Why I Believe Prostitution Should Never Be Treated as Just Another Job

I've always found it troubling how easily conversations about prostitution can turn into conversations about personal freedom, empowerment, and women's right to make choices about their own bodies, while the circumstances that lead so many women into the sex trade receive considerably less attention. As a feminist, I believe deeply in women's autonomy, independence, and right to live without judgment, but I also believe that feminism should be willing to question whether every decision made within an unequal society can genuinely be described as an expression of freedom. When I think about prostitution, I don't see a glamorous industry filled with empowered women confidently taking control of their sexuality, which is the image that certain parts of popular culture and social media seem increasingly eager to promote. I see an industry that exists within a world where women are still disproportionately affected by poverty, sexual violence, discrimination, and economic insecurity, while men continue to hold a disproportionate amount of financial and social power.

My opposition to legalizing prostitution doesn't come from religious beliefs, conservative values, or discomfort with female sexuality. I'm an atheist, a feminist, and someone who believes that consenting adults should have the freedom to explore their sexuality without being shamed or controlled by society. What concerns me is the idea that sexual access to another human being should become a legitimate commercial product, particularly when the people purchasing that access are overwhelmingly men and the people selling it are disproportionately women, many of whom have far fewer opportunities and resources than their customers.

I find it difficult to reconcile the feminist goal of dismantling systems that allow men to exercise power over women with the idea that we should simultaneously normalize an industry in which men can purchase sexual access to women's bodies.

When Choice Exists Within Inequality

One of the most common arguments in favor of legalizing prostitution is that women should have the right to decide what they do with their own bodies, and on the surface, I understand why this argument appeals to people who care about women's freedom. I certainly don't want governments, religious institutions, or moral authorities dictating how women should dress, behave, express their sexuality, or live their private lives. Women's bodies have been controlled and regulated for centuries, and I have no interest in supporting another form of control disguised as concern for their well-being.

However, I think we need to examine what freedom actually means when someone's choices are shaped by circumstances they cannot easily escape.

A woman who enters prostitution because she cannot afford rent, has children to feed, is escaping an abusive relationship, or has limited employment opportunities may technically be making a decision, but describing that decision as empowerment without acknowledging the pressures surrounding it feels deeply inadequate to me. Financial desperation can narrow a person's options so dramatically that what appears to be a voluntary choice becomes a decision between different forms of hardship.

Of course, women enter the sex trade for different reasons, and I don't believe every woman involved has the same experiences, motivations, or feelings about her circumstances. Some women describe their participation as voluntary and even empowering, and their experiences shouldn't simply be dismissed because they complicate a particular political argument. Still, I don't think the existence of women who feel comfortable selling sexual services tells us enough about whether commercial prostitution should be normalized as an institution.

When discussing women's liberation, I want us to think beyond whether an individual woman can make a particular choice and consider what kind of society creates the conditions in which that choice becomes necessary, profitable, or desirable.

A genuinely progressive society should be working toward a future in which women have more opportunities to achieve financial independence without having to provide sexual access to people they would not otherwise choose as intimate partners.

The Problem With Calling Prostitution Ordinary Work

The phrase "sex work is work" has become so familiar in contemporary discussions that questioning it can feel almost controversial, particularly in progressive spaces where respecting people's choices is understandably important. I recognize that the phrase can be used to demand dignity, workplace protections, and freedom from discrimination for people involved in prostitution, and those are concerns that deserve serious attention.

What I struggle with is the assumption that prostitution should therefore be understood in the same way as other forms of employment.

Most jobs involve exchanging time, knowledge, physical effort, or professional skills for money, and although employment can certainly involve exploitation, discrimination, and unhealthy power dynamics, prostitution introduces an additional dimension because the service being purchased involves intimate sexual access to another person's body.

Sexual intimacy is an area of human life where consent, personal boundaries, emotional well-being, and physical autonomy are especially important, which makes me uncomfortable with the idea that someone's financial circumstances should determine whether they agree to sexual contact.

I keep thinking about how we encourage women to recognize their boundaries, reject unwanted sexual advances, and understand that they never owe anyone sexual access, yet the commercial sex industry operates through a transaction in which money becomes the reason someone agrees to sexual activity that might otherwise never take place.

Payment does not automatically mean that consent is absent, and I don't think it would be fair to claim that every paid sexual encounter is necessarily rape. Nevertheless, the presence of money raises questions about economic pressure, bargaining power, and the freedom to refuse, particularly when someone depends on that income for basic survival.

