Militant Inquiry: Exploring the Digital Brothel
Research, analysis, and writing by Francesca and Melina May
The digitalization of sex work has accelerated in recent years, especially since the COVID-19 pandemic1. SWers use the Internet in many ways; several move across both the physical and digital spaces of their work. For example, an escort might use the Internet to screen clients, book appointments, and at the same time perform on a webcam site. Alternatively, a dancer might use social media to be visible to her clientele and to share her work schedule.
Before computers entered homes and the widespread use of the Internet, SWers relied on other means to advertise their services. From tart cards2 posted in UK phone booths to classified ads in local newspapers and the Yellow Pages, SWers have always seized upon existing tools to promote their services.
Alicia, an activist at the SWAC who worked in the industry in the 1990s and early 2000s, recalled how she and her colleagues used to place their ads in the Journal de Montréal. In just a few characters, without photos, and for $60 per publication, they would list their landline number and stayed home waiting for the phone to ring. Clients who stumbled across their ad in the daily paper would contact them and make an appointment. She remembers that in 2009, during the Québecor Média lockout3 that lasted more than two years, SWers’ activity dropped drastically, forcing some to move online — a whole new universe at the time. Alicia recalls how this transition changed workers’ practices. Suddenly they had to take photos, write enticing descriptions that went far beyond the 60 characters allowed in the newspaper and navigate a digital maze.
The era of print ads ended abruptly when Bill C-36 criminalized the advertising of prostitution in Canada in 2014. A few months later, the Yellow Pages and local newspapers announced they would stop running both online and print ads under the “escort services” section4. For many SWers, this marked the end of an accessible and familiar tool to directly reach local clients. From then on, many were forced to transition online. While there may have been a hundred ad sites at the time, as Alicia testified, today only a handful of sites dedicated specifically to escort services promotion remain. But their survival is constantly threatened. The exclusion and surveillance of SWers extended online. Laws like SESTA/FOSTA (Stop Enabling Sex Trafficking Act/Fight Online Sex Trafficking Act)5, combined with censorship policies imposed by credit card companies and social media platforms, push SWers off the Internet and make access to their means of work more precarious.
As explained by community organizer with the Immigrant Workers Center, Mostafa Henaway, “the more distance you have from the ground and the activism, your analysis becomes more obscure, less rigorous and sharp. When you’re grounded… it enriches both the research and the activism”7. Put differently, our methodology of research is not neutral: we are on the side of workers, and this shapes our findings and constitutes a political choice in itself. It was important to us that we didn’t rely on technology or algorithms to tell us how these platforms were impacting our community because; as explained in Notes Toward a Digital Workers’ Inquiry, the experiences of workers are the foundation for the resistance and counter-organization that we seek8. In order to actualize this, we chose to conduct interviews with users of these platforms about their experiences and working conditions. These interviews provided a clearer understanding of sex worker’s needs and the challenges they face on these platforms.
Why a Militant Inquiry?
Since the fall of 2023, SWAC has been conducting militant inquiries, with massage parlor workers and strip club dancers. This text follows in that vein. Our research identified a wide spectrum of online platforms6 used by sex workers, including content-hosting and subscription sites. Our study, however, concentrates specifically on platforms designed for advertising in-person services and their associated client review boards. We selected these because they are most relevant to the in-person community and, we believe, have the most potential for local organizing.
Given the global reach of these platforms, we did not restrict participation to geographical location. Our call for interviewees resulted in six participants. Of the six individuals we interviewed, we had one from Bas-Saint-Laurent, one from France, and four from Montreal. By speaking with a geographically diverse group, we gained comparative insight into multiple platforms’ benefits and limitations. Informed by critical race theorist Kimberlé Crenshaw’s, Mapping the Margins9, we took into account that identity shapes experience, particularly for those marginalized by facets of their identity like race, class, gender, sexuality, or disability. Recognizing that our participants’ identities could significantly influence their experiences on these platforms, we felt that it was important to collect specific demographic data from all individuals, including information on whether they identified as BIPOC, disabled or neurodiverse, or LGBTQIA2S+. All participants identified as white, neurodiverse, and queer, and none cited their identity as impacting their experiences on these platforms. We share these demographics to be transparent that our inquiries’ findings, drawn from a limited group of participants, may not reflect the full spectrum of experiences or needs among sex workers.
