The Disposable Sex Worker Trope has Translated to Pandemic Coverage

Note: Sex work is defined by the World Health Organization as the “provision of sexual services for money or goods,” distinguishing it from sex trafficking, which implies an element of coercion or force. Sex work and sex trafficking are not synonymous, and this article refers exclusively to sex workers as those who are in the industry by choice.

“I don’t want to be stuck at home for longer because some guy needed to get his rocks off,” states a Reddit user in a thread about sex work in a pandemic.

The sex worker in question explains that she has had to significantly cut down on clients. She uses hospital-grade disinfectant and gets tested regularly. She understands that the nature of her job involves a health risk, but she has to pay for rent and food.

“I got no sympathy for you. Go bitch somewhere else,” a user responds.

Excluded from coronavirus aid and unemployment benefits, there is no framework in place to ensure security for sex workers. According to interviews conducted in a Daily Beast article, the revenue of some sex workers has decreased by 80 to 90 percent since March. An anonymous submission to Refinery29 by a self-identified sex worker cites a similar fallout in income. Adult clubs, bars and cabarets, have experienced significant cuts in clientele, and as demonstrated in the Reddit thread, sex workers have also been vilified as vectors for the spread of COVID-19.

Mainstream news media has underreported both the devastation and endurance of the industry for a reason that has been invariable throughout the history of sex work coverage: the disposable sex worker trope. The dehumanization of sex workers in news headlines as well as in entertainment has rendered them invisible, even when they’re bearing the brunt of a global health crisis.

Since February, the New York Times (NYT) has published about eight stories regarding the difficulties faced by sex workers as a direct result of pandemic; the LA Times has published nine, and Washington Post has published five articles on the topic. This compares to approximately 30 NYT articles about the scrambling restaurant industry, 30 LA Times articles about the airline industry, and 21 Washington Post articles about nightlife scenes. Publications like the Wall Street Journal have not covered sex workers at all.

The absence of sex-work-related professions in national COVID-19 coverage is characteristic of a far older pattern. The ‘disposable sex worker’ trope has been prevalent since the entry of sex work into mainstream media in the 1950’s. In news, TV, film and pop culture, the role of the sex worker is epitomized by expendability.

Through the narrow lens of the media, sex workers, 80 percent of which are women, appear bound by fate to an inevitable, violent death or trivial existence on the outskirts of society. They are overrepresented as victims of violent crime and underrepresented, if not entirely disregarded as complex individuals.

The Google news search for ‘sex workers’ yields about one and a half pages of results regarding how the underground market has transformed throughout COVID-19. However, by the second page of results, the headlines revert to a familiar theme: featuring sex workers as victims of murder or perpetrators of crime.

Headlines such as “Botched Robbery led by a Prostitute,” “Slain Sex Worker,” “Hooker Killed in Cold Blood,” beg the question of why, in cases involving sex workers, their profession is almost always declared first.

News headlines, particularly in local publications, emphasize sex work as an occupation even when it is irrelevant to the story. This nature of coverage has persisted over the past eight months. Just weeks ago, the Daily Mail published a story titled “Son of Sex Worker Allegedly Killed Young Family.” The occupation of the alleged murderer’s mother is not pertinent to the case itself, and yet, ‘sex worker’ is specified in the headline and the lead.

Being a sex worker supersedes any other signifier of identity in the media. As stated in a La Trobe University opinion piece, “identifying victims of violent crime as ‘prostitutes’ has a distancing effect: it makes ‘normal’ women feel safe.” Because sex workers are equated with criminality and promiscuity, any suffering that surrounds them is seen as a natural consequence of their ‘lifestyle.’ Their degradation is accepted as inevitable.

Because of COVID-19, sex workers like 20-year-old Arime have opted to provide services online. In a lot of cases, platforms like Onlyfans have eliminated the need for in-personal contact with clients altogether. Arime, who did not provide a last name to protect her identity, stresses that she hates that sex workers are almost exclusively portrayed as victims in the media, and even more so throughout the pandemic. “I found a way to sell something and make it a business… and for that business to pay my bills, I’d call myself a businesswoman,” she says. This year, Arime’s online services have shattered her revenue records.

Arime’s sentiment is echoed in a think-piece written by sex worker Audrey Moore, who asks herself why the media is so obsessed with the sex component of her job. “In reality, that’s the least interesting part,” writes Moore, “what’s interesting about the sex industry is not the sex, but the smart, hard working and multifaceted people that work in it.” As much as COVID-19 has exposed the extent to which the media neglects the unthinkable challenge that constitutes being sex worker in a pandemic, the stories of sex workers who have overcome formidable obstacles to thrive in a pandemic go just as unseen.

On top of the coronavirus outbreak, the ‘national awakening’ that marked the year 2020 spurred overdue revelations on the systems of oppression that have pervaded the lives of minority communities for centuries; that this mistreatment is magnified tenfold in sex work so often eludes mainstream media.

“Who are sex workers?” responds Jared Trujillo when asked about the media’s inadequate coverage during coronavirus. Trujillo, a New York based public defender and former sex worker, continues, “sex workers are Women of Color, and as Malcom X said, the most disrespected person in America is the Black woman. Sex workers are frequently Trans. LGBTQ folk are 7 to 8 times more likely to trade sex than their cis and heterosexual counterparts,” he says. As demonstrated by the media’s treatment of the sector, sex workers are still not recognized as fully human.

Due to the criminalized nature of the industry, statistics about the income, employment and wellbeing of sex workers are scarce and incomplete. Trujillo notes that media coverage relies greatly on anecdotes, law enforcement and spokespeople who are not sex workers themselves. For Trujillo, journalists should seek out the voices of sex workers, especially in a pandemic. “It has taken time for people in this work to get their humanity,” he says.

Raven Grey started her career as a sex worker this year and was interested in journalism in high school. She feels that coronavirus coverage on the industry has regarded sex workers with pity and often, disapproval. “I can only hope that sex work and sex positivity becomes normalized in the media, it’s not something to fear,” she says. She talks openly about her work, because in the media, that’s the only way to get autonomy over the narratives that define her.

Despite the sex industry being among the hardest hit by coronavirus, national news publications have gravely underreported on sex workers compared to abundant coverage on other sectors of the economy. Local publications have continued to attach sex work to violence and crime. The disposable sex worker trope in the media has denied real agency to sex workers for decades, and the global health crisis has done little to nothing to lend visibility and legitimacy to the industry.