If a woman feels unable to reject a customer because she desperately needs the money, I think we should be concerned about the conditions shaping her decision rather than simply celebrating the transaction as an expression of independence.

Legalization Doesn't Automatically Make Women Safe

Supporters of legalization often argue that bringing prostitution into a regulated legal framework would make the industry safer, allowing governments to establish workplace standards, monitor businesses, and offer legal protections to people selling sexual services. I understand the appeal of this argument because nobody should have to live with the constant threat of violence, exploitation, or arrest, and I agree that women involved in prostitution deserve protection regardless of how society chooses to regulate the industry.

However, legalization and safety are not interchangeable concepts.

In her 2017 article for The Guardian, feminist journalist Julie Bindel challenged the idea that legalizing prostitution necessarily protects women, arguing that legal systems which legitimize the commercial sex trade can also benefit pimps, brothel owners, and others who profit from women's sexual exploitation.

Her argument raises a question that I think deserves much more attention than it usually receives: when an industry becomes legal and commercially accepted, who actually benefits from its expansion?

Legalization may provide certain protections for some people working within regulated establishments, but it does not automatically eliminate trafficking, coercion, violence, or the economic inequalities that make exploitation possible. Legal and illegal markets can exist alongside one another, and women who are undocumented, financially desperate, or controlled by exploitative third parties may remain outside the protections that regulation is supposed to provide.

I also think it's important to distinguish between legalization and decriminalization, because these terms are frequently used as though they mean the same thing. Legalization generally involves permitting prostitution within a government-regulated commercial system, while decriminalization removes criminal penalties, although the precise meaning and consequences depend on the laws being discussed.

Different countries have adopted different approaches, and their outcomes remain subjects of research and political disagreement. I don't believe it would be responsible to pretend that every study reaches the same conclusion or that one legal model has resolved all the problems associated with prostitution.

What I do believe is that the promise of regulation should never be accepted as sufficient proof that an industry built around purchasing sexual access has become safe, equitable, or compatible with women's liberation.

Why I Worry About the Normalization of Buying Sex

One aspect of this debate that receives surprisingly little attention is the role of the buyer.

Public conversations tend to focus heavily on the women selling sexual services, examining their motivations, their choices, their circumstances, and their responsibility, while the men purchasing those services often remain almost invisible. I find this imbalance revealing because prostitution would not exist as a commercial industry without demand, and understanding that demand seems essential to understanding the industry itself.

Why do we spend so much time discussing whether women should be allowed to sell sexual access to their bodies, while spending considerably less time questioning why men should feel entitled to purchase it?

I don't believe that sexual desire is shameful or that men are inherently incapable of respectful relationships with women. Sexuality is a natural part of human life, and adults should be free to pursue consensual relationships without unnecessary moral interference. What troubles me is the transformation of sexual intimacy into something that can be purchased from another person regardless of whether mutual attraction, affection, or genuine sexual desire exists.

I worry about the cultural message that emerges when paying for sexual access becomes widely accepted as an ordinary consumer activity.

Women have spent generations fighting against the idea that our bodies exist for men's pleasure, that our value is connected to our sexual availability, and that men's desires should take priority over our comfort and boundaries. Against that historical background, the normalization of commercial sexual access feels less like a revolutionary step toward equality and more like a continuation of an old imbalance presented in modern language.

Of course, not every man who purchases sex behaves violently or views women with contempt, and I don't think sweeping assumptions about individuals help us understand a complicated issue. My concern is with the broader social structure that allows sexual access to become a commodity, especially when the people purchasing it generally possess more economic power than those providing it.

I want to live in a society where men are encouraged to see women as equal human beings whose sexuality belongs entirely to them, rather than as potential providers of sexual experiences available at a negotiated price.

The Language of Empowerment Can Hide Uncomfortable Realities

Modern feminism has accomplished extraordinary things by challenging the shame traditionally attached to women's sexuality, and I appreciate how much freedom women have gained through rejecting outdated expectations about modesty, purity, and respectable behavior.

Yet I also think the language of empowerment can become misleading when it is used to defend almost any activity involving women's bodies without examining the social and economic forces surrounding it.

Empowerment should mean having greater control over our lives, more opportunities to pursue our ambitions, stronger financial independence, and the ability to establish boundaries without fear of punishment or deprivation. It shouldn't require us to celebrate every commercial arrangement simply because a woman participates in it.

The feminist argument against prostitution is explored in the Aeon essay The Sex Trade Can Never Be Legalised Without Hurting Women, which questions whether commercial sexual exploitation can truly be separated from the inequalities that shape women's lives.

