornography, and Prostitution
For the first time, porn legend Aiden Shaw takes fans behind-the-scenes to the gay adult film world that made him a star. My Undoing ventures from locales such as Los Angeles, San Francisco, New York, and London, to the sets of premiere studios like Falcon, Catalina, and Studio 200. Yet, this is not the typical adult film memoir, where stars drop names and titillate readers with explicit moments. Although My Undoing shares in unsparing detail all the hot stories about the sex and drugs that fueled Aiden's life, it more profoundly follows him through a course of rocky and unfulfilling relationships. As Aiden eloquently and often humorously points out, the romantic life of an adult film superstar is sometimes lonely and lacking in love. But not love only in the form of a relationship, rather also love from within himself. The book is equally moving for his revelations about his Irish Catholic family, his Positive HIV status in the sex industry, and his recovery from a near fatal car accident that left him temporarily paralyzed.
320 pages, Paperback
First published May 23, 2006
3 people are currently reading
235 people want to read
About the author
Aiden Shaw
12 books18 followersA British author, musician, model and former gay porn star.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 37 reviews
November 15, 2011
I recently finished reading Aiden Shaw's autobiography - though I am rather skeptical about how much of this is factual information considering the rampant amount of drug he reports would leave anyone bereft of a memory - My Undoing: Love in the Thick of Sex, Drugs, Pornography, and Prostitution. Given the amount I read, it really is quite remarkable that this particular work has left me mulling over its content for quite sometime.
I should preface my rant by stating that I read more than half the book within hours of purchasing it - this is partially due to the fact that Shaw's writing isn't terribly demanding and requires little engagement from the reader. I did, however, risk a number of disgusted judgmental stares from passersby as I was reading the book while walking the dog and sitting on the train. Not only does the title rest on the cover in rather large print, but so does Mr. Aiden Shaw himself grace the cover in all his glory. Thankfully - or not- the photo cuts off just before it could land me in jail for disclosing obscene content to minors.
Now, what has baffled me, and I'm still not sure that I've come to any sort of conclusion, is why I was so compelled to devour Shaw's story as quickly as possible. Certainly the title is compelling: who doesn't want to read about the decadent sex life of a porn star as handsome as Shaw? Perhaps, though, the initial draw compels those of us who would like to think we are a bit less superficial than the average reader - and even perhaps the average gay reader. In other words, we hope that there is an unspoken agreement between author and reader: I've taken the time, and money, to purchase your book and hear your story because - I think - you have taken the opportunity to distinguish yourself from your peers by offering an articulate, and therefore perhaps a bit keener vantage than those of your counterparts into a profession and lifestyle otherwise thought to be void of thought, dimension, and coherence. It seems as if Mr. Shaw's story is perhaps going to undermine all preconceptions of not only prostitution and pornography - professions often regarded as below the bottom of the barrel, suitable only for the dregs of society - but gay prostitution and pornography which increases the superficiality exponentially.
OK, Mr. Shaw, I'll bite.
Shaw's preface to his story warns us that the excitement to share his story was commensurate to his fear of revisiting past haunts. He tells us that while nostalgia can be empowering, excavating old ghosts can be crippling. Ok, fine. He's about to peel back layers. Again, blame cannot be placed on me for falling for Shaw's ruse, as he's already promising something most gays can't: depth.
At this point, I'm really quite sold on the possibility of a deep introspection; a series of anecdotes offering insight as to why he found himself on what would seemingly be such a self-destructive path. Or, perhaps make a case in favor of his particular career choices, alleviating the misconception that only someone already resting on a downward spiral might make these decisions.
Instead, the only thing this book does debunk is that age old adage and that you can, in fact, on occasion, judge a book by its cover. Rather than offering method to his mayhem, this three-hundred page memoir -which I can guarantee is 300xs deeper than the content it purports to offer - Shaw strings together a series of drug induced sexual encounters - most of which are comedic flops (pun intended) as they are nothing more than groups of men pathetically staring at one another and their flaccid penises; a direct result of rampant drug use - and offers zero explanation to his behavior.
Shaw, tangentially, encounters elements that would be part and parcel of an autobiography during the moments he claims to be in love with a man, but these moments fall short of any lengthy personal consideration and are commentated only by fleeting haphazard reviews. Instead of really engaging the subject of his love life and narrating the hows and whys this particular flavor of the week has caught Shaw's eye and supposed heart, he punctuates these moments with sex and drugs. The conclusion I've drawn from Shaw's love encounters isn't really any major breakthrough, but one that repeatedly surfaces with this topic: he finds that it is easy to conflate love and lust. Shocker, I know. We've all been there before, but what is especially biting about Shaw's accounts of love is that he peddles his story as if its a tragedy of unrequited love. This is offensive for a number of reasons. To begin, Shakespeare already cornered this market much more eloquently than Shaw. Secondly, Shaw's romances read like MadLibs; it didn't take long to figure out how each "romantic" encounter would conclude. Finally, even if the melodramatics and the formulaic pattern of Shaw's love life were in fact accurate, we should at least be offended by his cavalier use of the word 'love'.
Shaw dated out of convenience, not love. I realize the counterargument to this is his relationship with what's-his-name (see? the characters all sort of bleed into one another) living in Cali while Shaw was in London. While this wasn't physically convenient, it provided an emotional instant gratification. Though Shaw could confidently claim he had a counterpart, the only disclosure he made in his narrative was the fact that he was an emotional jealous wreck when he gave any sort of thought to what activities his boyfriend was engaging thousands of miles away. Otherwise, the rest of his so-called love affairs occurred briefly in whatever city he was currently visiting. After his departure these encounters seemingly lingered as nothing more than a sexual afterthought. If this was in fact not the case, Shaw did little to privy the reader to this fact. My criticism, then, stems from Shaw's repeated subversion of relationships. His decision to quickly label some club twink or drug addled trick an object of love and affection is ridiculous to the point of being offensive.
