Dear Sex Worker Artist...

by Alyssa Aparicio

Dear Sex Worker Artist,

You’re making great art (or you have a strong desire to).

And I’m here to remind you that you don’t have to wait for your art to be deemed valid by any gatekeeper.

You’re also allowed to make art for art’s sake. In fact, you should.

It’s not fair that because of your history, your present, your art is often cast to the shadows. Because your depths are rich and valuable. Your stories are worth telling. They’re worth hearing, too.

To look your work in the eyes, the average person has to confront the fact that they “could never.”

Never imagine, never dare, never understand the lived experiences you have.

Few are willing to expand their reality beyond the confines of what feels safe to them, what’s acceptable. Fewer are willing to admit that they desire to explore, to learn, to know beyond their comfort zone. This confrontation can be triggering for someone who isn’t ready to face their limitations. And based on varying reactions by one or by many, your art work goes unseen and gets pushed further and further away from center.

How do I know? Because I am a Sex Worker Artist and that has been my experience.

Allow me to share a slice of what I’ve lived, what I’ve learned, and what I propose we do about it.

I recently had the experience of applying to a civilian grant that was a really big deal to me.

The project idea came to me like divine intervention—the opportunity came through my alma mater. I was convinced that the grant was meant for me. I worked on the proposal for about a month. All the while, trying to rectify how to share myself and what I’m about without scaring the committee off with my history of sex work and radical ideas. This proposal actually had nothing to do with my career as a stripper, but it was me—the outspoken 10-year veteran stripper—who was pouring my heart and soul into it.

While preparing my artistic resume, I wrote fervently and communicated with past professors and advisors. I wrestled with how to share about the work that kept me busiest, fed, and fueled any/all creative projects over the last decade: stripping. Sure—I had much to write about in my resume, but none of it supported me and called me to act the way my passionate vision for a liberated and destigmatized sexuality did; or my calling to create safe spaces for the embodiment and exploration of that sexuality, which were deeply intertwined with my chosen career as a stripper.

There was one day in particular where I felt so damn discouraged as I tweaked my resume for the hundredth time. I was struggling with what to reveal and what to omit. I felt so saddened by having to hide parts of myself that I consider essential to my art and mission. They say it’s hard for a stripper to explain gaps in her resume. But damn! I didn’t want to leave any of it out. My previous application to this same grant was extremely forward about my work in the realm of sexuality and sex work- and it was denied. This was my final chance to apply and the payout would be life changing and career altering.

On that very same day, the film Anora won SIX ACADEMY AWARDS. I was shook. Speechless. Inspired. The speech given by the lead actress who accepted the award blew me away. She shouted out sex workers who contributed to the film and led with Kennady Schneider, the Movement Director/Choreographer for the film who I had met at a gig before. Charm, a fellow Stripper Co-Op Member, who was an actress in the film, was on stage to accept the award. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It felt like a massive win for sex workers everywhere and it happened the day before International Sex Workers’ Rights Day.

Could it be that this film was actually made with integrity and did proper research, featured actual strippers and then acknowledged those strippers and sex workers out loud at one of the biggest televised events of the year? YES, it seems that actually happened! And what progress that seems to be.

I felt hope. What a contrast to the despair I had felt all day long trudging through the application.

Sex work could be shouted out on one of the biggest platforms in television, at one of the most prestigious stages in the world. Art about sex work could be honored with this major award. In this moment, that was reality.

And yet, also reality, this win is not reflected in the experiences of the majority of Sex Worker Artists.

Just a couple months before this, one of my Substack blogs was abruptly demonetized by Stripe. The reason? It included “sexually related” content. How utterly vague and sex-negative of a reason! My appeal was denied and I was never able to have a conversation with anyone to retrieve it. For me personally, every day is a game figuring out how to exist, share, and make a living as a sex-positive creator in a hostile internet landscape. Shadowbans and deplatforming—it’s a constant reality for us Sex Worker Artists. Mass media keeps showing us it isn’t ready to hear about sex work through sex workers’ own perspective. And it’s deeply frustrating.

But we’re out here.

And our art deserves to get made, to get funded, to be seen, and to be celebrated.

I’m so grateful that this glorious Anora moment occurred at the Academy Awards. And also, like you, I am present in the reality that there is more pressure against sex-worker-made art than there are support networks to uplift it.

I didn’t get the grant and it really sucked. But I won’t give up on the vision or on creating my art that continues to push the boundaries of convention.

And actually, by being plugged in with a handful of organizations led by and for sex workers, I’ve received some opportunities lately because of my role as a Sex Worker Artist and Advocate, not despite it.

Organizations that include BIPOC SWWC, which you’re reading right now, Sex Workers’ Film & Arts Festival that honors films made by sex workers, and YAS Work which is a non-profit that provides a platform for sex workers to receive media opportunities and to be hired for media consulting.

I’ve had the honor of having a rich creative life intertwined with my stripper identity including my participation in Stripper Co-Op shows and as a Founding Member. I had the delight of collaborating on an episode of Stupid Hawt Cooking Show, brainchild of Riv. (Yes, our episode was unfairly taken down from YouTube but it now lives on here.)

Carving out pathways that combine my many vast experiences, and not excluding this element of my past, is far more gratifying than limiting myself to fit into the narratives acceptable by the gatekeepers. And yet without the support and collaboration of the community, I would certainly feel lonely AF.

This essay does not propose to have any answers, but rather to inspire you to tap into your community, keep believing in your art and keep supporting the community of sex workers that you see taking steps to create powerful art despite pushback, stigma, censorship, and isolation. We need each other as a network more than ever and with enough of us, we can continue to create spaces for thriving on our own so we don’t have to answer to anyone or plead for resources.

This is also a reminder that creating art itself is worth it. It allows you to sort through the raw material of your own inner and outer life. This is alchemy. And regardless of any outside validation, it’s important that you, as a creative person (and I do believe we all have creativity inside of us) continue creating because the act of creation itself is integral to well being.

Whether you desire for your work to be seen by the masses, a few close friends, or no one ever, give yourself the opportunity to take out the pen, take out the camera, take out the paints, or computer, to create simply because you feel the urge. Start small or go big, but whatever you do, don’t stop.

This simple act is radical in and of itself.

Dear Sex Worker Artist, keep creating your art or begin now. Your stories are worth telling. They’re worth hearing too.

Photo Credit: Alyssa Aparicio