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Diane Sawyer Doesn't Like What I Do
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So, I did this interview with Diane Sawyer. It was an anonymous interview in silhouette, with a distorted profile and an altered voice and a few other anonymizing tricks. A few of you already know about this -- one of you said I was identifiable by the way I used the word 'yeah' and the way I touched my hair. Another said I wasn't recognizable at all.
When Sawyer asked why I agreed to speak with her, I said, "I don't know." But I do know. I did it because she asked. It was flattering, if a fucked form of flattery, but I was mostly interested because her perspective stands in diametric opposition to my own. She represents the view of middle America; she works for a family-friendly network with no tolerance for grey area in a subject as inflammatory as sex work. It was clear that there could be only one slant for her documentary, being the old Victorian trope of the broken, dysfunctional, fallen prostitute, incapable of forming her own opinions or making her own decisions (and I find it interesting when self-described feminists reinforce this). A network like ABC wanted Dickensian sex workers and that's precisely what they were going to show. But here I was being given a chance to offer my own take and experience, which runs counter to their thesis, and more specifically, I was being offered the opportunity to sit down and talk with this woman personally.
In reality, Sawyer was much more even-handed than she appeared on-screen, though her questions reflected a set of very backward assumptions. As I said to her then, I knew that one interview wasn't going to change anything, but I was hoping it might make a dent in the assumptions some people have about sex work.
I have strong feelings about that interview. I think they should have spoken with other women who represent my perspective, since I know I'm not alone, as well as with (real) sex worker activists. I also have strong feelings about the general response to that interview, from all sides. I'm mentioning the interview now because last night I learned that my parents tuned in to ABC that fateful day and promptly recognized me, in spite of the silhouette, the altered voice, the distorted profile, the vague and thoroughly dated details. I received an email from my mother saying that she knows. She saw the interview and decided to sit on this knowledge until she could see it again, and then she decided to contact me. What tipped her off exactly, I don't know. Maybe my mannerisms or my tendency to mumble or the few details that were mentioned. Whatever it was, it was clear to her. I'm sure that while she knows nothing about me personally, she can recognize my speaking habits.
And I'm not sure how I feel about this, my parents knowing. I haven't spoken to them. I haven't responded to her email. My father hasn't said or written anything -- I doubt he ever will. I'm stunned, but I'm not ashamed of what I do or what I've done. I feel exposed but I don't feel apologetic. I should feel mortified, but I don't. Instead, I feel like a very private part of my life has been exposed, like they've just caught me in the middle of some sex act. So I suppose I feel awkward. And because I have an especially curious mother who isn't so clear on boundaries, I'm sure she's combing the internet right now to identify every trace of my whorish self. She might be reading this right now
See more stories tagged with: gender, sexuality, media, sex work, bias
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