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Kennley Cook, Southern Utah University, ‘24   

 

 

Abstract: This ethnographic research examines different experiences of female-bodied 

performers in the adult film industry. The pornographic industry carries the reputation of being 

exploitative and seedy. Through analysis of the performer’s lived experiences, it becomes clear 

that the industry is far more nuanced than most assume. The average daily experience of online 

sex workers is reviewed and examined, and then the mental, emotional, and social impacts that 

performers face from their line of work are explored. The unique communities they build and 

how they find support are discussed as how these intersect with judgment and shame. This paper 

explores how the roles of stigma, trauma, and embodiment of sexualized characters greatly shape 

the experiences of online sex workers. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

My first time watching porn, I was nineteen. It was my freshman year of college, and in 

my Introduction to Anthropology course, we were assigned to research a subculture. After 

kicking around a few ideas, I landed on porn stars. My initial interest in porn stars came from my 

conservative religious upbringing—pornography had been presented as a destructive force and 

the individuals in the industry were either malicious sex addicts or victims of sex trafficking. It 

was during my first year of college, away from the relentless forces of my religious community, 

that I began to reexamine the things I had been taught growing up. Concepts such as sex and 

sexuality were especially interesting to me. Pornography fell under my interest because of how 

taboo it had been for me. 

The selection of porn stars as my subculture was approved by my professor, so I began 

my research. My research led me to Pornhub, where I watched porn videos—for the first time in 

my life—while taking notes on every scene. I thought that pornography and by extension porn 

sites, were catered to “beginner” viewers since I had been told how enticing porn would be my 

entire life. I assumed hardcore films had to be sought out, but the videos on the homepages of 

websites would be simple one-on-one gentle intercourse. This was not the case, and the first 

videos I watched involved rigorous three ways, stepsibling fantasy situations, and anal sex. I 

walked away with the opinion that porn was disgusting and very confused as to how anyone 

would want to engage in any way with pornography.  

 It was through this subculture project that I also discovered there was little research on 

the actual lives of porn stars (or as I later learned the preferred term, online sex workers). Most 

research consisted of philosophical debates regarding the ethics of pornography and 

psychological studies of the effects of pornography on the brain, but very little on the lives of 

these performers. What few studies conducted about online sex workers were regarding early 

film sex workers in the 20th century or involved small sample sizes of only a few hundred 

individuals. 

The lack of research left me feeling unfulfilled with my first project. My views on 

pornography and the individuals it employed were still largely negative, but I recognized that I 

did not have enough information to justify that belief or any belief, positive or negative, 

regarding online sex workers and pornography. I spent four years aggressively researching 

everything I could on anything related to pornography or sex work. I discovered that 

pornography and online sex workers are much more complicated than often presented and that 

they cannot be neatly labelled as “bad” or “good.”  

My final capstone project for my anthropology degree led me to interview sex workers, 

attend pornography conventions and museums, and read all the information I could find on sex 

work. I developed concepts to explain what I was seeing, which I explore throughout this paper. 

The first being personas of the self: These personas are hyper-sexualized, fictionalized versions 

of the sex worker, which they take on when working. It combines real aspects of their personality 

with an endlessly erotic fantasy of themselves. Part of the role these personas play is protecting 

performers emotionally from pornophobia.  



 

 

Pornophobia, which I explore later in great detail, is the belief that pornography and 

anyone attached to it is inherently bad. The effects of pornophobia heighten violence against sex 

workers and drive many of the negative impacts associated with pornography. After discussing 

pornophobia and its effects, I explore the ways online sex workers cope, primarily by creating 

online support groups or “social media neighborhoods” that they use to protect themselves. After 

discussing these aspects, I explore how performers are still able to build real relationships with 

their clients and even go so far as to heal themselves and others from traumatic experiences 

through sex work. 

 

Literature Review and Background  

There are many names for female-bodied online sex workers: porn stars, cam girls, adult 

content creators, and adult film stars. I found through my research and in talking to these 

individuals that the most accurate and accepted term is “online sex workers.” Online sex workers 

are anyone who creates pornographic content. In this paper, pornography will be defined as 

“...sexually explicit [images] or videos intended to sexually arouse the viewer” (Jhe et al., 2023, 

p. 1).  

 For my research, I divided online sex workers into two categories: freelancers and 

professionals. Freelancers are individuals who self-produce and post content to places like 

OnlyFans, cam-girl sites, and amateur porn sites. Professionals are those who are signed with an 

agency and work on professional porn sets. The owners of these films then often post the content 

on sites like Pornhub and Xvideos. Most professionals engage in some form of freelancing as 

well, but not all freelancers engage in professional porn shoots.  

As it currently stands, there is limited research done on the lives of online sex workers. 

