I’m Sorry I Didn’t Check with You before Pursuing a Modeling Career/Becoming a Sex Worker

by Angel

Dear J.,

You can imagine my shock at your shock that time you saw my photograph as the centerfold in a pornographic magazine.

As women, we go through so much of our lives thinking about what works best for you, the white cisnormative, heterogeneous ruling class. It’s not easy going through life trying to reflect you at twice your size, you know! Do you know I actually thought, “Hell, I’ve got a banging body. I could use the money. There’s a market, I know: all those creeps that couldn’t stop ogling me in high school.”

Here I thought I was making the best out of a less-than-desirable situation. Did you know that becoming a nude/mostly nude model wasn’t actually my first choice for a career? No, of course you didn’t. I didn’t want to become an object in a “girlie magazine” anymore than, surely, you wanted to become the world’s most famous Bob Seger & the Silver Bullet Band knock off.

But here we are: you with cold blood and me with, well, a copy of the magazine and zero reproduction rights. (For the photos, I mean! Signing off on photo rights is standard for the job. What else could I have meant?) It’s almost hard to believe I completely forgot to check with you before making decisions that had nothing to do with you beyond making you remember that you think I’m your property.

You can imagine my relief, then, to hear that, once the magazine is offstands, you’d like to see me with my clothes still on. The hero I’ve been waiting for! Except that you’re planning to what? Take my car? My car? You don’t have a car? What makes you think I do? I land one centerfold and I’m set for life? I would love to tell you more about the realities of the industry, J. It could be good for you! And you’re what, going to drive it? “We’re” going to drive it? I’m not sure of the logistics here, J. That confuses me. But then, I might not be so bright. I didn’t really get a fair shot at school, what with being the class sex object and all.

Oh but then you mention a motel room and taking my clothes off in private. You charming man! How do the ladies resist you? Driving my car, going to a motel. Not your house, not a hotel, nothing more than the seediest pay-by-the-hour place you can find. Way to elevate the discussion of gender relations in America.

As you so eloquently put it, J., when you realized I was a human person capable of making decisions for myself, this “aint no never-never land.” So no, we’re not doing this. You’re never going to know anything about my car, my life, or my body. You’re never even going to know if Angel is my real name. You peaked in high school, and as for me? Well, you’ll never know.

Angel

PS: Thanks so much for buying a copy of the magazine! That must have been a big investment for you.