Tag: prostitution

Respectable whores

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Through a sequence of events that aren’t particularly significant in themselves, I’ve been pondering the following question: Is a feminist stance in favour of prostitution feasible?

Some reading-up on the matter has unearthed what appears to be a fairly contentious debate (see, e.g., [1]).

In summary, “radical feminists have tended to see prostitution as the ‘absolute embodiment of male patriarchal privilege’ and have called for its outright rejection,” while “pro-sex feminists, often drawing on the writing of sex-workers themselves, see prostitution as a form of erotic labour whose conditions require scrutiny, but which is not inherently incompatible with a feminist stance.”

While I form my own opinions on the matter, I thought it’d be interesting to open-up this topic for discussion.

Suppose the woman enters the profession of her own free will, and is comfortable in separating her private life from her work. Suppose she retains sovereignty in conducting her sexual interactions. Suppose she deems it a viable form of employment—preferable to the low-paid and unsatisfying jobs she’s otherwise found herself in the past.

How far would you need to push such conditionals to become in favour? Or would you stay staunchly against regardless?

[1] “‘Tis Pity She’s a Whore,” Dee Amy-Chinn, Feminist Media Studies 6 (2): pp. 175–190.

Reading Elaina

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It wasn’t hard to understand the confused glances I was receiving from Elaina on the couch across my coffee table. As clearly as I’d explained to the lady I’d spoken to when I called the escort service that I wasn’t looking for sex, that information hadn’t been relayed to the timid East-European woman staring bewildered at me upon hearing the question I’d just presented.

“You heard me right, my dear, I’d like to take you out,” I continue to push. “What kinds of things do you do for fun?”

I’d assumed it ought to be possible. After all, she was from an escort service; and all I was asking of her was to escort me somewhere, anywhere she fancied. Without seeking too much pity, I briefly chronicled to her the social handicap I was attempting to overcome. I believed I’d gotten through; hoping that interacting with her over a delightful dinner, or shopping for fancy shoes together, or ridiculing the production values of the cheesy movie we’d just watched, or anything else, really, would provide me a relatively anxiety-free opportunity to carefully observe—and hopefully make sense of—how a woman responds to varying social cues. Like I tried explaining to her, “… to get a handle on the social dynamics associated with dating.”

But it wasn’t to be.

Her top faded soon thereafter, along with her timorous demeanour.

I’d just like to point out that this entry is entirely a work of fiction, and is, in a sense, a set up for the next. You see, with the structure of my doctoral dissertation slowly beginning to crystallise, I’m beginning to spend hours working on serious, scientific and technical content. My brain was itching to pen something fictional.

There, I’m glad we cleared all that up.