It would be remiss not to discuss what I assumed to be the crux of his tale. About half way through the book, Shaw suffers a horrific accident temporarily paralyzing and nearly killing him. This particular scene remains unsettled with me because of the means by which he decides to execute it in writing. This particular section of the book is told not only from his point of view, but accompanied by three others as well. It is unclear as to whether he took artistic license and composed what he thought were to be the thoughts and emotions of his friends present at the accident or he actually asked them to draft their own recollections. Either way, this is offensively narcissistic. It seems as if the only point he was attempting to make was the void he was leaving in everyone's life because of his incapacitation and perhaps how life would just be one series of bleak events after another in the event of his death. I suppose, to play devil's advocate, that this was Shaw's way of paying homage to his friends for sticking by his side but instead he managed to spin his gratitude into a shrine honoring himself. His only literary accomplishment here was finding another medium to blow smoke up his own ass.
Most of us are fortunate enough to have not suffered such a tragedy, but most of us have at least been brought to a moment in our life that forces us to reconsider the way we have been living it. Apparently, this wasn't so much the case with Shaw. This is a man, who prior to his accident, repeatedly treated his life with such gross disregard it was a shock he wasn't dead already. Rather than considering his accident as an opportunity to reconsider how seriously detrimental his life choices were and how lucky he is to have survived all of it, he simply squanders his mulligan returns right back to his decadent life.
Again, not once does Shaw offer any accountability. No one really needs to justify their behavior except in the case of an autobiography. If you're going to open the door for someone you can't just crack it with the chain still on. Shaw repeatedly tells us that he has frequent emotional breakdowns and often feels sad and depressed. The problem with these accounts is that it ends there. If Shaw was attempting to land himself among serious autobiographers than he needed to divest himself of these insipid terms and perfunctory accounts of his emotion and really work to excavate feeling.
Instead, this book was hurried along by the interspersed sexual encounters. While vivid and arousing, this isn't what was supposed to propel the book. I can look up one of his films - I did in fact - if I want raw visceral stimulation, but he promised us more.
In the preface of his book he informs us that he isn't sorry for his life, and I think I'm a little sorry that he's not sorry. Not once in his memoir does he acknowledge the repeated amount of times his life is in jeopardy. His refusal of an apology, to me, equates to a silent approval of unprotected sex and habitual drug abuse. In the long run, this book not only lacked any moral, but it lacked morals. We hope, I hope, that if we were to sit down at the age of, well, whatever age, and chronicle our existence we would want to see some growth and maturation; I can't possibly fathom how Aiden Shaw could read through his treatise and find growth of any kind (Note: I did not make any flaccid penis jokes here). In addition to his unapologetic disregard for human life, is the disturbing fact that Shaw operates under the delusion that he, unlike his professional counterparts, operates above the system when he is simply part of the problem. Shaw carries on as if his actions have no repercussions. In choosing to write this biography, he also assumed the role of spokesman - not THE spokesman, but one of few of the gay community.
Alas, after entering into my unspoken agreement with Mr. Shaw - taking the bait, hoping that someone, finally, was going to fight the good fight and dispel the stereotypes the gay community has rested itself on for so long - I regret to inform you that this was sadly not that book. Shaw only reaffirmed what so many have already come to regard as the standard queer: we are a shallow narcissistic people, motivated only by the prospect of attention in whatever form -famous or infamous - and perpetually imprisoned by the warmth of our own personal spotlight we believe to be forever highlighting our presence.
I should preface my rant by stating that I read more than half the book within hours of purchasing it - this is partially due to the fact that Shaw's writing isn't terribly demanding and requires little engagement from the reader. I did, however, risk a number of disgusted judgmental stares from passersby as I was reading the book while walking the dog and sitting on the train. Not only does the title rest on the cover in rather large print, but so does Mr. Aiden Shaw himself grace the cover in all his glory. Thankfully - or not- the photo cuts off just before it could land me in jail for disclosing obscene content to minors.
Now, what has baffled me, and I'm still not sure that I've come to any sort of conclusion, is why I was so compelled to devour Shaw's story as quickly as possible. Certainly the title is compelling: who doesn't want to read about the decadent sex life of a porn star as handsome as Shaw? Perhaps, though, the initial draw compels those of us who would like to think we are a bit less superficial than the average reader - and even perhaps the average gay reader. In other words, we hope that there is an unspoken agreement between author and reader: I've taken the time, and money, to purchase your book and hear your story because - I think - you have taken the opportunity to distinguish yourself from your peers by offering an articulate, and therefore perhaps a bit keener vantage than those of your counterparts into a profession and lifestyle otherwise thought to be void of thought, dimension, and coherence. It seems as if Mr. Shaw's story is perhaps going to undermine all preconceptions of not only prostitution and pornography - professions often regarded as below the bottom of the barrel, suitable only for the dregs of society - but gay prostitution and pornography which increases the superficiality exponentially.
OK, Mr. Shaw, I'll bite.
Shaw's preface to his story warns us that the excitement to share his story was commensurate to his fear of revisiting past haunts. He tells us that while nostalgia can be empowering, excavating old ghosts can be crippling. Ok, fine. He's about to peel back layers. Again, blame cannot be placed on me for falling for Shaw's ruse, as he's already promising something most gays can't: depth.