After the demographic survey, we asked questions organized into six categories: platforms used, work arrangements, client relations, surveillance, and resistance. “Platforms used” gathered data on the specific platforms workers used, the costs of these platforms, if any, problems encountered by workers, and platform policies regarding mandatory identity verification. This section helped us identify the most commonly used platforms among participants: the verified advertising site Tryst, used by 5 of 6 participants. Montreal’s Indy Companion, an advertising platform created by and for sex workers, was second, with 3 of 6 participants actively using it. Three platforms tied for third place with 2 of 6 participants using them: the classifieds site Leolist, the review board Montreal Escort Review Board (MERB), and the directory Escorte Intime. Nine additional platforms were mentioned, each by only one participant. As such, they will be omitted for lack of relevancy. The following analysis will explore the interplay between these specific platforms and the listed categories in greater detail.
Platforms – the Modern Pimps?
These platforms have modernized the role of the pimp; if they primarily served to mediate communication between sex workers and clients while profiting from the exchange they facilitated, the role of platforms is essentially the same. Moreover, despite creating the illusion that these workers are freelancers, these platforms retain complete control over how we work and how we are disciplined. This practice aligns with a broader trend in the gig economy, where big platforms, such as Uber, leverage this illusion as a mechanism for worker exploitation. In this section, we aim to analyze the relationships between platforms and sex workers.
No SWers, No Platform
From our interviews, we can conclude that sex workers generally have to pay in order to promote their services on platforms. These fees take several forms: monthly or yearly subscriptions, one-time payments to access certain features such as putting an ad at the top (“bumping”), or premium memberships that grant greater visibility. On Tescort, an ad site in France, sex workers must pay €100 per month to list their services; on MERB, a Montréal-based site for escorts, massage parlors, and agencies, registration fees can reach up to $285 per month for individuals. For independent escorts, these expenses are meant to increase their visibility online and improve their chances of finding clients.
The sex industry is not unique in this “pay to work” model. Uber drivers and delivery workers also have to pay licensing fees or commissions to platforms in order to access the market, and they bear the costs of their own equipment, transportation, and Internet. For the platforms, this revenue strategy is intentional and involves profiting off the backs of sex workers without assuming the financial responsibilities of an employer, including salaries and operational costs.
By contrast, clients access the ads for free and browsing is accessible to anyone online. On the platforms used by our respondents, clients can scroll through profiles and refine searches according to geographic and physical criteria (breast size, eye color, height, etc.), but also by availability, price, or type of services offered. Some platforms, such as MERB and Sex Model, also include forums where clients can rate and comment on escorts. As several participants reported, clients may critique either physical appearance or services, often with explicit and graphic descriptions, and often without the escort being notified or their consent. These public reviews can seriously harm an escort’s reputation and jeopardize their income. On some platforms, it is possible to delete negative comments, but only by upgrading to a “premium” account and paying more. When it comes to discriminatory or abusive comments, moderators are either absent or wholly inadequate. As testified by one participant, after they reported transphobic comments, the platform did nothing.
Another major issue concerns the payment methods imposed by platforms. Due to payment processors, like Visa and Mastercard, refusing to service sex workers10, some platforms require transactions in cryptocurrency, a currency that is difficult to access and requires specific technological skills. Furthermore, in a context where sex work remains criminalized and stigmatized, sex workers constantly risk being banned and having their funds seized by payment processors. One respondent, for example, had her PayPal account shut down, losing all the money she had accumulated there.
On top of these direct costs, workers must also perform countless invisible tasks to create and maintain their ads: organizing and paying for photoshoots, selecting photos, writing catchy descriptions that embody a “persona,” updating ads with new availabilities and photos, building websites, staying active on social media, regularly bumping ads, etc.
Some escorts interviewed believe that an improvement to platforms would involve abolishing subscription fees altogether. One participant went even further: instead of charging workers, platforms should pay them for the content, visibility, and economic value they create. As they put it: “these platforms would not exist without us.”