Sociologists and psychologists have studied to some extent the roles and lives of sex workers, 

but these generally are exotic dancers or full-service sex workers (FSSW), also known as 

prostitutes. Online sex worker-specific research can be hard to come by. The largest peer-

reviewed study I was able to find with this information was done by a group of psychologists in 

2013 with a group of 208 performers. This study looked at opinions regarding sex, condom use, 

and STD concerns as well as basic demographic information like race, gender identity, sexuality, 

and age (Griffith et al., 2013). While an excellent start to gathering information on online sex 

workers, the sample size is relatively small, and subjects were only recruited from one health 

clinic in Los Angeles, California, thus further limiting the sample size. This data also did not 

include any information on freelancers.  

Information on how much revenue the pornography industry generates is murky. The 

professional industry is estimated to generate 12.8 billion dollars a year in the US (Lüdering, 

2018, p. 12). There is no exact data on the freelance market, but it is estimated to have millions 

of performers worldwide (Simon, 2024). There is also limited data on how much income 

freelancers generate since freelancers exist across so many sites, making them hard to track.  

There is also little information on how performers prep for shoots, interactions with 

family members regarding their careers, client-performer relationships, how online sex workers 



 

 

enter the industry, and what a typical day of shooting content looks like. There are a few 

interviews with online sex workers regarding such topics, but these interviews are usually done 

with bigger names in the industry (Nocella, 2023; West, 2019). Accounts of the experiences of 

the “common” unknown online sex worker are hard to come by. Despite a lack of direct 

information, some concepts and ideas translate to the online sex worker experiences I observed.  

Fantasies around sex are frequently used to sell sex. This concept was explored by 

anthropologist Debra Curtis. Her research focused on American Tupperware-style parties for 

selling sex toys (2004). Curtis mentions how saleswomen emphasize the fantasy of sex with the 

toys. This concept directly ties into my idea of the persona of the self. Online sex workers 

emphasize a fantasy of themselves to move more “product.” But these personas are not sold in a 

void. 

 In a presentation by anthropologists Susan Faulkner and Jay Melican, they examine how 

people use social media to create “personal spaces.” These personal spaces exist entirely 

virtually but allow the owners to create rules, cater to specific aesthetics, and stand out (2004). 

These spaces become particularly important to those with large online followings, it builds a 

niche that only they can exist in. I take Faulkner and Melican’s ideas a step further, with online 

sex workers not only creating “personal spaces” but also social media neighborhoods. These 

neighborhoods, which I will review in greater detail later on, are made up of similar online 

personal spaces and are used to further market and protect online sex workers.  

Part of the need for social media neighborhoods comes from the fact that sex is 

traditionally seen as embarrassing and uncomfortable, as emphasized in Wardlow’s book on 

FSSWers in New Guinea (2006). This discomfort bleeds into policies that affect sex workers. 

For example, a United States federal bill attempted to redefine obscenity to include “an actual or 

simulated sexual act or sexual contact…or lewd exhibition of the genitals, with the objective 

intent to arouse…the sexual desires of a person” (Interstate Obscenity Definition Act, 2022). 

Since the US does not allow obscenity, this bill would effectively outlaw pornography if passed 

(Miller v. California, 1973). These large-scale policies all promote pornophobia. As will be 

explored in this paper, these sentiments lead to stigma that can result in emotional, physical, and 

financial harm on a personal level. 

 

Methodologies  

The methodology of this study consisted of open-ended interviews done over video calls, 

phone calls, or direct messages with online female-bodied sex workers and related professionals. 

I recruited subjects by messaging them directly through their X and Instagram accounts. In total, 

I directly messaged an estimated 266 accounts, 24 through Instagram and the rest on X. Some 

sex workers heard about my research through friends, and they reached out to me themselves.  

 In total, I conducted 33 interviews over the course of three months. I had a list of pre-

written questions (see Appendix) but also frequently diverged from the list to gain information 

about individuals’ specific experiences. I gave the interview subjects the option of how they 

would prefer the interviews to be taken: 7 interviews were conducted over the phone/Zoom call 



 

 

and the remaining 26 were done over messaging apps. Thirty interviews were with current sex 

workers, 9 of those being professional performers and 21 were exclusively freelancers; one was 

with a former sex worker and two were with sex therapists.  

I observed sex workers both online and in person. I conducted online observation over 

the course of three months by following over 200 sex workers’ X accounts. I spent an estimated 

180 hours in online observation. I took note of major trends but also used the accounts to gain a 

better understanding of sex worker vernacular. I was able to observe the different “styles” sex 

workers took on like BDSM, foot fetishes, financial domination, etc.  

For my in-person observations, I attended the Adult Video News (AVN) expo in Las 

Vegas in January of 2024. The AVN Expo is the largest gathering of sex workers in the world. 

Held every year, it lasts four days. I attended one of the days of the public expos. I spoke with a 

few sex workers there but largely spent the time observing how online sex workers interacted 

with fans. 

This paper pulls from these interviews and observations. Any potential identifying 

information has been removed, and I refer to most to interviewees as “performers” rather than 

using fake names. This is because performers use stage names, and by needing to create thirty 

different fake names, it seemed likely I would accidentally use someone’s legal name. To 

prevent potential discomfort of the sex workers, I avoid using any names (with one exception) —

fake or otherwise. 