At this point, I'm really quite sold on the possibility of a deep introspection; a series of anecdotes offering insight as to why he found himself on what would seemingly be such a self-destructive path. Or, perhaps make a case in favor of his particular career choices, alleviating the misconception that only someone already resting on a downward spiral might make these decisions.
Instead, the only thing this book does debunk is that age old adage and that you can, in fact, on occasion, judge a book by its cover. Rather than offering method to his mayhem, this three-hundred page memoir -which I can guarantee is 300xs deeper than the content it purports to offer - Shaw strings together a series of drug induced sexual encounters - most of which are comedic flops (pun intended) as they are nothing more than groups of men pathetically staring at one another and their flaccid penises; a direct result of rampant drug use - and offers zero explanation to his behavior.
Shaw, tangentially, encounters elements that would be part and parcel of an autobiography during the moments he claims to be in love with a man, but these moments fall short of any lengthy personal consideration and are commentated only by fleeting haphazard reviews. Instead of really engaging the subject of his love life and narrating the hows and whys this particular flavor of the week has caught Shaw's eye and supposed heart, he punctuates these moments with sex and drugs. The conclusion I've drawn from Shaw's love encounters isn't really any major breakthrough, but one that repeatedly surfaces with this topic: he finds that it is easy to conflate love and lust. Shocker, I know. We've all been there before, but what is especially biting about Shaw's accounts of love is that he peddles his story as if its a tragedy of unrequited love. This is offensive for a number of reasons. To begin, Shakespeare already cornered this market much more eloquently than Shaw. Secondly, Shaw's romances read like MadLibs; it didn't take long to figure out how each "romantic" encounter would conclude. Finally, even if the melodramatics and the formulaic pattern of Shaw's love life were in fact accurate, we should at least be offended by his cavalier use of the word 'love'.
Shaw dated out of convenience, not love. I realize the counterargument to this is his relationship with what's-his-name (see? the characters all sort of bleed into one another) living in Cali while Shaw was in London. While this wasn't physically convenient, it provided an emotional instant gratification. Though Shaw could confidently claim he had a counterpart, the only disclosure he made in his narrative was the fact that he was an emotional jealous wreck when he gave any sort of thought to what activities his boyfriend was engaging thousands of miles away. Otherwise, the rest of his so-called love affairs occurred briefly in whatever city he was currently visiting. After his departure these encounters seemingly lingered as nothing more than a sexual afterthought. If this was in fact not the case, Shaw did little to privy the reader to this fact. My criticism, then, stems from Shaw's repeated subversion of relationships. His decision to quickly label some club twink or drug addled trick an object of love and affection is ridiculous to the point of being offensive.
It would be remiss not to discuss what I assumed to be the crux of his tale. About half way through the book, Shaw suffers a horrific accident temporarily paralyzing and nearly killing him. This particular scene remains unsettled with me because of the means by which he decides to execute it in writing. This particular section of the book is told not only from his point of view, but accompanied by three others as well. It is unclear as to whether he took artistic license and composed what he thought were to be the thoughts and emotions of his friends present at the accident or he actually asked them to draft their own recollections. Either way, this is offensively narcissistic. It seems as if the only point he was attempting to make was the void he was leaving in everyone's life because of his incapacitation and perhaps how life would just be one series of bleak events after another in the event of his death. I suppose, to play devil's advocate, that this was Shaw's way of paying homage to his friends for sticking by his side but instead he managed to spin his gratitude into a shrine honoring himself. His only literary accomplishment here was finding another medium to blow smoke up his own ass.
Most of us are fortunate enough to have not suffered such a tragedy, but most of us have at least been brought to a moment in our life that forces us to reconsider the way we have been living it. Apparently, this wasn't so much the case with Shaw. This is a man, who prior to his accident, repeatedly treated his life with such gross disregard it was a shock he wasn't dead already. Rather than considering his accident as an opportunity to reconsider how seriously detrimental his life choices were and how lucky he is to have survived all of it, he simply squanders his mulligan returns right back to his decadent life.
Again, not once does Shaw offer any accountability. No one really needs to justify their behavior except in the case of an autobiography. If you're going to open the door for someone you can't just crack it with the chain still on. Shaw repeatedly tells us that he has frequent emotional breakdowns and often feels sad and depressed. The problem with these accounts is that it ends there. If Shaw was attempting to land himself among serious autobiographers than he needed to divest himself of these insipid terms and perfunctory accounts of his emotion and really work to excavate feeling.
Instead, this book was hurried along by the interspersed sexual encounters. While vivid and arousing, this isn't what was supposed to propel the book. I can look up one of his films - I did in fact - if I want raw visceral stimulation, but he promised us more.
In the preface of his book he informs us that he isn't sorry for his life, and I think I'm a little sorry that he's not sorry. Not once in his memoir does he acknowledge the repeated amount of times his life is in jeopardy. His refusal of an apology, to me, equates to a silent approval of unprotected sex and habitual drug abuse. In the long run, this book not only lacked any moral, but it lacked morals. We hope, I hope, that if we were to sit down at the age of, well, whatever age, and chronicle our existence we would want to see some growth and maturation; I can't possibly fathom how Aiden Shaw could read through his treatise and find growth of any kind (Note: I did not make any flaccid penis jokes here). In addition to his unapologetic disregard for human life, is the disturbing fact that Shaw operates under the delusion that he, unlike his professional counterparts, operates above the system when he is simply part of the problem. Shaw carries on as if his actions have no repercussions. In choosing to write this biography, he also assumed the role of spokesman - not THE spokesman, but one of few of the gay community.
