Man, I should’ve been a stripper.
Diablo Cody, the Oscar-winning Juno screenwriter, popped
into the news the other day after having given birth to a healthy baby
boy. Along with attaining gobs of wealth, publishing success and
Hollywood kudos, the former stripper is also happily married now with
No longer are sex workers the downtrodden, drug-addled outcasts of
yore, at least not the ones who can string a sentence together. Memoirs
penned by former pole dancers and call girls flow through the
publishing landscape like dollar bills at a Vegas strip joint. Since
Xaviera Hollander’s Happy Hooker in the ‘70s, it seems everyone
from Harvard post-docs to failed Hollywood starlets have slept their
way onto the bestseller list, having picked the locks on their sex
industry diaries for all the world to see.
Years back, a woman named Jessica Cutler hit pay dirt with a
fictionalized account of her years Monica Lewinsky-ing her way through
half of DC as a congressional intern, even accepting money for sexual
favors. The intro to Jess’ old blog reads, “I could not care less about
government or politics, but working for a senator looks good on my
resume. And these marble hallways are such great places for meeting
boys and showing off my outfits!” You know if Virginia Woolf had a blog she would’ve been saying the same damn thing.
This year’s big sex publishing success is Some Girls: My Life in a Harem
about the eighteen months a budding actress/stripper spent in the harem
of the Sultan of Brunei’s youngest brother; a harrowing ordeal made up
of lavish parties, ungodly amounts of jewelry and loads of sex. Now
she’s married to a dude from Weezer. Poor thing.
In fact, all the aforementioned females are married with families,
further proof of society’s greatest deception; sex work is not performed
by dumb women with low self-esteem who inevitably end up smoking crack
alone on Hollywood Boulevard. Stripping and hooking not only guarantee
literary success, they also get you Academy Awards and hot musician
husbands with whom you can make cute babies with faux hawks. All you’ve
got to do is redeem your wanton self with a half-decent book.
This “graduate from college, hone your craft, pay your dues” business
was so not the way for me to go. Originally, I was thinking of writing
my next novel about vampires or obnoxious strangers living in a house
together, anything in which Kristen Stewart or Snooki can star when the
book becomes a movie. But now I’m thinking of flexing my literary
muscle in a harem or trying to get a couple governors to pay me for some
We women always complain about the limits society places on us as we
attempt to get ahead, when really, there are so many opportunities for
us to shine.
If you hear of any sultans looking for a lap dance, send them my way.
**Reprinted from Laura K. Warrell's blog Tart&Soul at www.TartandSoul.com.