It’s not just outsiders who judge sex workers. Sometimes, the harshest criticism comes from within. You’d think people who’ve faced stigma, violence, and criminalization would unite. But in some corners of the industry, there’s a quiet war-sex workers shaming other sex workers for how they work, who they serve, or how much they charge. This isn’t just hypocrisy. It’s whorephobia, and it’s alive in the community.
Some workers look down on those who advertise on apps, calling them "desperate" or "low class." Others roll their eyes at independent workers who don’t use agencies, saying they’re "unprofessional." And then there’s the quiet disdain for those who work outdoors, or for clients who pay less. I’ve heard a peer say, "I’m not like those escort girl uk girls who work in motels." That’s not empowerment. That’s division.
There’s a myth that the "elite" sex workers-those who charge $500 an hour, wear designer clothes, and post polished photos-are somehow cleaner, safer, or more legitimate. But that’s not true. A woman charging $300 an hour as a vip london escort might be just as vulnerable to a violent client as someone charging $80. The difference isn’t safety-it’s visibility. And visibility doesn’t make you better. It just makes you easier to target.
Who Gets to Be "Respectable"?
The idea that some sex workers are "better" than others comes from the same logic that criminalizes us. Society tells us that only certain kinds of women deserve dignity: those who are educated, who don’t use drugs, who don’t work on the street, who have "good boundaries." But these are not moral categories. They’re classist, racist, and ableist filters dressed up as professionalism.
When a sex worker says, "I don’t do that kind of work," what they’re really saying is, "I don’t want to be seen as like them." And that’s not about personal choice. It’s about survival. They’re trying to distance themselves from the most stigmatized people in the industry-because they’re afraid that if they’re associated with those people, they’ll lose clients, respect, or even custody of their kids.
But here’s the truth: stigma doesn’t care where you work or how much you charge. If you’re a sex worker, you’re a target. The police, the landlords, the banks-they don’t ask if you’re a "high-end" escort or a street-based worker. They see one label: prostitute. And that label sticks whether you’re in a penthouse or a motel room.
The Myth of the "Professional" Sex Worker
There’s a growing trend in sex work advocacy to push for "professionalism"-business cards, contracts, LinkedIn profiles, branded websites. That sounds good on paper. But who gets to be professional? A woman with a university degree and a marketing background? A white woman with a clean criminal record? A cis woman who doesn’t use drugs?
That version of "professional" leaves out so many. Trans sex workers. Black and brown workers. Workers with disabilities. Workers who’ve been incarcerated. Workers who need to earn $200 tonight to pay rent. They’re not less professional. They’re just less visible. And visibility is the only thing that gets you access to resources, safety, or legal protection.
When sex workers police each other’s "professionalism," they’re not building a movement. They’re reinforcing the very systems that hurt us. The law doesn’t care if you have a website. It only cares that you’re selling sex. And if you’re not careful, your own community will start believing the lie that some of us are worth saving-and others aren’t.
How Whorephobia Hurts Everyone
Whorephobia doesn’t just hurt the people being shamed. It hurts everyone. When workers turn on each other, they don’t organize. They don’t share safety tips. They don’t pool resources. They don’t speak up when someone goes missing.
Think about it: if a worker is afraid to admit they work on the street because others will judge them, they won’t tell anyone when a client is dangerous. If someone’s scared to say they use drugs because they’ll be called "dirty," they won’t ask for help when they’re overdosing. If a trans worker is mocked for being "too loud" or "too obvious," they won’t join a safety group. And when no one speaks up, no one gets help.
Whorephobia inside the community is the reason so many sex workers die alone. It’s why outreach workers can’t reach people who need them. It’s why harm reduction programs fail-not because they’re poorly designed, but because the people they’re meant to help are too ashamed to show up.
It’s Not About the Client, It’s About the Label
Some workers say they avoid certain clients because they "don’t want to be associated with them." But here’s the thing: you’re not being judged by the client. You’re being judged by the label society puts on you. A man who pays for sex is just a man. But if you’re the one who took his money, you’re a "prostitute." That label doesn’t change based on whether he’s rich, polite, or a CEO.
When you say, "I only work with rich clients," you’re not protecting yourself. You’re buying into the idea that some people are more human than others. That’s not empowerment. That’s internalized classism.
And it’s not just about class. It’s about race, gender, and appearance too. A Black woman charging $150 an hour is still seen as "street" by some white workers. A trans woman with a low budget is called "trash" by cis peers. A woman with tattoos is labeled "unprofessional." These aren’t personal preferences. They’re echoes of the same prejudice that puts us in jail, kicks us out of our homes, and denies us healthcare.
Breaking the Cycle
Changing this starts with one simple question: "Who am I excluding?"
When you hear someone say, "I don’t do that," ask yourself: Why? Is it because it’s unsafe? Or because you’re afraid of being seen as like them?
Here’s what works: sharing resources openly. Talking about your real experiences-good and bad. Supporting workers who don’t fit the "ideal" image. Speaking up when someone is shamed. Not defending them with big speeches, but with small actions: a text saying "I see you," a donation to a mutual aid fund, a referral to a safe space.
Real solidarity doesn’t mean pretending everyone’s the same. It means recognizing that we’re all fighting the same system. And that system doesn’t care if you’re an escort london vip worker or a street-based worker. It only cares that you’re a sex worker.
What You Can Do Today
- Stop using terms like "high-end," "low-class," or "real professional" to describe other workers.
- Don’t assume someone’s safety, intelligence, or worth based on how they advertise or who they work with.
- If you’re part of a sex worker group, make sure it’s inclusive. Ask: Who’s missing? Who’s afraid to speak?
- Share harm reduction info with everyone-not just the ones you think "deserve" it.
- Call out whorephobia when you hear it-even if it’s coming from someone you respect.
Sex work isn’t a hierarchy. It’s a survival strategy. And survival doesn’t come in tiers. It comes in community.