Julie Bindel has also challenged the language used to describe prostitution, including terminology that she believes can obscure the realities of exploitation and the power structures operating within the sex trade.

I understand why language matters in political discussions, but I also believe we should be careful not to erase the voices of women who describe their own experiences differently. Women involved in prostitution are not a single, interchangeable group, and their perspectives can include trauma, resistance, economic necessity, satisfaction, anger, and complicated combinations of feelings that outsiders may never fully understand.

Respecting those differences doesn't mean abandoning the ability to criticize the industry itself.

I can believe that a woman deserves respect, safety, financial security, and complete freedom from humiliation while also believing that the commercial system in which she participates should not be promoted as an ideal expression of female empowerment.

For me, feminism has never been about automatically approving of everything a woman does. It has been about questioning the structures that limit women's choices and working toward a society where our opportunities are not determined by poverty, discrimination, male entitlement, or unequal access to resources.

What About Women Who Say They Enjoy It?

I think any serious discussion about prostitution has to acknowledge women who openly say they enjoy their work, appreciate the income, and feel that selling sexual services has given them greater financial independence.

Dismissing these women as incapable of understanding their own experiences would be patronizing, and I don't want my feminism to become another system in which women are told that their feelings and perspectives are invalid simply because they don't fit someone else's expectations.

At the same time, personal satisfaction with an activity doesn't automatically settle the question of whether the industry surrounding it should be legally and socially encouraged.

We regularly examine industries through a broader ethical lens, considering the treatment of vulnerable people, the distribution of profits, the potential for abuse, and the long-term consequences for society, even when some individuals working within those industries report positive experiences.

I believe prostitution deserves the same scrutiny, particularly because the potential consequences involve sexual autonomy, violence, trafficking, and the commodification of intimacy.

The experiences of women who feel empowered deserve to be heard, but so do the experiences of women who describe coercion, exploitation, trauma, and profound difficulty leaving the industry.

Neither group should be used to silence the other, and neither should be treated as representative of every woman involved.

My position is not based on believing that women are incapable of making decisions about their sexuality. It comes from questioning whether the commercial purchase of sexual access should be considered an acceptable foundation for an industry, especially when its existence is so closely connected to unequal economic opportunities and gendered power structures.

Why I Support Protecting Women Instead of Protecting the Industry

One of the reasons I find discussions about prostitution so frustrating is that opposition to legalization is frequently interpreted as opposition to the women involved, even though those are two very different positions.

I don't believe women should be punished, arrested, humiliated, or denied support because they have sold sexual services. Criminalizing people who are already economically vulnerable can make their circumstances more dangerous, increase their dependence on exploitative individuals, and discourage them from seeking help when they experience violence.

My concern is with the commercial system, not with treating the people inside it as criminals.

The Vancouver Rape Relief and Women's Shelter has published arguments against legalizing prostitution that emphasize the dangers of legitimizing an industry in which women's sexual exploitation can become a source of commercial profit.

I find the underlying concern persuasive because I don't believe that protecting women requires society to protect every business model that profits from their circumstances.

One approach that appeals to me is the Nordic or equality model, which seeks to decriminalize people selling sex while criminalizing the purchase of sexual services and certain forms of third-party profiteering. The intention is to reduce demand while directing legal responsibility toward buyers and exploitative businesses rather than toward the people selling sex.

This approach is not without controversy, and critics argue that criminalizing buyers can create additional risks by pushing transactions into less visible settings or making screening and negotiation more difficult. Those concerns deserve serious consideration because a policy cannot be judged solely by its intentions, particularly when the safety of vulnerable people is involved.

I would support an approach that combines protection from criminal penalties for people selling sex with meaningful investment in housing, healthcare, trauma-informed counseling, education, employment opportunities, and practical assistance for anyone who wants to leave prostitution.

Women cannot be expected to escape exploitation through determination alone when they lack the financial resources, social support, or realistic alternatives needed to rebuild their lives.

I would much rather see governments invest in creating genuine opportunities for women than focus on making the commercial sex industry more profitable or socially acceptable.

Poverty Should Never Be a Reason Someone Has to Sell Sexual Access

Perhaps the most upsetting part of this entire subject, for me, is how closely prostitution can be connected to economic insecurity.

We live in a world where financial independence is essential to personal freedom, yet countless women continue to face obstacles that make achieving that independence extraordinarily difficult. Unequal caregiving responsibilities, abusive relationships, inadequate social protections, limited employment opportunities, and the lasting consequences of childhood disadvantage can all restrict a woman's ability to support herself.