 

A Day in the Life   

Before diving deeper into the aspects of sex work, it is important to review what sex 

workers do. There are many misconceptions about sex work, even among academics (Griffith et 

al., 2013, p. 638). Through my interviews with online sex workers, I was able to create a basic 

layout of how professional porn shoots are performed. First, online sex work is not very ‘sexy.’ 

In professional porn shoots, a large portion of the shoot is spent just getting ready. Sex workers 

have consent checklists of sexual acts in which they mark what acts they are and are not okay 

with. These lists are sent ahead of time to the director and co-stars. Everyone reviews the lists 

before the shoots. Performers I spoke with emphasize that there is also mandatory STD testing 

that must happen no more than two weeks before the shoot. These tests are full panel workups 

and involve swabbing anal, vaginal, and oral cavities and blood tests.  

The performers I interviewed all had very similar experiences on set, with sex being 

filmed in about five-to-ten-minute increments. Performers mentioned that there are usually up to 

a dozen people on set. While they are given scripts, there is usually some improvising mixed in. 

Performers also mentioned that shoots can last anywhere from 4 to 16 hours. There is also an 

industry standard for professional shoots’ pay scale, as all the online sex workers I interviewed 

described being paid between $800 to $2000 per shoot, depending on the scene. Royalties were 

never reported, with sex workers being paid once up front. The sex worker’s agency will usually 

take a cut of 20% or more. For many freelance performers, this high percentage is what drives 

them to freelance work. Most performers reported shooting no more than four scenes in a week.  



 

 

For freelancers, work is much more flexible, but also time-consuming. The freelancers I 

interviewed varied greatly in their schedules, usually shooting when it was most convenient for 

them. Most freelancers I interviewed start the day by checking their social media and engaging 

with other sex workers. They are in a near-constant cycle of content creation, editing, and then 

posting. Some content gets posted for free, some is sent to specific buyers, and some is published 

to specific sites. Some freelancers I interviewed created posting schedules, so they do not go too 

many days without posting new content. For most, freelance work is a full-time job on top of 

other everyday responsibilities.  

It is often these outside responsibilities that drive the individuals I interviewed to sex 

work. They often navigated disabilities, motherhood, school, and second jobs on top of their sex 

work. They repeatedly expressed that the flexibility of sex work is what lets them attend to these 

other responsibilities. In my interviews, one sex worker who was also a mother said, “[I]n 

today’s world it seems most of us moms always have that nagging and pulling inside us, we want 

to help provide for our families, but we also want to be home with our babies.” Sex work 

allowed her to stay home but still make an extra income. Another described how her autism 

made typical 9-to-5 days extremely difficult to navigate. Another described why she entered the 

industry, saying, “I was 18 and college took all my money…College was very physically intense, 

and I couldn’t/can’t drive, so I wasn’t able to get any other job.” Sex work gave them the 

financial independence they otherwise may not have been able to achieve.  

While flexible and financially supportive, sex work is still work. It requires a varied skill 

set to maintain followers and income. It is not for the faint of heart nor those looking to make a 

quick buck. Since so much is required for sex workers to be successful, they must find ways of 

coping to survive in the industry.  

 

Personas of the Self  

Workers take genuine and authentic parts of themselves and mix them with a fantasy 

sexual sequence to create what I term as a “persona of the self” —they are neither playing a 

completely fabricated character nor are they entirely themselves. The most successful accounts I 

saw often had one other layer of a “theme” beyond just their pornographic content. Many are 

heavily educated in politics and mix their opinions into separate posts on their accounts. Others 

stream video games or have live streams. Specific themed “looks” are not uncommon either. 

Posts featuring goth makeup, kawaii (Japanese style) outfits, and cosplays are all popular. Humor 

is also an aspect that allows content creators to let their personalities shine. Performers of all 

types can find their markets, as one performer mentioned in their interview, “Being in the adult 

industry, there are different avenues you can take. Different people who love all different body 

types…” 

Regardless of not needing to conform to customer preferences, it still takes effort for 

workers to get followers. Anthropologist Scott Ross studied how social media users gain 

followings and interaction. He compares Instagram and social media to science, saying “Users 

attempt to craft successful communicative acts through studied experience of usage [and] 



 

 

following the social lives of posts to determine if an image is valuable” (Ross, 2019, p. 29). If 

social media is a science to be studied, then sex workers are the PhD holders of the online world. 

They understand that it is not just about nudes, but about the right amount of editing, captions, 

schedules, and interaction. They watch which of their posts get the most traction and at which 

times, all while maintaining an air of ease. As one creator said, “It takes a lot of effort to appear 

effortless.” And that is the goal: to appear effortless. This starts with the target group being 

marketed to.  

Of the individuals I interviewed, target audiences included those interested in financial 

domination (the submissive sends gifts and money to their dominatrix), foot content, MILF 

content, humiliation, masturbation, and vaginal squirting. Sometimes performers would dip into 

multiples of these fetishes, but they primarily stuck to one or two main kinks. However, kink 

curation is only the beginning.  

