Why High-Class Whores Are Worse For America Than Crackwhores

What's so wrong about prostitution? I didn't read a real answer until I saw this essay by a former madam. See, it's actually not that it attracts girls who've been abused and wronged and neglected. It's actually that it attracts girls who've been raised happily and healthily and self-esteem-brimmingly, like you know fucking who, and that, you know, it tricks them into believing it's some sort of "profession."

Then they got addicted to the money and the lifestyle. And then one day, usually between the ages of 25 and 28, once they'd developed that knowing, experienced look that clients instinctively disliked, they found that themselves in a classic bind: they were addicted to high living but could no longer pay for it; they had no marketable skills; and years of late nights and lazy days had left them with no self-discipline.

Now, "marketable skills" is one way to put it. "Identity" might be another. The first, of course, is merely a phenomenon of one's worth to the economy, but what, if not one's worth to the economy, drives our senses of self in this country? Okay, maybe it doesn't drive mine or yours. It probably also doesn't define the identity of anyone driven to prostitution out of desperation — maybe drug addiction defines those women, or some larger struggle to support a family, or pay off student loans. But Ashley's? When did anyone challenge her to form a personality beyond "hot girl who wants to be famous"? Sure, she might have challenged herself. But, you know, you've already seen more than you wanted of her mom's tits. Ashley probably learned who she was by watching Cribs.

So maybe the bigger casualties — or maybe more precisely, the more criminally overlooked casualties — of prostitution may actually be the Ashley Alexandra Dupres of the world. Like the women of wealthy OPEC nations, their material wealth enslaves them...And then, it vanishes.

Maybe that's the silver lining to watching the whole Britney Spears flameout. Because for all its exposure, it tells, without the usual absurdist Celebreality house trappings, the story of all the college basketball phenoms who flamed out after burning through the last of their sneaker money, one-hit wonders, Hooters waitresses and pageant queens, old whores and anyone else who stands to lose it all when they lose their youth and the youthful greed that made them think that Louis Vuitton was a good investment in the first place.

I've Seen My Share Of Spitzers [Pajamas Media]

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