Alas, after entering into my unspoken agreement with Mr. Shaw - taking the bait, hoping that someone, finally, was going to fight the good fight and dispel the stereotypes the gay community has rested itself on for so long - I regret to inform you that this was sadly not that book. Shaw only reaffirmed what so many have already come to regard as the standard queer: we are a shallow narcissistic people, motivated only by the prospect of attention in whatever form -famous or infamous - and perpetually imprisoned by the warmth of our own personal spotlight we believe to be forever highlighting our presence.
June 10, 2024
3⭐
This book was perfectly fine.
I firstly want to take a second and address the concept of the "narcissistic" book reviews. Though there are moments where the author comes across ego-driven, I do think that other reviewers need to realize the industry that this person works in. This is an individual who has gained notoriety for his physicality and sexuality. Aiden Shaw obviously works in entertainment, in many forms, where he survives off of being "likable" or attractive to audience members; this is his livelihood. Of course, that means he has to pay attention to his abilities and physical form, because that is how he sees himself and how he makes his career. Additionally, I think there is a great amount of vulnerability in this work, and I doubt if anyone of those reviewers would fell comfortable enough to talk about those private matters in such an honest way. Those in glass houses shouldn't throw stones...
Ranting aside: reading this book, I definitely did not expect it to go the way that it did. This book did talk about love and the definition of it within the author's life at a certain point in time; however, I thought there might be more evolution throughout his stories. I'm not down-playing Shaw's life or any of his experiences, but I just felt like I was missing some "aha" moment. But, maybe that's the point...
I do think this could have benefited from another set of eyes, as I found a few parts of the book a bit monotonous. There is mention of a lot of drugs, a lot of concerts and gallivanting around the world, but by a certain point I was more curious about the main theme of the story - love - than what concert was happening where.
While I wouldn't say this was an absolutely "breathe-taking" novel, I commend Shaw for his vulnerability in this work; I can only imagine how difficult it must be to rake through so much of one's life to then put words to paper and explain the situation, as best they could. His style of writing had me interested and encouraged me to keep reading to better understand him, which I think is a good sign of a memoir. I've seen that there is a second memoir of his - "Sordid Truths" - and I do believe I'll be reading that sometime in the future.
Overall, I don't not recommend this book. I think that this is one of those memoirs where each individual can get something from it that is beneficial to them.
This book was perfectly fine.
I firstly want to take a second and address the concept of the "narcissistic" book reviews. Though there are moments where the author comes across ego-driven, I do think that other reviewers need to realize the industry that this person works in. This is an individual who has gained notoriety for his physicality and sexuality. Aiden Shaw obviously works in entertainment, in many forms, where he survives off of being "likable" or attractive to audience members; this is his livelihood. Of course, that means he has to pay attention to his abilities and physical form, because that is how he sees himself and how he makes his career. Additionally, I think there is a great amount of vulnerability in this work, and I doubt if anyone of those reviewers would fell comfortable enough to talk about those private matters in such an honest way. Those in glass houses shouldn't throw stones...
Ranting aside: reading this book, I definitely did not expect it to go the way that it did. This book did talk about love and the definition of it within the author's life at a certain point in time; however, I thought there might be more evolution throughout his stories. I'm not down-playing Shaw's life or any of his experiences, but I just felt like I was missing some "aha" moment. But, maybe that's the point...
I do think this could have benefited from another set of eyes, as I found a few parts of the book a bit monotonous. There is mention of a lot of drugs, a lot of concerts and gallivanting around the world, but by a certain point I was more curious about the main theme of the story - love - than what concert was happening where.
While I wouldn't say this was an absolutely "breathe-taking" novel, I commend Shaw for his vulnerability in this work; I can only imagine how difficult it must be to rake through so much of one's life to then put words to paper and explain the situation, as best they could. His style of writing had me interested and encouraged me to keep reading to better understand him, which I think is a good sign of a memoir. I've seen that there is a second memoir of his - "Sordid Truths" - and I do believe I'll be reading that sometime in the future.
Overall, I don't not recommend this book. I think that this is one of those memoirs where each individual can get something from it that is beneficial to them.
December 6, 2009
a narcissistic exploration in vapidity.
April 18, 2015
Yeah, so this is kind of interesting in a "let's take this person as a completely reprehensible character" kind of way, also in a "hopefully I'll never meet this person in real life" way as well. Aiden Shaw probably wishes he was alive in Byron's time, seeing himself as a nihilistic drug-fucked morally-bankrupt artiste. Who is cooler than you. But by the end of this book I felt like I needed a shower. But not because of the sex. Because he just comes across as a user and manipulator. Granted, I don't know him from a bar of soap. But when you read his sorry tale, you'll feel better off that way. I mean, the fact that he has sex without protection even though he's HIV+ (okay, his partners know) but he doesn't even think there's anything wrong about that - he's perfectly willing to pass on the risk and not even try and persuade them otherwise. Believe me, everybody should be responsible about sex, but you'd think most normal people would try to be more careful if they thought there was a chance they could infect other people. Not Aiden Shaw. He's an artiste, man.
(I'd previously read his other memoir, and although the same 'character' is within those pages he didn't seem to revel in it so much and come across as narcissistic and awful.)
(I'd previously read his other memoir, and although the same 'character' is within those pages he didn't seem to revel in it so much and come across as narcissistic and awful.)