After curating their kink, they decide on a presentation, depending on what they think 

will sell. For some, it involves hair and makeup. One performer had wigs they would use to 

make preparing for filming easier. Other performers went for natural looks, with one 

commenting, “[S]ometimes buyers like that 100% authentic look. Just rolling out of bed and 

flashing a quick picture or video.” It all boils down to recognizability and creating their niche. 

Even pubic hair is sculpted and curated for specific looks. Some performers dye their pubic hair 

to be a variety of colors, even shaping it into specific shapes. 

This marketing of style and theme all help to curate each performer’s persona of the self. 

Personas of the self are different from what I term the “primary identity.” Primary identities are 

the sum of all the things that go into what makes someone themselves: personality, opinions, 

physical presentation, life experiences, education, etc. The personas of the self can be a part of 

the primary identity, but primary identities are never personas. Personas of the self exist only in 

specific spaces and with certain individuals. To simplify, the personas of the self are the sex 

worker, but the sex worker is only one piece of the primary identity.  

For sex workers, the persona of self is crucial. It is not just about presenting oneself in a 

good light, it is quite literally selling oneself. Sex can make people uncomfortable, but when they 

feel a connection to the one promoting it, they are more likely to buy (Curtis, 2004, p. 101-2). 

This is why the sex worker’s persona of the self is so important. Viewers are seeking a 

connection with the performer. The sex workers I interviewed emphasized this as the secret to 

selling content; the buyers are looking for more than just pornographic content, they want to feel 

connected to the individual on the other end.  

Just like any entrepreneur, sex workers try to increase engagement with their audiences. 

They use the same methods mentioned in Faulkner’s and Melican’s presentation (2004): surveys, 

short bite-sized content, and engaging with comments. Whenever I scrolled through my X feed, I 

was bombarded with posts asking, “Which look [viewers] liked best?” and “What should [the 

performer’s] next video be?” All of this was an attempt to make the fans feel like they knew the 

content maker and that they were a part of the process.  



 

 

Personas of the self are like personal brands described in anthropologist Ilana Gershon’s 

article (2014). They both use their characteristics to market themselves and promote themselves. 

They also both include a level of editing and filtering. The difference between a personal brand 

and a persona of the self is the spaces they occupy. Sex workers step out of these personas when 

they are not in front of a camera, while personal brands are taking one’s personality and 

marketing it (Gershon, 2014, p. 286-7).  

 

Personas In Spaces  

In one of my first phone interviews, I chatted with Jane, a very talkative and friendly 

online sex worker. I did not need to ask many questions as she happily chatted away about her 

experiences. For me, it was the ideal interview—just listening while she endlessly shared what 

she thought was important. One of the few questions I asked was if her partner cared about her 

work, and she replied, “No, he knows the people online get one version of Jane, and he gets the 

real—” For the first time in the interview, she paused: “He gets the real Jane.” The reason for the 

pause was, I assumed, that she almost used her real name instead of her stage name.  

When Jane almost used her real name in her conversation with me, it seemed it was 

because she forgot she was speaking as an online sex worker “Jane.” Sex Worker Jane was a 

persona of the “real” Jane. Jane was a professional sex worker, so she did not often engage in 

freelance behaviors, such as talking on the phone to customers. The change of the normal 

contextual space the persona Jane took up had shifted, which made it difficult to truly maintain 

the persona since personas are limited to one specific context or location.  

It is difficult for personas of the self to exist outside these specific spaces. These spaces 

include the physical and the non-physical. Examples of spaces would be sex workers’ social 

media accounts, porn sets, and private messages between workers and customers. When these 

personas are shifted to unfamiliar circumstances, like a phone interview, it can be awkward. I 

observed examples of this awkwardness while at the AVN expo. The AVN expo was set up like 

a traditional convention, with sex workers at booths and tables for fans and attendees to meet 

them. For sex workers, they were between the spaces where their personas lived: They were 

taking on the persona of the self, but in a shared physical environment with fans no longer on the 

other side of the screen. The sex workers I observed at the convention were often shy and 

seemed uncomfortable interacting with attendees.  

The one exception I saw repeatedly was what happened when performers posed for 

pictures. As soon as they stepped in front of a camera, the persona of the self took over. They 

knew exactly how to stand and pose to emphasize their features. The confidence that 

immediately showed up as they stood with a stranger’s arm wrapped around their waist is 

something I have never seen. It was like a different person, but as soon as the picture was taken, 

they became shy and reserved again.  

 

 

 



 

 

Pornophobia  

Near the beginning of my research, I was discussing the porn industry with my dad. He 

was more of an audience as I recited all of my observations and knowledge. He would 

occasionally ask questions, but mostly just listened. Despite his relaxed nature in the 

conversation, I repeatedly felt the need to emphasize to him that I was not going to go into the 

sex industry. I listed my reasons as it took too many hours, and I would not want to be on social 

media that much. Both were true, but my real reason for emphasizing my lack of interest was 

from my own internalized pornophobia.  

