Dear Melania,
I didn’t think I was a sex worker either. After all, I worked at an upscale gentlemen’s club. Stripping has nothing to do with sex, I thought.
Then I heard about the whorearchy. Just like it sounds, it’s a classification of “whores.”
Some say the top of the whorearchy holds the most glamorized jobs, like that of a porn star. Others say the top of the whorearchy is reserved for jobs with the least amount of physical contact, like phone sex operators or strippers.
Towards the bottom of the whorearchy are web based sex workers. On the very bottom are the most vulnerable, street based sex workers.
https://twitter.com/LittleEmilyLove/status/764245023495892992
Today, I realize that I was not only a sex worker, but I was a privileged one at that. I never worried for my safety at work. I never had to fear arrest.
A person’s place on the whorearchy has nothing to do with class or character. It has everything to do with privilege.
I’ll give you an example: At one club they weighed us. I’m tall; at 5’7″ I was allowed to weigh up to 130 pounds. I’m fairly certain that was written in my contract along with: must be tan, must have manicured nails.
Not written in the contract was that I should remain very young. That white girls received preference, particularly blondes.
Melania, I know you had to meet requirements to be a model too.
Perhaps, I would have preferred to pose in front of a camera then to have rowdy drunks throw crumpled dollars at my privates. Perhaps not. It wasn’t an option for me, so that doesn’t really matter.
But Melania, I want you to know we all do the best we can.
Did you know that my sex work wasn’t always so glamorous?
Once upon a time, I found myself a homeless runaway, wandering the streets of Baltimore. There, I met a man in his mid twenties. I thought he was cute, and that was the first time I engaged in survival sex. That’s the exchange of sex for basic needs, such as a place to stay.
I didn’t think I was a sex worker then either. I thought, “I had a new boyfriend.” He was nice to me. I was lucky.
Melania, I understand your relationship with Donald is different. You probably had your choice of rich men. You might have waited until the third date. I imagine Donald sent a car service to pick you up. I imagine he slipped you the keys to the mansion over a lobster and champagne dinner.
Dear Melania, I understand that you would never have sex for some floor space and a bowl of Ramen, but some of us do.
Dear Melania, I understand that you would never have sex for money, but some of us have.
And Melania… Did you know that I like lobster too?
I’m sorry that you think the allegations that you were a sex worker are “defamatory.” I’m sure you’ve been through things in your life too. You are under no obligation to share those with us.
Dear Melania, I understand you do not wish to identify as a former sex worker. But Melania, whether you were or were not, please don’t forget about us.
We’re not that different.
lmao at least as a hooker I get to control my cash and the misogyny flow
— Witch Prostitute ? (@gwynn_nell) August 23, 2016
P.S. I thought you looked gorgeous in your nude photos.
This piece was written by an underemployed former sex worker. It was written at a fast food joint with free WiFi. #nomoneynoproblems
@MBallerina I struggle to believe she would be w/ him were he Dave the local plumber.
— Showgirls Int. (@showgirlsint) August 23, 2016
Featured Image: Screenshot Via Wochit News YouTube Video.
