Ages ago, when I was closely following Doctor Who, I watched The Secret Diary of a Call Girl mini-series. It’s sexy, playful, drama-licious exploits made me mark the book on my TBR. In a different decade, I read Belle de Jour’s story in her own words. Thank you, local library, for letting me stumble upon this book.

Before it was a mini-series, before it was a book, Secret Diary of a Call Girl was an anonymous blog. It chronicled over a year of the writer’s life and her work as a high-end call girl. She revealed how a modern escort business is run, shared humorous client stories, and documented her everyday life with friends, family, and dating. While the promise of scandal might have drawn readers in, what most stuck out to me about Belle’s memoir is how everyday, ordinary, and blasé the sex work is. I’ve chanted many times that “sex work is real work,” (‘cause it is) but the industry has always held a sense of glam mystique to me. Sex workers seem so brave, beautiful, and confident, floating above their clients’ messy affairs and maintaining constant vigilance against pesky feelings. With her wonderful, colorful prose, de Jour corrected my assumptions. Sure, she has sex with her clients–but that’s a thing that takes three sentences. Her words about her family, her romantic partners, her friends, her hangouts, and hobbies are much more empathetic, nuanced, and gleaming. I could vividly picture her London, with its gray streets and clicking high heels. I rooted for her and her quest for love, which was honestly more troubled by personality incompatibility than her choice in career. Her thoughts on gender, workers’ rights, and gyms sparkled. Other preconceived notions were dispelled, like sex workers not kissing their clients, and points of interest, like that there are sexual fads, added. As a white high-end call girl, de Jour’s experience isn’t everyone’s, but what was there was eye-opening.

Secret Diary of a Call Girl invigorated me all over again to support sex work legalization. Throughout the memoir, de Jour acknowledges her privilege. She’s at the top of the working girl industry, and the industry is much harder for women of color, immigrants, and those coming from lower class backgrounds. I expected and welcomed these little asides. What I had never considered before was how at the boss’s mercy the workers are. If her boss didn’t feature de Jour’s picture on the website for whatever petty reason, de Jour’s work load shrunk. Once, de Jour dares to take a holiday. She gives her boss lots of forewarning of her absence. However, the boss calls her during her holiday and asks if she’s available for a client. When de Jour says no as she’s literally in Italy, the boss gets angry and doesn’t call de Jour for months. Abruptly without work, de Jour tries to find a job in project management, but she can’t list her current career on her resume. The huge gap in work history makes the job hunt near impossible. At one point, she passes several rounds of interviews only to be rejected due to the gap. Eventually, her madam boss calls de Jour back, but the effect is chilling. Since sex work is illegal, de Jour has no recourse against her boss’s antics.

Belle de Jour’s work is the same dull logistics, funny moments, and dreaded paperwork that any other freelancer knows. The contrast with what she actually cares about was startling and educational. I definitely recommend her memoir to anyone who wants to know more about the reality of the sex work industry.