[This article is highly heterocentric. It’s not that I forget LGBT, but that’s not the subject I’m talking about today]

I am slowly approaching my thirties and, when I think about it, I can’t help but feel a panicky fear quite simply because I know that my product will lose its value on the goodness market and that as an escort girl, my prices will only go down over the years. The sad reality that I don’t like to think too much about.

I recently found myself facing a client over 60 who told me that he had never slept with women over 30. He spoke of women his age with a grimace of contempt, explaining to me that he could not even look at them – they were disgusting, it seems – and certainly not consider them. It pissed me off.

I wanted to throw anything at him. I tried to tell him that he was ugly, that he was unfuckable, that I just fucked him because I was paid. I wanted to ask him if he believed that the 25-year-old babes he was fucking were masturbating while thinking of him. But his confidence was insupportable. I wanted to ask him who he thought he was, denigrating women his age, kicking women who were less than half their age, and finding it perfectly normal. I was furious that a jerk like him could afford to be choosy as if it was his due.

All women are beautiful

Why so much sensitivity? Why did this client’s words upset me so much? Probably because they came to touch me in the heart – they showed me very brutally that the day I turn 60, men of my age will speak of me with the same grimace, the same contempt. One day I will be stale, invisible, unfuckable in the eyes of many. One day, no one will want to pay me to fuck anymore. No one will go lyrical about my ass, my breasts, my hips, my legs, telling me how amazing my body is – which is not valid, by the way, my body looks like the bodies of all the other escorts from my agency.

Because, in my (expensive) agency, there are only young, thin, non-disabled, cis girls, very predominantly white (the rare non-whites having the immense pleasure of being presented as pearls of exoticism and fetishized at will).

His comments came to contradict what I wanted to believe, that is to say, that the hierarchy of fuckability does not exist and that all escort girls working with our Escort Agency are beautiful, including those who fall outside the norm of conventionally pretty: the old ones, the fat, trans, disabled, hairy, muscular, those who have just given birth, those with hanging breasts, those who have no breasts at all. And I think that’s what pissed me off about the words of this confident 60-year-old. I wanted to forget that I was right in the beauty standards of the moment and the place and that I would be ejected from it one day.

I wanted to believe that the privilege of beauty does not exist, but it is stupid.

In fact, women all know very well where they are on the scale of goodness. Already because they see which bodies are highlighted in magazines and pubs very well. And then, because they are well aware of the privileges they derive or do not derive from their appearance: personally, people tend to come to me, to smile at me, to be friendly, to trust me, to take me in, stop, apologize when I make mistakes, call me back for an interview when I send resumes.

Men look at me, pay attention to me, carry my suitcases and hold doors for me, give me lots of compliments – and also, in my case, they pay me handsomely to sleep with them. To tell women that they can all be considered equally sexy and desirable is to take them for idiots. It is very clear that some whores can afford to cost more than others.

The problem is not so much that some people are perceived as more desirable than others, but rather that being desirable, for a woman, is considered an obligation, a goal to be achieved at all costs to be accepted. – which woman has never heard “yes, you have [such a physical defect] but doesn’t worry, there are men who like it.”

All bodies are beautiful

We want to say to ourselves that all women are beautiful. All bodies are beautiful. Including those of men? Naaaaaan, lol lol, men are not attractive. Not many people in the body’s positive movement are going to claim the right of men to be considered desirable. And yet, standards exist for them too, and they are drastic – for example, almost 50% of women refuse to date a shorter man (compared to only 13.5% of men who would refuse to date a woman bigger than them).

However, it is hard to imagine the popular fervor defending the right of a small man to be considered sexy. Because it is hard to imagine supporting the request of a man, period, to be considered sexy (And not don’t talk to me about Tom Cruise, all the camera shots are made to make him look bigger than he is) (and 1m70 isn’t that short either), so imagine a man who is not in the norm… I’m waiting for the moment when someone will tell me that the body of a minor, old, obese, hairy, and disabled man is super sexy.

A short, old, obese, hairy, disabled man is often the cliché image we have of clients of prostitution – and we wonder with horror how young and beautiful escorts manage to sleep with THAT, poor people.

Except that we think that it doesn’t matter to be considered ugly for a man. Men aren’t meant to be sexy anyway. Men are desirous, women desired. Men are subjects, and women are objects.

Most straight men go through their lives, never knowing what it feels like to be wanted for their bodies – or even wanted at all. Like ugly women, we claim loud and clear the right to be fuckable like the others. Moreover, in this little experiment on a dating site, the man ranked the most handsome receive barely more requests than the woman ranked the ugliest. On the fuckable body scale, men lose every time.

