Behind the Paywall: The Normalization of Sex Work in the Digital Age
Your favorite influencer is probably a sex worker in disguise. That might sound like a bold statement, but look closely and you’ll see the signs. Fitness coaches posting “exclusive content,” YouTubers offering private Patreon perks, TikTok stars hinting at “behind-the-scenes” access for a fee… These are all shades of the same economy. The line between influencer culture and sex work has blurred to the point where it’s less about what’s being sold and more about who is paying for access.
Sex work has always evolved with technology. In the same way the invention of the telephone birthed phone sex lines, the internet birthed camming and OnlyFans. What we’re seeing now with influencers is not a new phenomenon. It’s the latest version of a very old transaction: People paying to feel closer to someone, to touch what they cannot actually touch, and to buy an illusion of intimacy.
This isn’t a moral debate about whether sex work is right or wrong. Rather, it’s about the reality of our current economy and the rising cost of living. We live in a time where stable jobs are disappearing and wages are stagnant. Yet, people still seem to find ways to cover their rent and pay for luxurious vacations. The truth is this: Survival in the modern era often means monetizing intimacy, whether that intimacy is sexual, emotional, or parasocial.
The “creator economy” is massive. Patreon paid out over $1.5 billion to creators in a single year. Twitch streamers make millions from subscriptions, and OnlyFans paid out more than $5 billion to its users in 2022 alone. These platforms are designed to encourage people to sell access to their lives. Algorithms reward sexualization, scarcity marketing pressures audiences to pay for exclusivity, and constant engagement is treated like a full-time job. At the same time, wages are flat, the cost of living is climbing. When you put it all together, it makes sense that more people are choosing to monetize themselves online.
“But wait,” you might say, “paying for a parasocial relationship on those platforms doesn’t make it sex work.” That’s a fair point. Still, the dynamic is very similar to the role of an escort. Escorts are recognized as sex workers even though they often do not provide sex. They’re usually hired to attend social events or to offer companionship. In the same way, subscribing to an influencer in order to gain access to their attention or presence is essentially a transaction for companionship. So, what’s the difference?
Of course, there are debates about what counts as sex work. Many sex workers reject the idea that an influencer posting bikini photos on Patreon is the same as escorting or camming. And they are right to draw that line. Still, the gray area is hard to ignore. If sex work is defined as the sale of sexual services or intimacy, then monetized parasocial relationships fall very close to that definition. Even if the product is clothed selfies, private Discord chats, or voice notes, the buyer is purchasing the creator’s body and presence in some way. Whether you call it sex work or not, the mechanics are strikingly similar.
So, why do people pay for this access? The answer is loneliness. In a digital world where real connection feels scarce, parasocial relationships offer comfort. A fan knows the influencer will never be their friend, yet paying for exclusive content creates the illusion of intimacy. It feels personal, like a private line into someone’s life. This is the same emotional currency that escorts or cam workers trade on, and it is why the business model is so effective. Intimacy is the product, and the desire for intimacy is endless.
When you really think about it, it’s quite interesting that we celebrate influencers for “building a brand” while shaming sex workers for selling the same thing. This double standard says more about society’s biases than about the work itself. And not to make this a gender issue (my eyes are rolling writing this part…) but the truth is that women and gay men often face constant pressure to sexualize their content (and then get harshly judged for it), while straight male creators are often praised for doing the exact same thing. Fitness influencers, beauty vloggers, and lifestyle personalities all use their bodies and identities to make money. The line between acceptable and unacceptable labor is drawn by cultural stigma, not by the nature of the work itself.
I’ve been shamed more than once for being part of what most people would call “digital sex work,” but the truth is that every online hustle is just sex work in disguise. If you’re on the internet, you’re already selling yourself whether you admit it or not. Welcome aboard. The only difference is some of you are giving it away for free. Stop pretending you’re above it and start learning how to monetize the attention you create.
If you choose to monetize, do it with intention. Protect your privacy, set boundaries with your audience, and think carefully about what will live online forever.
There’s nothing wrong with using your image or your intimacy to survive in a collapsing economy. Just remember: once the internet has it, it isn’t yours anymore. So be careful not to share more of yourself than you’re willing (i.e., whatever you share will follow you for the rest of your life). The question is not whether you are part of this economy, but how much of yourself you are willing to sell.
PS: Thanks for reading. I know this post may feel like a lot to take in, and I welcome polite debate in the comments below. All viewpoints are welcomed (and I know many of you will disagree with my take). Oh, I will also be starting a podcast series (audio only) which will be hosted here on my blog.
