What do you think?
Rate this book


162 pages, Paperback
First published March 11, 2014
Opponents, from the European Women's Lobby to reactionary feminist bloggers, like to claim that sex workers insist it is “a job like any other” but sex workers do not make this claim – unless by this anti-sex work activists agree with sex workers that the conditions under which sexual services are offered can be as unstable and undesirable as those cutting cuticles, giving colonics, or diapering someone else's babies.
It gives the producers jobs, the effectiveness of which is measured by a subjective accounting of how much they are being talked about.
They hire Hollywood bros like Ashton Kutcher and Sean Penn to make clicky little public service announcements for Youtube in which they tell their fans, “Real Men don't buy girls.”
Rather than egalitarian consciousness-raising, the sharing of stories took on an air of sentimental performance. […] The whole room was emotionally whipped up into a rage with their own private images of child rape, while at the same time, revelling in the awfulness of it. [..] How are you to say that the description of the child's violation by a woman on a stage itself mines a pornographic revelation. How is this group of women's consumption of the evil of pornography in a group exhibition all that different from the men seated in a Times Square theater having their own communal experience of porn?
There is a sameness here to the communal release of feeling, the shaking of the body whether consumed by sobs or ejaculations: This is what film theorist Linda Williams saw in her analysis of porn films and “weepies” - chick flicks. To be in these rooms of women raging against pornography is to give in to the hawker's pavement promise of “hardcore” relief. The women whose relationship to pornography has never included participants in it are only incidentally concerned with the actual women in it.
How are you to say that the description of the child's violation by a woman on a stage itself mines a pornographic revelation?
There were no prostitutes in Pompeii.
It's the nineteenth century that brings us the person of the prostitute
A client can expect that several workers are available on each shift, and some workers will want to do what he wants to and some won't. A receptionist will take his call, or answer his e-mail, and assign him to a worker based on what he'd like, and the worker's preferences, and mutual availability. Some dungeons might post their workers specialities on a website. They might also keep them listed in a binder next to the phone, the workers each taking turns playing receptionist, matching clients to workers over the shift. After each appointment the worker would write up a short memo and file it for future reference should the client call again, so that others would know more about him.
They cannot speak much German […] The youngest women in the brothel are eighteen; most aren't much older than twenty. [...]men make their way up and down the stairs, wandering along the corridors to see who's accepting custom. […] They work, live and sleep in their one room in the brothel. […] Each woman here has to pay the brothel owner €120 a day for the use of a room. This means she will have to perform sex acts on four men before she breaks even, more if she's paying off rent from previous days. I ask Sabine how long the women's doors are open to men walking the corridors. 'Seven days a week and about sixteen hours a day.' […] they are plied with drugs because 'for one thing they suffer pain, genuine physical pain... They are fucked from all sides.'
New Zealand's model of decriminalized prostitution was advanced by sex workers, and has since been evaluated with their participation (and largely to their satisfaction)
Doing this each time they find a body, crying for all these cameras. It was like their currency. It's what they've got left.
Dacia told me that, in a way, it was worse than that. There weren't as many cameras today as there were last time.
I found Playing the Whore to be a fresh, innovative, and strongly voiced reflection on sex worker politics. So I was a little thrown off when I turned to the reviews—as well as the comments on various blogs, Goodreads, and Amazon—to find how many readers found the book to be tired, wandering, and ranting. Perhaps my bias in favor of desacralizing sex made me completely forgiving of some issues of tone that I didn’t not notice, and completely sympathetic to the book’s central notion that sex work is work and should be afforded the protections of work.
In this review I want to voice my reaction to Playing the Whore and its disappointed readers in two ways. In the first part I’ll suggest the kind of book this book is not. Perhaps this may be helpful to the many readers who found it a frustrating read, but who also mentioned that they had caught glimpses of its intelligence and power. Perhaps an explicit consideration of how this argument does not proceed will help such readers recognize and bracket expectations they may have imposed upon it. Maybe, then, it can be given another shot on its own terms. In the second part I’ll restate Grant’s central arguments and add commentary about why I find them to be so persuasive. My audience for this effort is, again, those of her intrigued readers who had a decisively mixed reaction to her arguments as arguments.
--One of the ways a reader and a book can miss each other is when the reader is looking for the book to do stuff the book itself has no interest in doing. So here are some observations about what the book is not attempting.
This is not an outreach book.
Playing the Whore does not seek to persuade those who think that sex work isn’t work by confronting the reasons that they might think that in a staged pro-con debate. Such a book would be an interesting act of citizenship and I wish someone would write it, but that’s not what’s happening here. Instead this author seeks to be persuasive by citing ethnographers, anthropologists, and sociologists who’ve studied the views of sex workers by talking to them to establish the proposition that for the vast majority of those who do it, sex work feels like the other kinds of work that they have also done. She will then go on to argue that to grant sex workers the dignity of their own understanding of their own motivations would radically change the conversation around sex work.
This is not a book on Sex Worker Feminism 101, nor a manifesto.
