Why I Ditched the Corporate 9–5 Grind for Sex Work
By: Erin Taylor
Tags: Work, Society, Women, Sexuality, Money

Why I Ditched the Corporate 9–5 Grind for Sex Work

Valuable life and business lessons I learned when I postponed my career for the strip club.

Photo by Shangyou Shi on Unsplash

I’ll never forget the first time I put in the long hair extensions, painted on the smoky eye and red lipstick, and stepped into the black-laced lingerie set. I could barely walk in those seven-inch black platform heels, but I had never felt this sexy in my life. I wondered, could I pull off being a stripper with an MBA and postpone my corporate career?

The sex industry was a plausible option for me was because sex work lived within my inner circle. A few of my best friends were strippers; some of them were going to college during the day, and a few had already graduated from the university in town. Not one of them felt rushed to settle down and get a 9–5 job corporate job with their degrees; they danced, traveled, and invested instead.

It was interesting to see the ways everyone outside of this world shamed them for stripping when actually they were some of the best role models I’d ever known.

My dancer friends were responsible; they saved their money and invested wisely. They were refined; they traveled often and learned new languages. They were independent; they relied on no one to pay their bills for them. They made more money than they would’ve ever seen working a regular job with their college degree. They were smart; they stayed away from the dangerous dancers at the clubs. Because, while the harmful stereotype that all strippers are prostitutes, drug addicts, and have daddy issues is far from the truth, these types of dancers exist.

I admired these women. They capitalized on their current advantage — being young, beautiful, and in incredible physical shape — to live a stress-free life. A life where money was never a problem, one where work schedules didn’t exist.

I was almost finished with my MBA requirements when I considered auditioning at the club my friends danced at.

They had suggested I audition at the club many times before, but I always dismissed the idea of myself as a dancer. I was naturally slim, but I didn’t have large breasts or a big butt. I didn’t exercise much back then, and I had no rhythm. Picturing myself dancing near a chrome stripper pole made me burst into a nervous laugh.

“I would be so awkward giving a lap dance,” I told my friends.

Their typical response was always a wise one.

“You don’t have to be a great dancer to be a great stripper. You have to be smart in the way you carry yourself and confident that you can make customers want you. That’s it. You can make them want you with your eyes, your body, your words, whatever. But once you’ve intrigued them, you’ve made yourself a customer. And a loyal customer is the stripper jackpot.”

“Sure, some girls have bigger boobs, bigger butts, and long blonde hair,” they told me. “But if the other dancers aren’t smart like you, they have to work twice as hard, and their customers never come back for them. Beauty and sex appeal are what this industry lives on, yes, but being able to connect with a customer is and always will be more important.”

It sounded possible. I had sex appeal and was great at connecting with others. Still, I thought there was no way I could be sexy in a room full of hungry, horny strangers. No way. And it wasn’t until I finished my MBA before I took the plunge. If they hired me, my life had the potential to be changed forever. And if I wasn’t hired, I’d find a job with my degree. The stakes weren’t very high.

The day I auditioned, I sat in the parking lot of the club with my Victoria’s Secret duffle bag on the passenger seat of my car questioning myself, “What are you doing here? You should establish your career and network with other professionals. Why are you here?”

I became so nervous I felt nauseous; I had no idea what I was doing. After 10 minutes in my car, I texted my friend.

“I’m leaving. I can’t do it.”

She replied, “It’s your choice. If you feel it’s right, go ahead.” If she would’ve told me to suck it up and be brave, I would’ve driven home. But her kind and casual response gave me the push I needed. “I can do this,” I said to myself. I walked in terrified as ever and got hired on the spot.

Just like that, I had disposable income, freedom, and excitement at my fingertips. I was single without kids, so I traveled often while dancing; I made friends quickly, and I met lovers around the world.

I continued dancing for almost four years before quitting.

When I officially quit, I knew it in my heart that I had reached the end of my career in this industry. There wasn’t a single incident that led to my “retirement” but I could feel that I was done. The job didn’t excite me and the money didn’t satisfy me. I dreaded getting ready for a night shift. I hated putting on a fake smile and having fake conversations. I hated ordering fake drinks so I could drive home after my shift. I wanted a regular job. I wanted normalcy.

I wanted to answer the question, “So, what do you do for work?” without having anxiety. I wanted to be uncomplicated. I wanted to be a member of society again, and while dancing — at least in my last year — I felt like a complete outcast. My time as a sex worker had come to an end.