December 15, 2009
An uninteresting, poorly constructed glorifcation of a life that shouldn't be glorified at all. Nothing but blatant name-dropping, casual sex, and rampant drug consumption without any self, social or moral exploration. I don't decry the life of a porn star, of a sexual deviant, of a drug addict - I love porn, sex and drugs - but there's nothing here but a rambling timeline. The narrative was non-existant, the growth was minimal, and the overall impact was nil.
To take it a step further, Shaw takes no steps to point out how unsafe some of his activies are. I realize that no one is required to be a "representative" or "role model" for the youth of the world, but I also think Shaw comes across wildly irresponsible in many ways. The closest he comes to having any kind of mention of the risks he takes is one of his closest fuck buddies always wanting to get fucked without a condom, despite Shaw and him both being well aware of Shaw's HIV positive status.
On top of that, Shaw's relationships - the supposed core of the book - come across immature, both in presentation and his life. He goes through "boyfriends," as well as concepts of what "love" means to him, faster than he does drugs, but not once is there an adequate explanation of their worth to him, their relationship outside of sex, prostitution and porn, or really their relationships at all. The most believable and fully-formed relationships are with his female friends (who he still fucks around with) and his crazy stalker later in the novel.
Honestly, this entire "memoir" boils down to "we did some combination of ecstasy, crystal meth, GHB, cocaine, crack and alcohol, fucked two-to-five guys for two-to-five days, filmed a movie maybe, and then I pined for someone who may or may not have agreed to engage in a monogamous relationship with me."
To take it a step further, Shaw takes no steps to point out how unsafe some of his activies are. I realize that no one is required to be a "representative" or "role model" for the youth of the world, but I also think Shaw comes across wildly irresponsible in many ways. The closest he comes to having any kind of mention of the risks he takes is one of his closest fuck buddies always wanting to get fucked without a condom, despite Shaw and him both being well aware of Shaw's HIV positive status.
On top of that, Shaw's relationships - the supposed core of the book - come across immature, both in presentation and his life. He goes through "boyfriends," as well as concepts of what "love" means to him, faster than he does drugs, but not once is there an adequate explanation of their worth to him, their relationship outside of sex, prostitution and porn, or really their relationships at all. The most believable and fully-formed relationships are with his female friends (who he still fucks around with) and his crazy stalker later in the novel.
Honestly, this entire "memoir" boils down to "we did some combination of ecstasy, crystal meth, GHB, cocaine, crack and alcohol, fucked two-to-five guys for two-to-five days, filmed a movie maybe, and then I pined for someone who may or may not have agreed to engage in a monogamous relationship with me."
October 30, 2007
As posted in [http://www.amazon.com]:
Ok, I'm not one of those people who go crazy or rave about a gay porn star, especially if they're well-endowed. Ask me who is Tom Chase or Chad Hunt and I'll be blinking my clueless eyes.
Anyways, what led me to buy this memoir of Aidan Shaw and waste my time, I have no idea and I don't think I'll get those wasted hours back. I think I got this book because I had read Shaw's books before. So, I thought that his memoir would be interesting.
You know how some people complain how some books contained expletives in every other words? Well, in Shaw's memoir, every other word was a name of a drug or a sex act. In other words, boring!
The only good part about this book (and I'm being nice) was his experience in the hospital/rehab after he was ran over by a car which left him semi-paralyzed. How he positioned himself prior to the runover...that's another story for readers and fans to debate.
Otherwise, unless you truly enjoy knowing one's active drug usage and frequent sex escapades, this is just one redundant memoir. I mean, really! He flies back and forth from England to the United States for more drugs and more sex. If porn stars are like Shaw, then life as a porn star is one sad life.
Ok, I'm not one of those people who go crazy or rave about a gay porn star, especially if they're well-endowed. Ask me who is Tom Chase or Chad Hunt and I'll be blinking my clueless eyes.
Anyways, what led me to buy this memoir of Aidan Shaw and waste my time, I have no idea and I don't think I'll get those wasted hours back. I think I got this book because I had read Shaw's books before. So, I thought that his memoir would be interesting.
You know how some people complain how some books contained expletives in every other words? Well, in Shaw's memoir, every other word was a name of a drug or a sex act. In other words, boring!
The only good part about this book (and I'm being nice) was his experience in the hospital/rehab after he was ran over by a car which left him semi-paralyzed. How he positioned himself prior to the runover...that's another story for readers and fans to debate.
Otherwise, unless you truly enjoy knowing one's active drug usage and frequent sex escapades, this is just one redundant memoir. I mean, really! He flies back and forth from England to the United States for more drugs and more sex. If porn stars are like Shaw, then life as a porn star is one sad life.
July 4, 2009
I gave this book two stars because the writing isn't all that great, though it is better than you would expect considering. The content, however, is interesting. It is shocking, sad and a bit surreal. It's the stuff of a movie, but it is real. Shaw gives the reader a glimpse into his life as a gay porn star, a life packed with lots of sex and lots of drugs. Sometimes it was a little difficult for me to believe that I was reading a true account of someone's life. This definitely isn't the highest quality read ever but it is surely a detour from the conventional.
January 16, 2020
Haaaaaaated it. Kept hoping the narcissism would give way to some worthy realizations, some kind of personal growth. Kept thinking it was time to bail on this but kept slogging through it--fortunately a quick slog because there's not much to slow one down and make one ponder the writer's life and world view. Would like to reclaim my time. Would use the singular personal pronoun in my sentences here but Mr. Shaw has already used all the "I"s on himself.
April 20, 2019
I liked all of the references to south florida, since i lived through all of that. It seems so long ago now. He looks totally different now. i hope he finally found peace.