A representative Goodreads comment complains, “The illustrations and polemics (one might say rants) collected here demonstrate that the prevailing logic about sex work is inadequate, but the book fails to cohere into a helpful alternative way to think about sex work.” I would agree with this reader that there is more critique here than affirmative program, but I would also say that demonstrating the inadequacy of the prevailing logic of a very deeply held set of cultural beliefs is kind of a lot. I appreciate the hunger to be taught more of the background of the arguments used so that their coherence and implication might have the look and feel of a more executive view, but would also point out that the book’s humility strikes me as one of its virtues. Grant knows what she knows deftly, even tenaciously, but it was my impression that she wanted to admit an element of uncertainty about how to go forward. Her plea isn’t for this or that unified policy, but the more democratic call that sex workers be included in policy discussions so as to become less its object and more its subject.
The What-Is-To-Be-Done question remains for each sympathetic reader within the confines of his or her activist circumstances, but the preference for decriminalizing or legalizing sex work perhaps along the lines of the New Zeeland model, revoking the policy of making U.S. foreign aid contingent on the distressed government signing an anti-prostitution pledge, asking law enforcement to work with a much more informed and nuanced distinction between prostitution and trafficking, as well as support for the positions with respect to prostitution articulated by The World Health Organization, Human Rights Watch, Amnesty International as well as SWOP (Sex Workers Outreach Program) seem pretty programmatically clear-cut.
This is not a memoir.
Although Grant lets it be known that she has done sex work and so considers herself to be speaking as one of the “them” against whom so much public scorn and police resources have been directed, her arguments do not draw upon her particular experience in this labor market. She explains why: “So often in telling sex work stories, the storytelling process is a form of striptease indistinguishable from sex work itself, a demand to create a satisfyingly revealing story, for audiences whose interest is disguised as compassion or curiosity.” In a word, she has learned it’s not safe for a sex worker to tell her story. It seems that given the surrounding culture they can only be read, and so can only be written, as a story of degradation or empowerment. If this seems like an extreme generalization, try to find an existing narrative about doing sex work that can’t be reduced to the proposition that the work is dehumanizing or (less often but at least as suspect) liberating.
But while this is not a memoir, I think it is fair to call it a work of intellectual biography—a reckoning and coming to terms with the sources that have produced her mind. Grant has long been reflecting on the way in which the figure of the prostitute has appeared in media and been used by those whose sense of their own respectability dictates a condemnatory stance. She’s invested a good part of her life reading and thinking and writing about labor, sex, activism, and politics, and sussing out the forces that resist seeing the commonality between sex work and other kinds of intimate service. She’s also interviewed and worked with and been an activist alongside of those seeking to have the needs and concerns of sex workers included in policy debates about prostitution and trafficking. She’s also apparently spent a good amount of time in the COYOTE and the Center for Sex and Culture archives steeping herself in the history of sex worker advocacy and its complicated and ever-changing relation to other feminisms.
So her influences are myriad and her absorption of them strike me as mighty and not impersonal, and yet I suspect it’s this virtue that causes spot problems with the book’s tone. Here and there you’re not sure who she’s talking to, or you realize that she’s talking to fellow sex workers now when just a paragraph ago she was talking to a general leftish wonkish reader or those who hew to a particular line of academic analysis which is not itself fully cited. I say this in an effort to acknowledge the perceptions of readers who did not feel the book was for them, but I also say it to insist the book is or can be for any reader ambitious to come under the influence of a deeply sourced work that breaks new ground.
--Having discussed what the book is not, I’ll now sketch and comment on what I see as its three most innovative and well-made arguments.
Argument One: If the arc of history is to bend toward justice the set of automatic, default assumptions about women who sell sex must change.
Playing the Whore takes a long and large view by taking note of how the figure of the woman who sells sex has evolved. In Grant’s words, “Commercial sex—as a practice and an industry—as well as the class of people within it are continuously being reinvented.” She goes on to describe how the pre-modern figure of the whore was used to designate any woman who, for whatever reason, had sex outside marriage.
Women who sold sexual services didn't get to have their own special smear word until the late Nineteenth Century. It has only been in the last hundred and thirty years or so that the term “prostitute,” a word which originally meant to sell something illicit, came to exclusively designate women who fucked for money. The whore was an outcast, but the prostitute was seen as a fallen woman assumed to have an original dignity. Like the whore she was despised, but now with an admixture of pity. In the public mind she was “a fantasy of absolute degradation.” From the point of view of respectability politics she was a problem to be solved, and a set of do-gooder charitable institutions and legal interventions arose to try to save her, in a telling phrase, “for her own good.” And that’s kind of where we are now. Grant embraces “sex worker” as the progressive term. It has the virtue of having been coined (in the 1970’s) by a woman in the trade and has been adopted by the activist and advocacy organizations formed by sex workers themselves. In recent years it seems to have gained some traction in the larger community.Argument Two: Sex work is work.
