There’s a moment in The White Lotus Season 3 where a wealthy guest casually asks a young woman if she’s "doing this for herself"-a line that lands like a punch to the ribs. It’s not the first time the show has exposed how privilege twists intimacy into performance. But this time, it’s not just about power dynamics. It’s about branding. About the quiet, glossy rise of sex work as a "girlboss" lifestyle choice-flawless lighting, curated captions, and the illusion of control wrapped in luxury packaging.
It’s easy to see why this narrative sticks. People want to believe in agency. They want to think that selling sex is just another entrepreneurial hustle, like starting a Shopify store or launching a podcast. And sure, some people do find autonomy in it. But when you start calling a vip escort london a "CEO of pleasure," you’re not celebrating freedom-you’re sanitizing exploitation. The same women who are praised for "owning their sexuality" are often the same ones who can’t afford to leave because rent is high, student loans are crushing, and the gig economy doesn’t offer benefits.
What Happens When Sex Work Becomes a Brand
The rise of influencer culture turned intimacy into content. Instagram reels show women in silk robes lighting candles, captioning posts with "self-care is a business." TikTok trends teach viewers how to "price your value" like a consultant. The language is all corporate: boundaries, packages, retention rates, client onboarding. It sounds professional. It looks empowering. But behind the filter, the reality is messier.
There’s a difference between choosing to sell sex because you want to, and choosing it because you have no other option that pays enough to survive. The show doesn’t shy away from this. One character, a former college student turned high-end companion, admits she doesn’t even like the people she sleeps with. She does it because the money lets her pay for her sister’s therapy. That’s not a startup. That’s survival dressed in designer lingerie.
The Myth of the Independent Worker
Sex workers are often told they’re "independent contractors." But independence doesn’t mean freedom when you’re working for a platform that can ban you without explanation, or when your only clients are men who treat you like a product they paid to rent. The "girlboss" narrative ignores the fact that most sex workers don’t have HR departments, workers’ comp, or legal recourse when things go wrong.
Even the so-called "elite" services-like those marketed as
Why the White Lotus Gets It Right
What makes The White Lotus so sharp isn’t its luxury sets or its wealthy villains. It’s how it shows the emotional labor behind the performance. The women in the show aren’t glamorous entrepreneurs. They’re exhausted. They smile when they want to cry. They memorize names, preferences, and trauma triggers because their income depends on making clients feel special-even when they feel nothing.
One scene shows a woman cleaning up after a client who vomited on her dress. She doesn’t complain. She just changes clothes and goes back to work. No one applauds her. No one posts about it. That’s the real story behind the curated feeds: the cleanup, the silence, the loneliness.
The Danger of Romanticizing Survival
When media portrays sex work as glamorous, it doesn’t help the people doing it. It makes it harder for them to ask for help. It makes society less likely to fund safe housing, legal support, or mental health services. It turns a systemic issue into a personal choice-and then blames the individual when things go wrong.
And it’s not just media. Even some feminist circles have jumped on the "girlboss sex worker" bandwagon. But true liberation doesn’t come from selling your body as a lifestyle brand. It comes from dismantling the systems that force people into it in the first place. Affordable housing. Living wages. Access to healthcare. These aren’t buzzwords. They’re lifelines.
What’s Missing From the Conversation
No one talks about the women who want out but can’t. No one talks about the ones who get arrested for solicitation while their clients walk free. No one talks about the girls from Eastern Europe or Southeast Asia who are trafficked under the guise of "modeling jobs" and end up in apartments in London, Paris, or New York, terrified to speak up.
And then there’s the hypocrisy. The same people who cheer on the "girlboss" sex worker will recoil if you mention a man paying for sex with a teenager. But the line between "consensual adult work" and coercion isn’t always clear-and it’s not the woman’s job to draw it. It’s society’s job to make sure she never has to.
The Real Cost of the Fantasy
There’s a reason the best London escort agency websites look like high-end travel brochures. They sell an experience, not a service. They sell the fantasy that you can buy connection, intimacy, or even love. And the people who buy into that fantasy? They’re not the villains. They’re often lonely, disconnected, and desperate for something real. But the system doesn’t care. It just keeps selling.
The problem isn’t sex work. The problem is a world that makes it the only option for too many people-and then turns them into influencers to make the rest of us feel better about it.
What Should Change
Instead of turning sex workers into content, we should be listening to them. The ones who’ve been doing this for years. The ones who’ve seen clients come and go. The ones who know the difference between choice and coercion.
Decriminalization works. Portugal, New Zealand, and parts of Australia have shown that when sex work is treated as labor-not crime-workers are safer, have access to healthcare, and can report abuse without fear. That’s the kind of support that actually empowers people. Not a LinkedIn post about "hustle culture."
And if you’re going to admire someone’s "business acumen," ask yourself: Are they thriving-or just surviving? Are they choosing this because they want to, or because they have to? And if it’s the latter, why aren’t we fixing the system instead of glamorizing the symptoms?
Because here’s the truth: no one should have to sell their body to pay rent. And no amount of candlelit photos or viral reels will change that.
The next time you see a post about "owning your sexuality," look past the filter. See the person behind it. And ask: What would it take for them to walk away? And why haven’t we made that possible yet?
