I was in Beverly Hills yesterday. Not the 90210 part, but the area near the famed Beverly Center mall and south of that. This is what I call the “flatlands” of Beverly Hills, or what I even used to refer to as “the slums.” This is the part of Beverly Hills without the mansions. The houses are smaller, and there are a lot of duplexes and apartments. Still, it’s expensive to live here, just not exorbitantly expensive like on Rodeo Drive or up Cold Water Canyon.
This part of Beverly Hills isn’t much to look at. Let’s face it, it’s actually Beverly Hills adjacent. This area of town lacks beauty and culture, if you don’t count the mall—and who would want to count that as a cultural icon? Besides the Beverly Center itself, strip malls line the crowded streets. In short, it’s not a part of town I like very much, especially because it’s often gridlocked with traffic.
I used to work at a publishing company in this neck of the woods. When I did escape from the microwave stank of the “breakroom” for lunch, I found myself walking around on these sun-drenched streets, breathing in carbon monoxide from all the cars, in search of some depressing grill or juice shop. There I was, trying to be fabulous, working my first “real job” post-college, living the dream as it were, but I was acually hating life, wishing I could be living somewhere else than amidst this over-priced urban sprawl.
I was earning next to nothing at this company. Most of my salary went to my rent in a small studio apartment nearby. When I was at work, I spent the majority of day in a windowless office. I didn’t have a boyfriend. I was depressed as hell. This job was supposed to be my prize after studying so hard in college, but I just felt like I was in prison. I was a proofreader and also wrote articles for the magazines published by this company, but I couldn’t have felt more trapped.
So there I was, back in this neighborhood yesterday. Meandering through the streets of my former stomping ground had my mind flooding with a lot of memories. Instead of bringing me down, though, I felt excited as it just underlined once again why I decided to ultimately quit my publishing job and go to work as a professional dominatrix.
Becoming a pro-domme meant taking charge of my life, dictating my own hours, and earning much more money than I had been at my “legitimate” day gig. It meant dressing up in cool outfits and getting to be creative on the job while also having my mind blown by my clients’ weird fetishes. I was never bored. It was an adventure!
But more than that, becoming a dominatrix meant finally being able to afford all the traveling I’d wanted to do. Suddenly, I could go visit my friends in other parts of the U.S., travel to Mexico at my whim, and go off to Europe a couple of times a year. In fact, it was during one of these European trips that I decided to just remain abroad. I ended up living in Spain for almost five years.
And yet, when I tell people I’ve worked in the sex industry, they always ask why I started, making tons of assumptions about my beginnings in this business. “Did some man get you into it?” Or worse: “Did some man force you?” Everyone wants to know: “What trauma befell you in childhood to make you start doing this job?” Or I get the condescending: “Did you just ‘fall’ into this line of work?” The presumption is always that I couldn’t have possibly made the conscious decision to become a dominatrix. I must have simply “fallen” into this industry by chance.
How surprising it is to everyone when I tell them that I most certainly did choose to become a dominatrix, though I do recognize there was an accidental nature to my beginnings. Still, I hate the way people try to make it seem like I made a random decision, which has never been the truth. But that’s par for the course when you try to explain to most why you chose to do adult work, especially when you’re college-educated as I am.
Though I understand the reasons I started working as a dominatrix intellectually, being in that neighborhood yesterday just reminded me of the state I was in when I first jumped into the business. I wanted more from life. Sure, I needed money. That was a big part of it. But I was also extremely unhappy with the way my life was turning out. I was bored and dissatisfied, and becoming a dominatrix offered a way to take control of my life. I wouldn’t be beholden to a boss or employer anymore. I could do what I wanted and explore the world, which was really what I desired after toiling away at college for four years, maintaining an almost A average the entire time. I wanted to have some fun for once—and that, I did.
It’s very healthy for me to remember why I got into this business, almost thirty years later, as throughout this whole period, I’ve endured so much judgment about this job. People outside of this industry are constantly trying to narrate my life story for me, telling me what my life has been like, what my choices mean, how I’ve “sold my soul” by working in the sex industry, or how I lack morals and definitely don’t deserve to have boundaries. Of course, so many need to assure me they’d never personally do this type of work. My response? Sure, you wouldn’t, because you’re less curious than I am, less restless for more. It just might be that rotting away in a windowless office doesn’t bother you as much as it did me. Maybe you didn’t have dreams to travel and ultimately live abroad like I did. That’s why you didn’t take the same chances I did to expand your reality.
And that’s okay. But unless you want to hear my judgments about your life, keep your opinions to yourself, thanks.
And for the rest of you who are curious about why I started doing this type of work, what my early days were like, and how this job ultimately changed me, then I hope you enjoy reading this newsletter.
And though it was nice to visit this part of Los Angeles yesterday for memory’s sake, I am glad I don’t live or work around there anymore!