This is the book’s main argument, and I wish she had been just a little less subtle and a bit more direct in dealing with her main non-argumentative opponent: the yuck factor. Because people who don’t think sex work is work don’t think that because when they imagine themselves doing it what comes to them, to use a crucial phrase quoted earlier, is “a fantasy of absolute degradation.” If you opine that the laws against soliciting and prostitution are absurd such people will taunt you with, “Would you want your daughter doing sex work?” as if the only thing standing between doing sex work and not are harsh laws against it. If my worst nightmare is entering relations with a stranger for any reason whatsoever except experimental or marital intimacy, to say that an exchange of money can make a sex act into an act of labor is going to make as much sense to me as to call acting in a snuff film acting.
What Grant might say if she were to speak directly to those fighting to be rational against their own yuck factor is: “It’s not about you.” Or even, “It’s only about you if you make it about you—and before you do that you might want to talk to the folks having sex for money to see if maybe different folks have different yuck thresholds, perhaps related to being in different economic circumstances.” She then goes on to explain that the work of sex work doesn’t take place at the moment of penetrative horror as it’s imagined by a non-sex worker. It is, rather, the more prosaic pretending of a certain kind of mutuality.
Acting as if we share our customers’ desires is the work of sex work. But that’s not the same as allowing our customers to define our sexuality….Sex work is not simply sex; it is a performance, it is playing a role, demonstrating a skill, developing empathy within a set of professional boundaries. All this could be more easily recognized and respected as labor were it the labor of a nurse, a therapist, or a nanny. To insist that sex work is work is also to affirm there is a difference between a sexualized form of labor and sexuality itself.
Let’s be clear: Nobody is trying to wish the yuck factor away. What is being called for, instead, is the common sense recognition that all labor is more or less alienating. A therapist doesn’t listen to you because he cares what you think, not the way a friend might care. A nanny doesn’t change a kid’s diapers because she shares a natural bond with him. A nurse doesn’t debride an old man’s bedsores because she’s only all about healing. Money creates these relationships. And moreover, people are often grossed out at work. In fact, learning not to be grossed out is a big part of the early learning curve of many professions. The more one thinks about the all too arbitrary and personal and distributed nature of the yuck factor, the less sense it makes to make policy in its name.
Argument Three: Sex work is work, but it’s not yet “a job like any other.”
A law against theft endangers me only at the moment that I steal, but the criminalization of sex work leads to the police going on the Internet to pose as customers so as to entrap sex workers (and in some jurisdictions their prospective clients). It would be as if they set valuable apparently unsecured items in front of me hoping I would take them so that they could swoop down on me and read me my rights. And what sex workers are arrested for is very rarely having sex, but for agreeing to have sex. “Prostitution is,” Grant observes, “much of the time, a talking crime.” It’s also a crime that rarely goes to trial because the point of these arrests is harassment—cuffing, humiliation, publication, making the work more dangerous and unpleasant. In the age of the Internet when the street scene has largely disappeared, the point of stings is in no non-tortured sense the protection of the law-abiding from the law-breaking. This climate of illegality leads to a big package deal of distorted thinking.
"Crimininalization” isn’t just a law on the books but a state of being and moving in the world, of forming relationships—of having them predetermined for you. This is why we demonize the customer’s perspective on the sex worker as one of absolute control, why we situate the real violence sex workers can face as the individual [violent] man’s responsibility, and why we imagine that all sex workers must be powerless to say no.
From the viewpoint of most sex workers, Grant again cites the appropriate studies, what makes sex work unsafe isn’t as much customers as it is the police. This happens in two ways. First, they create the vulnerability of sex workers to criminally inclined clients by necessitating all-too-private encounters. Second, when a work-related crime is committed against a sex worker she becomes vulnerable to marking herself as a criminal by reporting it.
--The walls of marijuana prohibition are being torn down, and big city American mayors and Latin American presidents are talking about “harm reduction” and “despenilizado” as preferred strategies to a war on harder drugs. Other once taboo behaviors are also being reconsidered. New Jersey is trying to get the federal ban on sports betting lifted, and the state of Delaware is selling its citizens parlay cards. The Supreme Court has determined that States can not outlaw acts of sodomy, and pretty near everybody probably knows some sodomites and thinks that they’re nice people. Perhaps most importantly, the fact that the U.S. incarcerates a far greater percentage of its citizens than any other country is starting to be felt as shameful even by those law-and-order types who take specific pride in the fact that their daughters are not whores.
These things are happening because libertarian talking points are being explored, expounded, and modified by liberal politicians and left-leaning intellectuals. Melisa Gira Grant is a journalistic leader in this movement, and I think her eloquent voicing of this newly synthesized point of view as it pertains to sex work is important because I think politics are important. This is a book that at times preaches to the choir, but in a new idiom of representivity and solidarity. Does one dare to hope that a rare moment is upon us when the message might find it's way to the world at large? In the near future might a new liberal sensibility on these matters make common cause with the non-theocratic sectors of the small government parties so that they might go forth together to change the law?