The old ones who didn’t want the old ones

So when a man – no longer too young and not very handsome – allows himself to say that the body of a 25-year-old woman is extraordinary. In contrast, the body of a 50-year-old woman is not extraordinary at all, and it causes quite an uproar. (Because you can imagine that I wanted to come to Yann Moix) (But I wouldn’t say I like to react too hot on current topics, so I didn’t cut straight to the heart).

Suddenly, we react. Who does he think he is? Does he think he’s handsome? Does he think he’s desirable? We send him photos of ultra-hot 50-year-old chicks to show him what he’s missing. When you’re fifty years old, we even send him pictures of his buttocks to show him that 50-year-old buttocks can be as shapely and firm as 25-year-old buttocks. To claim to be 1000 times better than them (and this is the moment when I make popcorn while letting you explain to me how 25 years is 1000 times better than 50 years). We send him, “well, you don’t like me either.” Big up (no) to those who told him he was ugly and had a small dick and an ass head.

Paradox. We try to prove to him that a 50-year-old woman can be desirable and that he should type in his category instead of snubbing them for younger people he does not deserve. He admits at once half-word that the youngest is still the category above the oldest.

Almost like being told, “YES, 50-YEAR-OLD WOMEN ARE DESIRABLE!” Say it! Say they are desirable! Say they can make you hard! »

Sexual subject

So okay, I understand. I wanted to do the same with my client (by the way, I couldn’t resist, and I still dropped 2-3 sentences without cranberries). I wanted to snatch from his mouth that at 60, I would still be good – whereas objectively, if I were 60, I would like to fuck everyone except the jerk self-satisfied that he is. All because I was pissed off.

But in the end, I tell myself that there may be plenty of advantages to not being fuckable anymore. To be automatically disqualified. To no longer be evaluated, judged, categorized for my body. Maybe I won’t give a fuck about being ugly anymore. Finally, isn’t that the genuine liberation of women? Instead of trying to be good-whatever-my-body is, break free from the dictate of being good? Acting instead of appearing? Finally, being tackled ugly doesn’t seem to slow down the men too much – I doubt it leaves them cold (let’s be honest, it doesn’t leave anyone hard), but they don’t seem too much to formalize.

As Maïa Mazaurette says:

“Hey. You can be ugly-fat-old-insert here, the societal obsession of the moment without destroying trust. Quite a few men, who are allowed a greater diversity of talents, recover perfectly from their ugliness: they will play on another board and presto. I wish women could say to themselves at some point: I’m ugly, AND I’m going to have a great life. »

It might not be so wrong not to be a sex object anymore. Maybe I can finally allow myself to be a subject. Because in theory, the two shouldn’t be mutually exclusive – but in practice, they often are.

Maybe when I can no longer get excited about a man getting excited about my body, I will allow myself to get excited about men’s bodies. I hope that with the money that I will have saved from the crap, I will be able to afford escorts – and not old people, young guys who will look like the Kit Harington of now, I will be embarrassed, well. By the way, little personal message to the boys born in 10 years, if you could manage to look like Kit Harington and become escorts when I am 50-60, that would suit me. Thank you, kisses!

Maybe when I no longer consider that my body can be an object of desire, I will tell myself that I have other assets that are perfectly worth it. I will have the audacity to flirt with 1000 young men times better than me by telling myself that my assurance, experience, or maturity will seduce them. Maybe it will even work.

Well, I still hope I’m not stupid enough to exoticize non-white guys in a very racist way without seeing where the problem is

And maybe I won’t even give a shit, and I won’t give a fuck, because I’ll finally consider myself fully and totally for something other than my ability to make dicks hard. And I hope that when that time comes, I’ll take mentally high five the same-not-30-something that I am today, telling her that her insecurities are unfounded and that she has nothing to be afraid of. . That not being considered a sex object, after all, is not so bad.

Maybe even, to piss off, I’ll say in a public interview that, me, 50-year-old guys, I don’t find them extraordinary I find them invisible, they don’t attract me, that’s all. And if it happens, in this fictional world of the future, it will cause an uproar, that lots of guys will send me pictures of their butts or pictures of future George Clooney, trying to prove me wrong. And I can only enjoy the irony, seeing these men who criticize me for treating them like objects while being offended that I disqualify them as the object of my fantasies.

The irony of wanting to be wanted by someone they don’t even want. Because, ultimately, to quote Virginie Despentes:

“I don’t care to put the pole to men who do not make me dream.”

And yes, I should get over it.

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