December 18, 2020
Petty, embarrassing book from a guy who is so in love with himself that he feels the need to spend almost 300 pages repetitively bragging about over-the-top drug usage, a thousand sex partners, porn performances, and some band he was in that you've never heard of.
This book started out somewhat interesting but the longer it went the more I realized that the author wasn't really using this to tell his life story--instead it's about a two-year period where the supposedly "fell in love" with another porn actor and then went into a tailspin when his lover failed to show concern when Shaw had a major accident. The whole thing is like a bad middle school love feud, only in this case the author's drug usage is detailed day-by-day and his (dull) sexual affairs are often so specific that I grew tired of knowing whose ass Shaw was licking.
The main problem is that the author is totally self-centered in life and seems unable to live anything that resembles normalcy. He's mistakenly proud of being paid to have mediocre sex with rich married men, to appear in a few non-famous porn films, to play in a band that crowds don't cheer for and their song lyrics are stupid, and of his non-stop drinking and drugs. He even thinks he's a good writer (he's not--this book needs to drop at least 100 pages and the guy tells the same minor details over and over again, to the interest of no one).
His ego is so inflated that he thinks everyone is looking at him, admires his body, and wants to sleep with him or get his autograph. His accident (which he caused by laying down in the middle of a street while in a drug-induced state, only to be run over by a car) gives him a few moments to rethink the meaning of life. But as soon as he's well he goes right back to abusing his addictions. If anything he gets worse.
All this shows is how shallow people like him are. His meaningless life and anxiety result in him needing more substances to alter his mind, combined with a therapist who seems to do him no good beyond stroking his ego or failing to give it to him straight. So let me do it instead: Aiden Shaw is a lost soul who needs help by finding a truth outside pleasuring his own body, and there's not one redeeming quality shown in this book. He's a loser who secretly understands how insecure he really is and tries to distract from the truth by filling his life with meaningless noise and relationships that always are dead-end. The sad part is that he never really has an undoing that leads him to understand that he needs to find the answer outside himself and that he's an addict who is not really in control of his life.
This book started out somewhat interesting but the longer it went the more I realized that the author wasn't really using this to tell his life story--instead it's about a two-year period where the supposedly "fell in love" with another porn actor and then went into a tailspin when his lover failed to show concern when Shaw had a major accident. The whole thing is like a bad middle school love feud, only in this case the author's drug usage is detailed day-by-day and his (dull) sexual affairs are often so specific that I grew tired of knowing whose ass Shaw was licking.
The main problem is that the author is totally self-centered in life and seems unable to live anything that resembles normalcy. He's mistakenly proud of being paid to have mediocre sex with rich married men, to appear in a few non-famous porn films, to play in a band that crowds don't cheer for and their song lyrics are stupid, and of his non-stop drinking and drugs. He even thinks he's a good writer (he's not--this book needs to drop at least 100 pages and the guy tells the same minor details over and over again, to the interest of no one).
His ego is so inflated that he thinks everyone is looking at him, admires his body, and wants to sleep with him or get his autograph. His accident (which he caused by laying down in the middle of a street while in a drug-induced state, only to be run over by a car) gives him a few moments to rethink the meaning of life. But as soon as he's well he goes right back to abusing his addictions. If anything he gets worse.
All this shows is how shallow people like him are. His meaningless life and anxiety result in him needing more substances to alter his mind, combined with a therapist who seems to do him no good beyond stroking his ego or failing to give it to him straight. So let me do it instead: Aiden Shaw is a lost soul who needs help by finding a truth outside pleasuring his own body, and there's not one redeeming quality shown in this book. He's a loser who secretly understands how insecure he really is and tries to distract from the truth by filling his life with meaningless noise and relationships that always are dead-end. The sad part is that he never really has an undoing that leads him to understand that he needs to find the answer outside himself and that he's an addict who is not really in control of his life.
August 18, 2012
Despite his other "life", Aiden Shaw's autobio was a complete pleasure to read. This book wasn't like other autobios where there are separate pinpointed moments in one chapter and a different one in the next... this book read like it was a true novel. There was a flow to it like you (the reader) were actually there standing there and witnessing every moment that had happened. All of the moments becomes like one entire moment and you are not able to put the book down.
Aiden portrays exactly what he went through at that particular time of his life. It's not pretty, but it's honest. The title already gives you an idea of what Aiden went through and how he had became a survivor in the end of that chapter of his life. Now some people may not "approve" of what he has done and should have made better choices. In my opinion, I went in it knowing where I have seen him, but without judgement. It was more curiosity that developed into become a new favourite author.
Aiden portrays exactly what he went through at that particular time of his life. It's not pretty, but it's honest. The title already gives you an idea of what Aiden went through and how he had became a survivor in the end of that chapter of his life. Now some people may not "approve" of what he has done and should have made better choices. In my opinion, I went in it knowing where I have seen him, but without judgement. It was more curiosity that developed into become a new favourite author.
August 15, 2009
Another book I read for the bookclub. I was interested to read something he wrote when I heard he was writing. I will admit I had a crush on him when I was younger and was watching his porn videos. To hear of his background and what he did with his education was just sad. Most men you read or hear got into porn did it because they were trying to escape a terrible childhood or physical abuse by a parent. He had quite a few opportunities and yet seemed to throw them all away for drugs. I don't know if I will ever be able to understand that type of weakness when there were opportunities given to him that others would have jumped at to have.
May 18, 2010
I enjoyed Shaw's book because it resonates on every single page. After about 40 pages I got a kick out of his complete and profound narcisissm because I have yet to meet a porn star who ISN'T totally self-absorbed. But the truth of sex, love and gay men is apparent on every page.
