Queer Whore Collective: Sugar Daddy Capitalism
When we talk about sex work, we do not discuss enough the additional labour required of someone with such a misunderstood identity. That becomes part of the work itself, a condition of the job. We are not just talking here about non-sex workers asking invasive questions, which is a given, but also a phenomenon whereby friends and loved ones, predominantly women, ask us how they might go about becoming a sex worker themselves, seeing it as easy money and having little understanding of the exhausting realities of the job, as well as the grit and expertise it takes to conduct such a life successfully. These questions are usually, although met with some wry and knowing frustration, forgiven completely - because they serve only as further proof that nearly everyone has, at the hands of cis men, been harassed for their sex object status and would like to discover a way of at least capitalising on it. This piece captures that dynamic between female friends; it is a semi-fictionalised letter that depicts this strange authority we as sex workers bear on the matter of existing, as well all do, under sugar daddy capitalism.
Fleming dubs this “Sugar Daddy Capitalism” after the controversial dating-app wealthy businessmen use to meet young girls, most of whom are struggling with university fees. What seems like a creepy outlier is actually a prescient metaphor for our whole economy: an anonymous and impersonal cash system that is also intent on getting under your skin, extra close and capable of ruining everything if you say… ‘no’. (2019, Sugar Daddy Capitalism, The Dark Side of the New Economy).
Dear Jana,
Every time I pass by the Dalston Retro Shop I think of you. I have a bag full of clothes for you to upcycle. Will you return to London before the next academic year? (Please!). I have so many things to tell you. I owe you a long email, I know.
Sorry for the late reply, I must admit you generate me a massive inner conflict. Your decision of taking the step makes me feel excited. At the same time, it makes me feel kind of responsible for it. You ask many questions, maybe too many? Ha ha. Let me try to respond to them with all my love.
___STEADY_PAYWALL___
The first thing you need is good pictures. And, no, the ones from your Insta are not useful. If I were you I’d straighten my hair, get a tight dress (bodycon style), remove the piercings, conceal the tattoos, cover the scars and delete any sight of human complexity. For the profile text, what worked for me was the narrative of a naïve girl. Sort of unable to pass the “Bechdel test” almost in any context, who wakes up without a hangover on Sundays and does her nails listening to Danny Harle. Someone without class consciousness, who doesn’t need money but wants to experiment with a Sugar Daddy - someone who only exists in his imagination.
You ask me who takes control of the relationships. Jana, very important. Keep the control and set your own boundaries. Otherwise, these guys will eat you alive. But, *very important* you need to make sure that they don’t notice your control. It’s important to make them believe that they have it. I know, it is insane. This delirium makes me think of Byung-Chul “psychopolitics”, phenomenology of emotion. You don’t need to be tough but seductive, pleasant and fulfilling. Such as what capitalism does to us. Instead of saying no say yes, “become what you want” and help him believe in his dream of freedom. With this, I respond to your question of “which is the most difficult part of being a Sugar Baby”. For me, it was having to pretend that I’m not working, not in control. I find it so difficult because it challenges me. It separates me from my idea of humanity.
I am still in disbelief about the hypocrisy about throwing shade on women monetising erotic capital in a city like London. How can middle age so called professional men fall into the fantasy that this is not work for us? That we are attracted to them in a way? I’ve always found it surprising that capitalism, in a place like London, manages to conceal the degree of erotic capital being monetised in this city. I can’t stop thinking about Silvia Federici and the idea that capitalism needs for care work to remain invisible to function. How more visible could it get for them than giving us cash? I just find it unreal.
Having to pretend that you are not working is a real paranoia. My Sugar Daddies give me money every time we meet to have sex. This is work! Right, work! But, for some weird reason capitalism needs to camouflage this as “non work”. Can you grasp why?
Even the Sugar dating site mentions explicitly “any escort activity will be banned”. And, some sugar daddies post “no escorts” on their profiles. Whore stigma in the making… young women turned, once again, into a paradox, a figure of desire and disgust at the same time. And hence the never-ending disturbing process…
You will find many sugar daddies complaining about how entrepreneurial some girls have become. There was this one explaining to me that the worse that can happen to him is that a Sugar Baby is on a hurry to leave. That it shows how a Sugar Baby doesn’t want to spend a minute more with him. That we know what “we are talking about” here. I’m like babe, you are just paying me for sex. What do you think that is?
Anyways darling, sorry for the rant. As you can see Sugar Dating is sort of hyperreal emotional work. To listen to their problems, to laugh at their jokes, to please their desires with a smile in your face even if you had a shitty day. All whilst pretending that you are there for pleasures’ sake. On top of everything, the pay per meet is much lower than the hourly rate you could make as an escort. So, yeah, being an escort is much better than being a sugar baby. If you are an escort, at least men acknowledge that you are a worker and you don’t have to constantly cut corners to honour your boundaries. Why don’t you try escorting instead? Believe me, the “whore identity” may rip you apart but “whore pride” eventually helps you become stronger.
Let’s keep on talking when you are back. I can also give you some of the lingerie I no longer use so you have something to start with.
And for now, make sure cynicism doesn’t invade your cheerfulness, which is where I feel dignity is.
Un besito,
Leti.
Letizia Miro is the alter-ego of a few alter-egos. When she is not monetizing her erotic capital, she writes poetry that explores the meanings of sexuality and existential pain. Letizia has been published in various poetry or literary magazines in Spanish, English, Swedish and Norwegian such as “Espacios Transfronterizos” (UK), and Kritiker (Norway). She has also collaborated with multi-media artists, for instance for a video-art installation part of the collective exhibition of Decriminalised Futures hosted by the ICA London. And, performed at poetry festivals, such as “The European Festival” or “Queer Spaces in London”.
