TW: mention of rape
For those who do not regularly, or ever, watch porn, the world of sex work is shrouded in mystery. Even those who do rarely understand how the content is created or give a second thought to the women involved. Either way, despite social media being a hot bed for controversial debate and education, sex work remains an incredibly taboo topic, even a grey area in the eyes of the British law. Ranging from hardcore professional pornography videos and underground prostitution, to selling seemingly harmless bikini pics online, the debate over whether sex work can ever not just benefit but actively empower women is complex and multi-faceted, touching on issues of autonomy, exploitation, and systemic misogyny. For some women, sex work offers financial independence and the possibility of reclaiming control over their bodies; for others, the industry is inseparable from its deeply exploitative roots, driven by rape culture and the commodification of female sexuality.
One woman recently at the heart of this debate is comedian Lilly Phillips, who explored the topic in her provocative documentary “I Slept With 100 Men in One Day”. Phillips reflected on her decision to participate in a university “sex challenge” where she set out to sleep with 100 men in under 24 hours. While framed as an act of rebellion and empowerment, her experience revealed a darker undercurrent of coercion and systemic pressure. Phillips mentioned loss of physical sensation and memory during the challenge, immediately sparking concerns for me about the limitations of consent. One would hope the average woman would be able and willing to decline sex if she was in pain or blacking out, moreso that her partner would not make a move on a girl in that sort of state. However, given that she is meant to be a professional, sex stops becoming a personal, comfortable experience but a technical one. The challenge seemed to become a performance dictated by peer expectations, financial necessity, and the broader normalisation of female sexual availability. The limits of consent become painfully clear when we consider that saying “no” to the 40th or 100th man may have been socially, emotionally, or financially impossible for her. This raises the question: can autonomy truly exist in an industry and society who’s culture routinely reduces women to commodities?
The infamous story of Bonnie Blue, a former sex worker and now an advocate for women in the industry, adds further nuance to the discussion. Blue speaks openly about her experiences, challenging the stigma attached to sex work while fiercely criticising the conditions that trap many women in cycles of abuse and dehumanization. Like Phillips, Blue is candid about the ways the prostitution of sexuality perpetuates rape culture and normalizes male entitlement to women’s bodies. However, she is also known for openly targeting 18 year old virgins and has argued online that men should be allowed to cheat on their wives with experienced or professional women such as herself if they are not being completely sexually satisfied in their marriage. Whilst creators, like anyone, are entitled to their own personal opinions, with a platform as large as hers (58.7k on Instagram) I believe she should not be perpetuating stereotypes that pedestalise young women, in the eyes of young men, as universally enthusiastic about their supposed status as sexual objects of desire.
The rise of platforms like OnlyFans complicates the conversation further. On the surface, OnlyFans offers women an opportunity to reclaim some degree of autonomy, allowing them to profit directly from their work without intermediaries. For instance, some women use the platform to sell photos of themselves or fetish-specific content, earning a secondary income on their own terms. These women argue that platforms like OnlyFans can serve as a tool of empowerment, particularly for those facing financial hardship or limited career opportunities. Yet, even this ostensibly liberating model carries risks. The corporate structure of OnlyFans blurs the line between empowerment and exploitation. The platform profits from the labor of content creators while providing limited safeguards against abuse, harassment, and coercion. Women who rely on OnlyFans for their livelihoods often find themselves under relentless pressure to produce increasingly explicit content to maintain their income. The system reinforces a capitalist logic that treats women’s bodies as commodities while shielding the platform from accountability. As some creators have pointed out, the illusion of autonomy masks the reality that they are still subject to the whims of a largely male consumer base and a profit-driven corporate hierarchy.
Sex work may feel empowering to some, but the industry’s broader framework often undermines that empowerment. A woman selling lingerie photos for extra income may find agency in her decision, but her experience is not the same as those working in environments rife with coercion, violence, and exploitation. The danger lies in glamorizing individual stories of empowerment while ignoring the systemic forces that perpetuate inequality and dehumanization.
Another crucial dimension of this debate lies not just in the experiences of women in sex work but in how the industry shapes and reinforces the male gaze. Pornography, as one of the most dominant forms of sex work, often perpetuates harmful stereotypes and normalises degrading, even violent attitudes towards women. Just the very fact that the woman is on screen for the direct objective of the primarily male viewers’ pleasure distances her just enough from the real world so that she may be entirely objectified, let alone what may be occurring in the video.
Much of mainstream porn caters to male fantasies rooted in power imbalances, violence, and the dehumanization of female bodies. This can desensitize male viewers to the realities of consent and foster attitudes that equate women’s worth with their sexual availability. Feminist critics argue that these representations are not merely passive reflections of existing misogyny but active contributors to it, shaping how men perceive and treat women in real life. While some creators and activists within the porn industry are pushing for ethical and feminist alternatives, these remain the exception rather than the rule. For the feminist movement, the challenge is not only to advocate for the rights and dignity of women within the sex industry but also to confront the broader cultural forces that commodify women’s bodies and perpetuate inequality.
Ultimately, the question of whether sex work can empower women cannot be answered in absolutes. What is clear, however, is that the sex industry as it stands today is fundamentally shaped by misogyny, capitalism, and a culture that normalizes the objectification of women. Nevertheless, we must challenge these structures without condemning the women who navigate them. Empowerment in sex work may be possible, but only when it is divorced from coercion, violence, and systemic exploitation—an aspiration that feels painfully distant in the current climate. I have touched little on prostitution because it is less common in daily life versus accessible online content but that is not to say that it is non-existent in the UK, with 11% of British men aged 16 and upwards having solicited sex for money.
The real challenge lies not in judging individual choices but in dismantling the systems that make exploitation inevitable. To truly empower women, we must build a world where no one is forced to choose between their autonomy and their survival.