I wish all authors of M/M would read this author's books. He runs the gamut from great reviews to poor. I would have given him a five except at the end, I am not in love with him...he is hard to like but equally, hard to ignore.
I wish all authors of M/M would read this author's books. He runs the gamut from great reviews to poor. I would have given him a five except at the end, I am not in love with him...he is hard to like but equally, hard to ignore.
December 16, 2008
AWFUL.
I thought it would be interesting to read "the life of a porn star" but this was awfully written and incoherent. Shaw is vapid and boring - at least in his book.
I thought it would be interesting to read "the life of a porn star" but this was awfully written and incoherent. Shaw is vapid and boring - at least in his book.
May 6, 2019
Pretentious, superficial, boring
June 29, 2017
Wow. From one washed up porn star to another (You). I actually know this whole book train your trying to ride on but it's way off track. FIRST of all, a very large percentage of good looking guys in LA and San Francisco, ( Hell,you don' even have to be good looking if your young or if you have a big member or a tight round ass) We KNOW the ups and downs of the porn industry because we have ALL been there. We also have had trays of coke and ecstasy and crystal and ketomine......etc etc etc.....I could go on and on and on but I'm not going too. My lover was shot in the back, my best friend committed suicide, my cock is bent from a Tiauanna implant gone wrong.......Deep breath deep breath. What I'm trying to say is your story is kinda similar to many many many of thousands of gay men that came to the big state of California because we thought we would be accepted and could live our lives and be gay. Well, alot of us got off the plane or bus and had no food, no money, nothing but we found out real fast how to hook, escort, and yes PORN. I got off that Greyhound bus in West Hollywood all the way from Hope, Arkansas. I was broke I was hungry and I wanted to die! I was walking down Vine St and this 80ish old man said he would give me $100 bucks if I would let him suck my member. Turned out to be a high up guy for a particular Falcon studios. He very quickly became my agent and I started doing films for him and escorting because if your in porn your an escort! Point blank! Of course, we think we are porn stars cause we can get all the drugs we want for free. I don't know about you Aiden Shaw, (but I needed those drugs to do the crazy shit involved with porn) Anyway, what I think I'm trying to say is. I know your not making one penny off this book I know that you probably had to PAY to have this book published. People don't realize, that anyone can have a book published, " You just have to have money and then after you have paid everyone, you sit back cross your fingers and wait to see if you cash in. Well, it's not gonna happen this time! Book sucks don't get it? 6th floor shit reading. (Psych ward is always on the 6th floor) Anyway my porn name was Cory Winston, then Chas Winston when misspelled Chaz Winston and my real name is Andrew Sherbert (originally from Hope, Arkansas) Oh my we have the same initials! Oh wait, Andrew Sherbert is my real name, what's yours? Think about it. Everyone in this world has Trebelled Waters! You gotta swim not sink. Yes all this makes just about as much sense as your book?
June 20, 2025
I always want to like Aiden Shaw as a writer (I certainly admired him in his porn films...yes, I watch porn). He's definitely an interesting guy, and I'll give him some props for trying to be more than just a big schlong on the screen. I've read one of his novels (kind of a mess), and I've read his poetry (put the verse down, Aiden!) and while this memoir is slightly better written, it doesn't say much about its subject.
What it does say: Shaw has done a lot of drugs. A LOT OF DRUGS. He has tried his hand at a singing career, with a lot of drugs. He's had a lot of sex, beyond his filming, and always with a good dose of drugs (I don't know how he did it). He's tried to fall in love, many times, and seemingly right after having sex with someone, and all of those relationships were chaotic and included a lot of drugs.
I'm not slamming his use of drugs (true confession: I've done a lot of drugs too, and for many of the same reasons as Shaw). I just found it odd that all of his lamenting of lost loves and not finding true meaning to his life, he never connected the drugs to his problem.
Shaw's been out of the adult film biz since 2004 (I think was his last film). I looked him up online and he's had a modest career as a model (he's 59 and rocks a good Dad model head of gray hair). I don't know that I'll read his other two novels. I think I might own one of them already.
I'll still count him as a kind of personal hero, if only for surviving the 1990s and early 2000s in a drug-fueled party mode (me too).
What it does say: Shaw has done a lot of drugs. A LOT OF DRUGS. He has tried his hand at a singing career, with a lot of drugs. He's had a lot of sex, beyond his filming, and always with a good dose of drugs (I don't know how he did it). He's tried to fall in love, many times, and seemingly right after having sex with someone, and all of those relationships were chaotic and included a lot of drugs.
I'm not slamming his use of drugs (true confession: I've done a lot of drugs too, and for many of the same reasons as Shaw). I just found it odd that all of his lamenting of lost loves and not finding true meaning to his life, he never connected the drugs to his problem.
Shaw's been out of the adult film biz since 2004 (I think was his last film). I looked him up online and he's had a modest career as a model (he's 59 and rocks a good Dad model head of gray hair). I don't know that I'll read his other two novels. I think I might own one of them already.
I'll still count him as a kind of personal hero, if only for surviving the 1990s and early 2000s in a drug-fueled party mode (me too).
February 8, 2021
This autobiography serves as testament to one of the most vain, self centered, self absorbed, narcissistic, delusional people I’ve ever had the displeasure to read about. To say Shaw comes off as unlikeable is an understatement. He is vapid, overly critical, overly emotional, downright bitchy, and self obsessed.. to the point it is impossible to feel any connection to or with him. {Not to mention the drug use he mentions would literally kill someone so it smacks of hyperbole and gross untruths.} And the name dropping? Sigh. This book is trash, mama.