When prostitution is presented as an ordinary employment opportunity without acknowledging those circumstances, I worry that society is becoming too comfortable with the idea that financially vulnerable women should be able to sell sexual access as a solution to their economic problems.

I don't want poverty to become a justification for expanding the market for women's bodies.

If a woman cannot afford housing, food, healthcare, or education, the progressive response should be to improve her access to those necessities, rather than celebrate the existence of men willing to pay her for sexual services.

The same principle applies to women who are trying to escape violence, support their families, or recover from difficult circumstances. Their vulnerability should inspire collective responsibility and meaningful social support, not indifference disguised as respect for personal choice.

I realize that improving economic opportunities will not eliminate every form of prostitution, and I don't believe a society without poverty would necessarily be a society in which nobody ever chose to exchange sexual services for money. Human behavior is complicated, and no single explanation can account for every person's decisions.

Still, I believe our social priorities should reflect the kind of future we want to create, rather than merely accommodate the inequalities that already exist.

A society committed to women's equality should be asking how to reduce the circumstances that make women vulnerable to sexual exploitation, not how to turn those circumstances into a normalized commercial market.

We Can Respect Women Without Celebrating Prostitution

Something I wish more people understood about this debate is that criticizing prostitution does not require criticizing the women involved in it.

Women who sell sexual services deserve exactly the same dignity, compassion, healthcare, legal protection, and freedom from violence as everyone else. Their experiences should not become excuses for public humiliation, moral judgment, or assumptions about their character, and nobody should be treated as less deserving of respect because of their economic circumstances or sexual history.

I also think feminist conversations would benefit from allowing more room for disagreement without immediately questioning one another's motives.

A woman can oppose the legalization of prostitution because she is concerned about exploitation, just as another woman can support decriminalization because she believes criminal penalties increase danger for people currently selling sex. Both may be motivated by concern for women's safety, even when they disagree profoundly about which policies will achieve it.

For my part, I remain opposed to legalizing prostitution as a commercial industry because I don't believe sexual access should become an ordinary product that businesses can market, organize, and profit from.

I don't want to see brothels treated as ordinary businesses while the underlying inequalities that supply them with vulnerable women remain largely unchanged. I don't want the language of empowerment to become a convenient way of avoiding uncomfortable conversations about poverty, male demand, trafficking, and sexual exploitation. Most importantly, I don't want feminism to lose sight of the possibility that something can involve individual choice while still existing within a deeply unequal social structure.

Protecting the rights and safety of people currently involved in prostitution should be an urgent priority, regardless of which legal framework a country adopts. I would never want my opposition to the industry to become an excuse for policies that expose women to greater danger, and I believe any proposed reform should be evaluated through credible evidence and the experiences of those most directly affected.

My ultimate hope is for a society in which women have enough financial security, independence, and genuine opportunity that nobody feels compelled to exchange sexual intimacy for survival.

The Kind of Freedom I Want for Women

When I think about women's liberation, I imagine a world in which our bodies are not treated as resources that other people can purchase, our economic survival does not depend on satisfying men's sexual desires, and our personal boundaries remain meaningful regardless of our financial circumstances.

I imagine women having access to education, secure housing, meaningful employment, healthcare, supportive communities, and the freedom to leave abusive situations without facing homelessness or poverty. I imagine young girls growing up knowing that their futures are filled with possibilities and that their value has absolutely nothing to do with their sexual availability.

I don't believe this vision is incompatible with respecting women who currently participate in prostitution, and I certainly don't believe that compassion requires us to stop asking difficult questions about the industries that shape women's lives.

Feminism should be ambitious enough to imagine more for women than the ability to participate in existing systems of inequality.

It should challenge us to consider whether the freedom to sell something is always equivalent to the freedom not to sell it, particularly when refusing may mean sacrificing financial stability or basic necessities.

I know that prostitution is a complicated subject, that women have different experiences, and that the debate surrounding legalization, decriminalization, and demand-reduction policies cannot be resolved through a few simple arguments. I also recognize that good intentions do not guarantee good outcomes, which is why protecting the immediate safety and rights of people involved in prostitution must remain central to any serious discussion.

Even with those complexities in mind, I cannot embrace the idea that turning sexual access into a legally recognized commercial product represents progress for women's equality.

I want a future in which women have more freedom, more security, more opportunities, and more control over their own lives, not simply a future in which the purchase of women's sexual access becomes easier to justify.

Thankful for your presence, Neja