Pornophobia is a relatively new term. The first use I could find in academic literature was 

in a legal essay review about pornography law by Theresa Bruce in 1997, but Bruce does not 

even use the word in their review, just in the title. Otherwise, the term has been scattered in 

tabloid health magazines and obscure online dictionaries. With its apparent obscurity and 

muddied definition, I formed my own definition: Pornophobia is the strong aversion or distaste 

towards pornography and sex workers and the sex industry in general. It goes beyond simply not 

wanting to consume pornography: it affects policymaking, social interactions, and beliefs. I 

found pornophobia to lead to forgetting the primary identity and the person behind the persona of 

the self, basically the online sex worker became viewed as less than a person. Using my previous 

example, I sought to avoid the assumption that I might join the industry; to be attached to the 

industry was to diminish my worth and personhood. Other examples of pornophobia are negative 

beliefs around sex work, institutional barriers, and social and physical violence committed 

against online sex workers.  

Pornophobia surrounds us, and I found myself up against it time and time again, both in 

myself (despite my best efforts to remove it) and in others. In the weeks leading up to my 

university’s finals week, the school provided chalk for students to write encouraging messages 

on the quad. Amongst these, read one “Even if you fail, there’s always stripping!” This 

sentiment, disguised as a joke, reveals much more problematic origins. For one thing, it promotes 

the idea that sex work is not real work.  

Many of the sex workers I interviewed protested that idea, with one commenting, “A lot 

of people joke about quitting work and selling feet pictures. And that does annoy me because the 

amount of work that goes into this industry is very underrated.” Most sex workers I spoke with 

worked between 10 and 80 hours a week as sex workers, many on top of being mothers, students, 

and employees for other businesses. Of the 33 interviews I conducted, only two people had no 

other major obligation beyond sex work. This undervaluing of sex work and the assumption that 

it is easy is another form of pornophobia.  

Unfortunately, pornophobia extends to institutional settings. For example, United States-

based online sex workers can have their bank accounts closed without warning should the bank 

find out they are sex workers. This is called banking discrimination and is completely legal 

(Equal Credit Opportunity Act, 1974). It can lead to ruined credit scores and inaccessible funds. 

The exact reasons for banks refusing to serve online sex workers are unclear, but performers are 

well aware of the consequences that revealing their source of income can lead to. One performer 



 

 

explained the risks of sex work in this regard: “There’s also [real life] consequences like from 

banking, housing, future jobs asking about resume gaps if you do [sex work].” It is often for this 

reason that sex workers go through third-party banking apps or lie to their banks about their 

actual professions.  

However, pornophobia can lead to much darker consequences. Many of the individuals 

who are most likely to commit pornophobic acts are the consumers of porn. “They think we’re 

the scum of the earth, so they feel like they can tell us anything,” said one sex worker. Indeed, 

many people I interviewed expressed that there were many things they “couldn’t unsee” that 

were sent to them from viewers. One performer said:  

“This industry has also subjected me to a lot of things I wish I could unsee. Thus 

lessening my overall trust and respect for people, but men in general. No one 

warns you about this when joining the industry (at least not in my 

experience) …Because we aren’t widely understood and respected [sex workers 

as a whole], we are treated pretty nasty, and some people set out to intentionally 

harm us in some form.” 

Several performers mentioned similar things. One performer mentioned:  

 “Guys either completely disrespect me, or think they get a free pass to treat me 

like a sex object… [One man] wrote an entire diary entry, calling me bitch, 

whore, saying I don’t deserve the title of a woman, said my parents failed me, 

called me dirty etc. I never once disrespected him, but he was a complete asshole 

to me.”  

Some are exposed to awful things like child sexual abuse material. One stated, “[A] negative 

experience I have had is reoccurring, and that’s facing clients who are pedophiles and rapists…” 

Another performer mentioned:  

“The absolute worst of what I’ve experienced is someone contacted me...and 

started randomly sending me [child porn] …I even went through the process of 

submitting a tip to the FBI. It’s definitely not uncommon…I got many messages 

and comments from other sex workers saying they had been subjected to [it].” 

One worker eloquently summarized the results of pornophobia: “risks of being harassed, or 

doxxed by angry men online…disgusting things you see…like bestiality and sexualization of 

minors, and people threatening/expressing interest in sexually assaulting them.” Many of these 

things stem from the dehumanization of sex workers rampant in pornophobia.  

In a phone interview, one performer told me about one of her experiences going to the 

store. She was wearing a Pornhub hoodie. As she told me the story, I could tell she was proud of 

having the hoodie. Pornhub sends gifts to creators after they reach a certain level of engagement 

and/or income, and this performer had reached that goal and been sent the hoodie as a symbol of 

her hard work. While at the store, a man approached her and complimented her hoodie. She 

responded with, “Thanks! Look me up on Pornhub!” and gave the man her channel title. The 

man then proceeded to follow her to her car. Her appearance on Pornhub made the man believe it 

was acceptable to harass her. She was no longer human—she was a sex worker.  



