On the Spectrum of Seduction
Hello you,
Hillary again. Buckle up, because we’re diving into some of the wild paradoxes of this industry and, believe me, there are plenty.
Now, I’ve come to terms with the fact that beauty, like pretty much everything everywhere, is subjective. Some clients amble on in and look at me like I’ve just stepped down from Olympus, ready to grant them every fantasy they’ve ever had. They compliment my curves, my softness, and tell me they adore every imperfect inch of my body. For them, I’m the embodiment of their dream woman—feminine, nurturing, and more than enough. It’s the kind of lavishment that can make a woman feel like she’s glowing from the inside out.
But then, of course, there are the others.
You know, the ones who visibly recoil, who look at me as if I just inelegantly crashed their daydreams. They don’t need to say it out loud—it’s in the microexpressions, the glances that somehow both glue to and dart away from my body like I’ve broken some unspoken rule. They’re the ones who’ve internalised the “ideal woman” mythology, as if they really think that sirens decided to march up onto land one day and accept cash for attention.
And honestly? That rejection stings, no matter how much I try to brace myself for it.
I hold no illusions: I know I don’t fit into the neat, traditional little box of eroticism that so many people are conditioned to expect. I’m a chubby, bespectacled woman with a variety of blemishes, be they dimples, freckles, or cellulite. But even average women like me are expected to carry ourselves like we fit some impossible, airbrushed version of femininity that, in my opinion, doesn’t even exist in real life. And I don’t. I can’t always glide into frame with sultry confidence, not when I’m often hyper-aware that my body doesn’t match the 1987 release of playboy my client grew up drooling over.
But I can still bring value.
Actually, despite the despondent tone of the last couple paragraphs, it is precisely because I don’t fit into that mould that I’ve learned to carve my own niche in this work.
What a lot of this boils down to is that the world has a ridiculously glamorised idea of the sex industry. They think it’s a parade of perfect women who are constantly being worshipped and showered with attention, money, and gifts. As such, we’re expected to have the bodies of goddesses, the confidence of CEOs, and the emotional detachment of robots. The reality? It’s so much messier, but that’s also what makes it more human.
Some days I really do get to feel like that jaw-dropping goddess that every woman wants to be. But most other days I’m balancing the weight of unrealistic expectations against my own vulnerabilities. Because, truth is, this industry is built on that very tension between fantasy and reality. 90% of men waltz in with a specific image of beauty in their heads; a narrative they’ve usually been sold by the media, movies, and let’s be real, porn. They’re looking for the photoshop special: thin but curvy in the right places, smooth tan and inexplicably glistening skin, perfectly polished cosmetics, and oozing self-esteem like it’s some kind of brimming natural resource.
But here’s the kicker: real beauty—and I mean the kind that actually leaves an impression—isn’t so one-size-fits-all. The industry, for all its emphasis on “types,” desperately needs diversity; not just for the sake of representation, but because variety is the spice of life. Trust me, if every masseuse or worker looked like the same airbrushed magazine cover, clients would get bored real fast.
Diversity in this industry is actually a secret weapon. It gives clients a chance to break free from that narrow idea of what’s supposed to be beautiful and actually discover what resonates with them specifically. Sometimes it just hasn’t occurred to them to desire something different, unusual, exotic. Some clients might walk in expecting the cookie-cutter model, but they leave realising that the ideal woman they were looking for is actually someone with softness, with curves, with a real body. The kind of beauty that makes you feel something because it’s different. They might start out unsure, but it’s in those moments of surprise that a real connection can blossom.
You know what else? Diversity also challenges these ridiculous beauty standards that make both clients and workers feel boxed in. The more we, as workers, show up as ourselves—whether we’re skinny, curvy, tattooed, petite, tall, or anywhere in between—the more we challenge the idea that there’s only one way to be beautiful. We remind clients that beauty is multifaceted, that it’s tied to chemistry, energy, and the way you make someone feel in your presence.
And it’s not just about the physical. Diversity brings different experiences, personalities, and vibes into the room. Clients don’t just come to us for our bodies; they come for connection, for someone who understands them. That kind of connection can only happen when the industry stops pretending that one type of woman is all men want.
Spoiler alert: they don’t.
Sometimes they want the nurturing girl-next-door vibe; other times, they want a presence that’s bold, assertive, or even quirky. The more variety there is, the more likely it is that clients will find someone who sings to their innermost needs/wants.
It’s funny, people think that the industry is all about superficiality but, the truth is, it’s a lot deeper than that. Beauty might get clients in the door, but diversity and connection are what keep them coming back. My personal favourite one-liner is that my tits might catch their eye but the conversation is what retains it.
Sure, some men will walk away thinking I’m a goddess, and others will walk away thinking I’m the mud on the bottom of their shoe. But I’ve learned that my worth isn’t determined by their opinions. It’s in the energy I bring, the authenticity I offer, and the comfort I create for those who need it.
In the end, I don’t have to be everyone’s fantasy. Frankly, it would be exhausting to even try. What matters is that I’m enough just as I am.
Always,
Hillary