I was a sex work consultant on "Anora" — here’s what it gets right

Consider me gobsmacked. The book he was referring to is “Modern Whore,” my sex work memoir-cum-art book created in collaboration with director Nicole Bazuin and published by Penguin Random House Canada. The collection of short stories and photography spans a decade of sex work, from my escorting years as a University of Toronto student, to my more recent forays into stripping and online content creation.

The most surreal thing about getting a surprise message from Sean was that I’d watched his acclaimed 2017 film, “The Florida Project,” for the first time only a few days earlier. I loved its complicated and compassionate portrayal of a sex working mother who was, despite her obvious flaws, simply trying her best.

“I am prepping for a new film which once again covers the topic of sex work,” Sean’s message continued. “And I was wondering if you do consultation work.”

As a writer and performer who has been paying her bills with various forays into escorting, stripping and online content creation for over a decade, I am often asked to contribute my expertise to projects that revolve around sex work. Requests for free labour remain unanswered. 

I recently worked as a sex work consultant on Sook-Yin Lee’s latest feature film, “Paying for It,” an adaptation of Chester Brown’s graphic novel about being a john in Toronto’s early aughts. In the film, I also play the role of Denise, an escort with whom Chester engages in a form of “paid monogamy” going on 20 years.

In my consulting work, I read and critique screenplays and manuscripts, but I don’t have any decision-making powers. My role on “Anora” was to read the script in its early and late iterations and to flag any depictions of sex work that did not ring true.

I’d worked as a Toronto dancer for three years when I answered the call to consult on the film. At the time, my experience was limited to one club in one city and in one country. The differences between a Canadian and an American strip club — and even one in Toronto versus another in, say, Mississauga — can be vast. Even clubs in the same neighbourhood can have varying customs that make their cultures distinct. Thankfully, I wasn’t the only consultant on the film. Paying local sex work consultants for their expertise was essential in crafting a realistic depiction of the Midtown Manhattan strip club where much of “Anora” is set.

The beauty of working with Sean is that he is a detail-oriented director with an obsession for characters, storylines and visuals that bring authenticity to the big screen. He wants the audience to feel like what they’re seeing is real, but more importantly, he wants sex workers to feel that way, too.

This dedication to getting it right meant going back and forth several times as Sean integrated notes, came up with new ideas and asked for specific guidance. I felt respected and listened to in the process.

Putting aside regional differences, there were general facets of strip club life that I could speak to, like the different ways dancers hustle lap dances, or the social dynamics between strippers. Contrary to popularly held beliefs that strippers are universally catty and cutthroat in the workplace, I have felt camaraderie, emotional support and steadfast friendship from my colleagues at the club.

I expressed misgivings about an antagonist relationship the main character Ani has with a fellow stripper, concerned it might reinforce stereotypes about our supposed inability to play well with others. However, I also had to admit I had never worked in a club without ruffling a few feathers.

As Sean was in the process of world-building, he asked: “OK, you walk into the strip club locker room, what do you see?”

I replied, “I might see a dancer on her break eating dinner out of a Tupperware.”

 “Oh!” he said. “I love that.”

I also had the pleasure of working with the film’s lead actress, Mikey Madison, as she studiously prepared for her role as Ani. She struck me as sensitive, kind and totally dedicated to a sex worker portrayal that was nuanced and human. She’d read my book and other sex work memoirs; she visited strip clubs and paid for lap dances; she took pole dance classes for months and even installed a pole in her living room.

Sex workers are not a monolith, of course. We don’t share the same experiences, beliefs or opinions on the world. There is no singular sex worker portrayal that can represent the breadth of the entire industry, but I did share with Mikey a few qualities I felt she could tap into as a civilian actress playing a stripper.

Firstly: charisma. Early in my stripping career, a fellow sex worker introduced me to the idea of charisma as a combination of power, presence and warmth. My power is in my embodiment, as a beautiful woman in her lingerie; my presence is in my ability to make a customer feel like the only person in the world, with my attention focused squarely on them; my warmth is in my smile, my easy conversation, my touch.

The charismatic dancer has the power to offer her gifts to customers and also to take them away. Presence and warmth can be withdrawn when a customer reveals themselves to be a time waster, a cheapskate or a boundary pusher. A sex worker’s attention is like a spotlight. At the strip club, if the stripper doesn’t look at you, you don’t exist.

Secondly: strength. A dancer needs courage to work a sales job nearly nude. Determination to stick it out one more hour when she hasn’t yet made a dime. And resilience to recover from rejection, a low-earning night or a lousy customer.

Our strength also speaks to our ability to survive.

There are threats inside the workplace to be sure, but in many ways, the dancer faces a more dangerous world outside the strip club (which is certainly true in “Anora”). It’s a world where, when revealed, our occupations can cost us civilian jobs — many teachers, for example, have been fired after being outed as former sex workers. We risk losing our housing, excommunication from families, children unjustly removed from loving parents, discrimination, violence and murder.

Finally: humour. Most sex workers I have known are funny as hell, with a sense of humour that is as dirty as it is dark, and as wholesome as it is playful. The laughs we share with co-workers and other industry veterans who have been through “the trenches” are unparalleled. And yes, maybe we do laugh to keep from crying sometimes. Call it a survival mechanism.

I finally got a chance to catch “Anora” in September at TIFF, hot off the heels of its extraordinary Palme d’Or win at Cannes. Prior to the screening, I was whisked backstage at the Royal Alex and warmly reunited with Mikey. She thanked me and I thanked her. She really hoped I’d like the film.

And I really did. I beamed with pride as I witnessed sex worker camaraderie, hustle and humanity on screen — and even the Tupperware!

Afterward, I told Mikey that she was phenomenal. That she’d make sex workers proud with her raw, funny and heartbreaking portrayal. Her charisma, strength and humour were on full display. She truly nailed it.

On film, sex workers are usually depicted as victims, villains, hookers with hearts of gold or, well, dead. Sean managed to defy these tired stereotypes by paying sex workers to check his work. The result is a must-see portrayal of sex work that is both rare and riveting.

The reception to “Anora” suggests audiences are hungry for more authentic sex worker stories. Productions need to hire writers, directors, producers and editors with lived sex work experience — not just as consultants who have no say in the final product, but in key positions of power — if they are serious about capturing our special brand of movie magic. 

Soon, my own book “Modern Whore” will be adapted for the screen, directed by Nicole Bazuin, produced by Lauren Grant and starring me. After consulting on “Anora,” I asked Sean to be our executive producer; he agreed.

Until more sex workers are empowered to tell their own stories, “Anora” is the next best thing.