 

 

It is pornophobia that requires the personas of the self. These personas allow for a layer 

of protection; in all the above examples, sex workers only experienced harassment when they 

stepped into their persona. It is for this reason that many sex workers keep their “vanilla” lives 

separate from their sex worker lives. Many of the sex workers I interviewed mentioned that they 

usually kept their work private from at least a few people in their lives.  

The main tragedy of sex workers lies in this concept. Almost everyone’s social media is 

layered with some level of fantasy (Ross, 2019). Most do not feel the need to hide their online 

personas. There is not often the risk of losing family or loved ones if they see us step into our 

personas of self. Pornophobia drives these personas underground and hidden; they cannot reveal 

them to loved ones. Even addressing that the personas exist can be dangerous, as one sex worker 

commented, “I know sex workers who were thrown out of their homes and lost family over 

being outed…” The message is sent repeatedly; their personas are not welcome to appear in their 

primary identity. Many of the online sex workers told me that they hid their work from their out-

of-work lives, even going so far as to not tell their children what their job. One sex worker told 

me her son did not find out she was an online sex worker until he was in his teens, even though 

she had been a sex worker since before her son was born. Fortunately, her son did not mind, but 

other sex workers emphasized how frequently they hid their employment for fear of judgement.  

Pornophobia exists in the industry as well. Sex workers are seen as their parts rather than 

a person. The most common response I got from sex workers when I asked them what they 

wished the public knew about them was simply, “We ARE people.” As one worker eloquently 

said, “We could be your sister, daughter, friend, or the person you just passed at the grocery 

store.” Unfortunately, they are not always viewed as people. One sex worker told me a story 

regarding her and her agent:  

“I was invited over to my agent’s house to film a collab. Strictly work. His 

coworkers were literally in the next room. He asked to take photos of me in all of 

the positions first but while on top of me from behind he just started having sex 

with me off camera. He put it down and fucked me for a while and then came 

inside of me without asking. It was super uncomfortable...I truly don’t really think 

he understands what he did was wrong or that I’m uncomfortable.”  

Her agent did not see her as a person; he only saw her as her persona of the self: an endlessly 

sexual being that was just human enough to have sex with. The fault lies entirely with the agent 

and with every individual who forgets there is a person behind the persona. Pornophobia through 

its dehumanization of sex workers encourages rape, violence, and hate.  

 

Social Media Neighborhoods  

Faulkner and Melican (2004) described social media as often feeling like a personal 

space, and indeed, sex workers feel their social media accounts are their spaces. Most sex 

workers do not hesitate to block individuals. One mentioned, “I really have zero tolerance for 

people who do not treat me with respect…So I ban a lot of people and walk away from a lot of 



 

 

things.” So commanding and self-assured were sex workers in their online spaces that I often 

came to think of their social media pages as the homes of their personas of the self.  

Similar to how one might not tolerate someone coming into their physical home and 

berating them, so too do sex workers not tolerate hateful comments or judgment from followers. 

Sex workers even create “rules” for their pages and how fans may approach them. For example, 

financial dominatrices (“findoms”) demand that followers pay them “tribute” before sending a 

private message. Failure to send proper tribute, usually ranging from $5 to $50, ends with 

followers either being demanded to send double what is acceptable or being completely ignored.  

 Beyond their own accounts, there is a sex worker community where they consistently 

interact with each other’s accounts, a sort of social media neighborhood. Faulkner and Melican 

(2004) observed that social media creates tight-knit communities. Online sex workers do have an 

online community, but that extends to fans, producers, full-service sex workers, exotic dancers, 

and anyone with any connection to the sex industry. The social media neighborhoods I observed 

were much more close-knit and designed to uplift, rather than just acknowledge a shared interest 

as seen in online communities.  

Sex workers’ social media neighborhoods had several distinctions I have not observed in 

any other form of social media. For one, they face shadowbans by the social media companies. 

These bans hide accounts from being looked up; the only way to find a shadow-banned account 

is if you follow another account that tags the banned account, or someone you follow also 

follows the banned account, and you find them in their followers’ lists. These shadow bans exist 

partially to limit children from viewing pornographic content, but more frequently, it is yet 

another echo of pornophobia. Shadow bans can be particularly damaging since many sites, like 

OnlyFans, need advertisements from external sites to funnel viewers to a user’s channel.  

Frustration with shadow bans was frequently brought up in my interviews with online sex 

workers. They described their ways to circumnavigate shadowbans using gain trains. Gain trains 

involve groups of sex workers all agreeing to post each other’s content and tag the creator. This 

allows individuals following one sex worker to then see posts of other sex workers and follow 

them. It proved extremely useful in recruiting interview participants since X would hide any 

accounts that matched keywords like “porn” or “sex work.” Gain trains are just one aspect of the 

social media neighborhoods. Sex workers are constantly interacting and chatting. One sex 

worker told me she once had a group chat of over 140 people. These chats serve to help provide 

feedback on posts, organize gain trains, and police the social media neighborhood. As one 

performer mentioned, “It’s ‘in’ within our community to govern ourselves due to the lack of 

support from laws to protect us.” Anyone who breaks the rules of a sex worker’s page or the 

“neighborhood” faces swift and immediate justice.  