December 11, 2025
It's an intriguing read that offers some hot and bothered moments, capturing the reader's attention at times. However, overall, it fell a bit flat for me. I had high expectations and was hoping for a more engaging narrative. Unfortunately, the memoir felt somewhat boring and didn't quite deliver the depth or excitement I anticipated. It's an okay read, but I think it might not resonate with everyone looking for a dynamic or compelling story from Shaw.
February 17, 2025
Interesting read…quite out of my comfort zone, which I like to do occasionally!
Aidan is pretty raw on the details and makes no apology as stated at the start.
What I’d have liked to see more of would be discouraging readers not to experiment with as many drugs as he did…it’s a wonder he was alive to write this book!
Overall, a unique and interesting insight.
Aidan is pretty raw on the details and makes no apology as stated at the start.
What I’d have liked to see more of would be discouraging readers not to experiment with as many drugs as he did…it’s a wonder he was alive to write this book!
Overall, a unique and interesting insight.
October 6, 2021
Thought I'd enjoy this more but it was just okay. Not everyone's life is that interesting and not much sex as you'd think. Living through his 15 minutes still piques my interest. No memoir is that great; this was written better than his actual book, Brutal.
January 25, 2021
Interesting read.
July 1, 2023
3.5 stars. First book I chose to read for Pride Month. A good story about recovery with a bit of insight into the gay porn industry.
August 17, 2024
Ugh, it was a chore getting through this book. No lessons learned.
December 21, 2024
The most solipsistic and insight-free memoir I've ever read.
March 1, 2015
I picked this up because I was interested to read about a gay porn star's life, their interests in the medium and their experience of love. I had seen Shaw on Tumblr as a model and was surprised to learn he did gay porn. When I discovered he had written two biographies I was eager to know more about his life. Call me a sucker for curiosity but I've always been attracted to the darker seedier side of life without actually wanting to take part in any of it. I also wanted to know if porn life was interesting or just as unglamorous as I suspected. And to some degree, it seems like it is.
The problem that I found with this book is that there is very little introspection; and when there is, it is fleeting. The commentary is completely one dimensional that when Shaw does begin to dive deeper, he ponders for a sentence and then moves on. It's a shame really, because I was hoping he would be more open and vulnerable to exploring the fears and addictions in his life. I can see the hypersensitivity in his manner (especially in how he reacts and deals with stuff), but alas, most of his book was very pedestrian.
Yes, it is self-absorbing material but it was his life and it is, in effect, a biography. But I will be honest and say that I walked away from this book liking him less than when I started.
The problem that I found with this book is that there is very little introspection; and when there is, it is fleeting. The commentary is completely one dimensional that when Shaw does begin to dive deeper, he ponders for a sentence and then moves on. It's a shame really, because I was hoping he would be more open and vulnerable to exploring the fears and addictions in his life. I can see the hypersensitivity in his manner (especially in how he reacts and deals with stuff), but alas, most of his book was very pedestrian.
Yes, it is self-absorbing material but it was his life and it is, in effect, a biography. But I will be honest and say that I walked away from this book liking him less than when I started.
December 14, 2008
I love biographies. In Shaw's, he escapes what pop stars, porn stars, heiresses and other often self-important people do in autobiographies, which is, take as a given how interesting they are. As a result, there is a great deal of sincerity in the book, particularly as he discusses his securities, and doing so without self-indulgence. Though very much an able writer who writes with tremendous clarity, what the manuscript needs is just a little more depth in Shaw's self-reflection or rather, some more time or words teasing out some of the most important relationships he has had. There is a powerful counterpoint to the central, dysfunctional relationship in the book (that of Shaw and Luke), and that is of Shaw and his ex-boyfriend David. I finished the book wondering if Shaw has really figured out what his relationship to David truly means and how deep that well goes. It is a very engaging biography, unconsciously taking the task to de-glamorized what probably brings most people to read this book, which is, the porn star mystique.
June 9, 2010
this book gives an interesting snapshot of what it's like to be an hiv+ pornstar who uses drugs nonstop. i always wondered what it was like to "have everything." and from reading the book it seems that having everything is synonymous with being somewhat vapid. i don't mean that in an insulting way. it was a great picture of the type of life one leads doing this type of work.
that being said, it was interesting to see that aiden did have some moments where he realized that something was "wrong," and that he needed help. however, it seemed that that only happened after several potentially life-threatening events took place.
i found that his discussion about "love" and sex was somewhat vague and was looking to find it between the lines.
overall, this book was well-written, interesting and will have me thinking for a while after having read it.
that being said, it was interesting to see that aiden did have some moments where he realized that something was "wrong," and that he needed help. however, it seemed that that only happened after several potentially life-threatening events took place.
i found that his discussion about "love" and sex was somewhat vague and was looking to find it between the lines.
overall, this book was well-written, interesting and will have me thinking for a while after having read it.
February 28, 2008
pass! despite my love for the person who gifted it to me, i didn't get much out of this book. so this ex porn star and hustler starts having these realizations like "you know, maybe life isn't all about sex and drugs," all the while continuing to make the same choices over and over, including the scintillating photo of himself on the cover. i want to respect his process, and he was probably really hurt growing up (i don't remember if he discussed his childhood sitch), but he seems to be a lot of talk and not a lot of follow-through. (ha! i couldn't very well say "no action").
September 11, 2010
I guess after so many chapters it just got too numbing to see how much drugs and sex one person can really have over the course of a year; while also reading everyone else is doing it to and in the end he still doesn't understand the messed up decision he returns to. Meh! I might have believed it more if it were fiction.
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