For example, one night I was scrolling through X, when I came across a post of a female-

bodied sex worker critiquing a male sex worker. The post had several comments from other sex 

workers, all agreeing to boycott and block the male performer. I then saw a slew of tweets, all 

voicing opinions against the male sex worker. The reason for this ostracization? The male sex 

worker had posted a video of himself having unprotected sex with a female-bodied performer 



 

 

where he switched between anal and vaginal sex repeatedly. This type of sex can lead to intense 

yeast infections and is seen as unacceptable amongst sex workers, since it poses a risk for the 

other partner. The online sex worker community punished this male sex worker for his actions. 

Different social media neighborhoods have different rules. Common rules relate to 

“poaching” clients, posting pictures of children (even in nonsexual settings), types of content, 

and reposting content without permission. And while I observed divisions and feuds between sex 

workers or even whole neighborhoods, there was still an overwhelming sense of camaraderie 

amongst online sex workers—a camaraderie I was lucky enough to be allowed into, even as a 

non-sex worker.  

 

Not Just Customers  

While online sex workers are endlessly subjected to pornophobia and harassment, this did 

not stop them from being one of the most open and accepting groups I have ever encountered. I 

attribute this to the overwhelming sense of community amongst performers. “Everyone is a big 

family…We all know the job can be trying so we all stick together,” one performer told me. 

Another mentioned, “Some of the most genuine people I have met are sex workers!” I cannot 

help but echo their sentiments. The sex workers I interviewed were usually eager to share their 

information and help with the research. I was still considered a “civilian” (the sex worker term 

for someone not in the industry), but I felt a sense of adoption and acceptance into the 

community I did not expect.  

This extends to their fans. Creator-fan relationships are far more complicated than simply 

“likes” and comments. In regard to her fans, one performer mentioned, “I [have] created real 

friends with men that [are] beautiful humans. I talk to them every day of my life.” It makes sense 

these bonds exist: for one thing, bonds help sell content, but deeper than that, sex workers have a 

natural approachability that allows feelings of friendship to bloom (Curtis, 2004, p. 101-2).  

For most, especially freelancers, interactions with fans were positive. Creators create real 

bonds with their fans and look out for them. One creator mentioned that they once cut off a fan 

because the fan got a girlfriend. The creator did not want to interfere with his relationship. One 

dominatrix mentioned that they often become protective of their submissives. She told me the 

story that one of her dominatrix’s submissives was being harassed by a stranger online. The 

dominatrix used her social media neighborhood of fellow dominatrixes to get the stranger’s 

account shut down and banned. The dominatrix laughed, saying the general response from 

dominatrices to strangers harassing their submissives was “Only I can say that to my sub!”  

 

Healing in Sex Work 

One performer said she “wish[ed people] knew how vital sex workers could be to healing 

the darkest places of the human mind and body.” I cannot speak to healing the darkest parts, but I 

did see healing in sex work. One example comes from the experiences a sex worker recounted to 

me where they often have one-on-one online roleplay crafted around a client’s trauma. She 

mentioned that these roleplays often center around religious trauma, saying, “I have clients who 



 

 

want to role-play around religion, and I have others that we simply craft affirmations about how 

God made them gay, and we thank God for that.”  

Outside studies have also shown that roleplaying certain scenarios can be healing. One 

study interviewed individuals who experienced early-life abuse and engaged in BDSM. The 

individuals found BDSM, coupled with therapy, to be a way to process their childhood traumas 

and regain control in their lives (Cascalheira et al., 2021, p. 11-12). Online sex workers are 

sometimes used both as a therapist and a role-play partner. One sex worker I interviewed joked, 

“There [have] been situations where I have become essentially a therapist.”  

The sex therapists I spoke to expressed concern that while healing may have occurred, 

using a sex worker over traditional therapeutic means could be harmful. They expressed concern 

that because online sex workers are not clinically trained, they may end up traumatizing 

themselves or their clients through these therapy roles. One sex therapist was not opposed to 

clients using kink to heal from trauma, but did specify that she would want to discuss it with the 

client and their partner beforehand, with clear boundaries in place.  

Several of the sex workers I interviewed also have found healing for themselves in their 

work. One sex worker recounted to me:  

“My addiction started before I entered the industry, not because of it…it has 

served me because it allows me the freedom to meet with sponsees, go to 

meetings, take time for mental health…The adult industry did not drive me to 

addiction, and if anything, it saved my life.”  

For another, the sex industry helped with eating disorders and self-harm:  

 “I… have better body image than I’ve ever had before (which is huge since I’m 

in recovery from an eating disorder) ...It helps to keep me from having self-harm 

relapses too because I can’t take pics if I have fresh injuries.”  

The increase in self-confidence does not seem to be unusual. In a survey using the Rosenberg 

Test, a test used to rank self-esteem on a scale of 10 to 40, with higher scores indicating higher 

self-esteem, female online sex workers on average scored 34.69 (Griffith et al., 2013, p. 640). 

Amongst the sex workers I interviewed, boosts in self-esteem and confidence were common. 

One worker said, “I LOVE the body positively that you see in the [sex worker] community, it is 

amazing!” This confidence also translated into other aspects of their identity.  

For many performers I spoke with, sex work provided healing for their sexualities. One 

performer mentioned that when she lost her virginity as a teenager, she was lectured by her 

parents for three hours straight. Another performer recounted how she remained a virgin until her 

late 20s due to her Muslim upbringing. When she finally lost her virginity, it was not a 

pleasurable experience. Referencing a proverb, she joked, “You fasted and fasted and broke it on 

an onion!” For her, sex work was a way to explore her sexuality. Others expressed using sex 

work to heal their traumas and reclaim their sexualities. One said, “I took my freedom back and 

now own [my sexuality] as exactly what I want it to be.” Another performer mentioned, “I 

definitely know now that I’m kinky and I embrace it.” It was through sex work that they were 

able to reclaim their sexual identities.  



 

 

Conclusion  

Through interviews with online sex workers, observing their online and in-person 

interactions. I uncovered some of the nuances and complexities of online sex work. Online sex 

work is not as simple as turning on a camera and performing erotic acts. It requires one to 

navigate emotional and mental turmoil brought on by pornophobia. Pornophobia saturates 

society and perpetuates the belief that pornography is a disgusting, artless product and the 

individuals featured in it are equally as despicable. This belief drives violence and cruelty against 

online sex workers.  

 Personas of the self are used to keep the damages of pornophobia at bay. Since these 

personas create a buffer between the hurtful slurs thrown at them and their actual identity. 

Personas serve an additional purpose in providing a marketing tool for performers by turning 

themselves into caricatures that reflect some of their personal interests while adding in the 

fantasy of endless sexuality. The industry is not all fantasy, however; it requires constant 

monitoring and supervision by the individuals who make it up. It creates social media 

neighborhoods that provide protection and support for online sex workers, while also ensuring 

ethical regulations are followed.  

It is through this combination of social media neighborhoods and genuine human 

connection with fans and other workers that much healing and connection can be found. For 

many, sex work creates a safe place to work through past traumas and forge new friendships. It 

provides an opportunity to explore sexuality and identity free from judgment.  

To capture the full scope of sex work would take far more than these pages. While sex 

workers often exist in online spaces as personas of themselves, their experiences capture some of 

the best and worst of humanity. It captures the emotional and at times, physical violence that 

stigma, like pornophobia, causes. However, sex workers are resilient to these forces and have 

found ways to heal through the painful moments. Through their connective social media 

neighborhoods, close relationships, and a little bit of fantasy, sex workers truly show the beauty 

of human connection and pleasure.  

 

  



 

 

Acknowledgements 

Thank you to all of the sex workers who dedicated their time and knowledge to helping 

produce this study! Also, a special thank you to Doctor Matthew Newsom for all of his help in 

advising and supporting in my research.  

 

 

 

 

 

  



 

 

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Appendix 

Below are the questions that were asked to the interview subjects. Questions were 

not always asked in order, and at times were skipped or altered depending on the online 

sex worker's circumstances. Depending upon the answers, additional follow-up questions 

would be asked for clarification or to better understand their life experiences.  

1. Are you a freelancer, professional, or both? 

2. What is your educational background? 

3. What is your nationality? 

4. What was your age at the time of your debut? 

5. What is your current age? 

6. What is your race? 

7. What is your gender identity and sexual orientation? 

8. How many years have you been in the industry? 

9. What first got you interested in joining the industry? 

10. What are some of your most positive experiences in the industry? 

11. Have you had any negative experiences in the industry you don’t mind sharing? 

12. What does your typical day of work look like? 

13. What preparations do you take before shooting? 

14. (If freelancer) How do you come up with your ideas for shoots? 

15. Have you had any difficulties recruiting followers? 

16. How much do you make in the industry? 

17. How many hours a day do you dedicate to your work, and how many days a 

week? 

18. Do you have any other responsibilities outside of your work, like second jobs, 

schooling, parenting, etc? 

19. (If freelancer) Have you ever wanted to join an agency? 

20. How has being in the industry impacted your personal relationships? 

21. Have your views on sex changed since entering the industry? 

22. How would you respond to a friend wanting to join the industry? 

23. Are there any acts you will not perform? 

24. Are there any red flags people outside the industry can look for to determine 

whether the pornography they’re consuming was made ethically? 

25. Have you ever had your videos or pictures leaked, and how did you handle it? 

26. How do you handle menstruation during your work? 

27. Do you feel you were raised in a sex positive environment? 

28. Do you have a preferred term for your work, like sex worker, cam girl, porn star, 

etc? 

29. What do you wish people outside of the industry knew about the industry? 

  