Power of SWers - Agency and Autonomy
Power and agency are central to sex work, an industry many enter to gain autonomy in their lives, sometimes from difficult relationships or financial circumstances. However, the agency sex work provides is frequently compromised by pervasive stigma, discrimination, and a lack of workers’ rights, creating an ultimately false sense of freedom. This dynamic is highlighted by the substantial power these digital platforms wield over sex workers, particularly by controlling their personal information, account access, and even their communication. This occurs in a variety of different ways, and is often impacted by the platforms workers use.
According to our participants, workers are primarily frustrated with review board forums like MERB, where, as mentioned, intimate information about their lives and appearances is frequently shared without consent or the ability to remove it. As noted by two participants, MERB is known for its users leaving harsh critiques of workers, which cannot be removed by anyone except the poster or the platform itself. One participant mentioned that a friend of hers was only able to get a review taken down after contacting MERB and proving that she had never met the client. For many workers, it serves as a space for clients to air their complaints to other potential customers, rather than just communicating directly with the individuals that they are hiring. Unfortunately, it’s also a space where clients are sometimes incredibly mean and judgemental of workers, specifically their physical appearances.
Clients known as “hobbyists,” who approach hiring sex workers as a pastime, are often responsible for leaving these reviews, fostering and reinforcing a culture of “sampling” every worker. According to our interviewees, this has created power imbalances between workers and clients, wherein workers may feel pressure to perform in certain ways or break their own boundaries to avoid receiving a bad review from clients after the fact. On occasion, clients will leave bad reviews after workers refuse to lower their prices, remove condoms, or perform sexual acts that were not agreed upon. One participant even noted that sometimes clients will tell her that they’re a MERB member, “as a threat”.
Given that these reviews directly affect workers’ livelihood, two workers advocated for the power to remove reviews, arguing that they should not be subject to non-consensual discussion on the platform. The case of one worker, who only learned of MERB and her own reviews through a client, illustrates a critical ethical failure. These publications, with tangible consequences for income and safety, are particularly unacceptable given that MERB simultaneously profits from sex workers by selling them advertising space on the same platform. To mitigate its unethical practices, MERB and similar forums could grant workers the ability to remove threads about them. This would provide them greater control over their branding and self-image, creating significantly better working conditions for workers using the platform.
Reports of frequent deplatforming11, shadow banning12 , and general censorship were additionally raised by four participants. In a similar vein, Uber workers often face sudden account deactivations, effectively being fired without explanation.13As one participant shared, she was removed from a diverse list of platforms, ranging from social media (Facebook, and all of her Instagram accounts), payment processors (Paypal), sex work designated platforms (Tescort), and even a platform used for crowd funding (Le Pot Commun). One worker expressed frustration with the language censorship on Seeking (a dating website formerly known as Seeking Arrangements), which is often used for sugar dating, despite the platform itself strictly forbidding it. This prohibition is enforced via automated content detection, wherein any direct messages that contain acronyms describing sexual acts or explicit discussions of sex for money are censored by the platform. This can happen without the users’ knowledge and can result in an immediate ban.
These instances of deplatforming, shadowbanning and censorship are often cited by platforms as an issue of breaking community guidelines, or misusing their services. In reality, SESTA/FOSTA legally mandates the censorship of sex workers on websites hosted on American servers. The stated intentions of SESTA/FOSTA were to both reduce online pornography, as well as sex trafficking facilitated through all platforms. The results of SESTA/FOSTA were exactly what sex workers feared: increased physical risk and more precarious working conditions. These testimonies demonstrate the legislation’s sadly predictable consequences.
Many of our participants expressed a desire for the decriminalization of sex work, which is likely the most effective measure in protecting against online censorship as a result of SESTA/FOSTA. This is because the laws conflate sex work with sex trafficking, pressuring platforms to remove all related content. This conflation between trafficking and sex work fuels sensationalist media coverage and contributes to the stigmatization of workers. The inception of SESTA/FOSTA has also prompted widespread online censorship of sex workers to protect platform providers. Until decriminalization is achieved, SESTA/FOSTA will continue to reinforce deplatforming, shadowbanning, general censorship and increased surveillance of sex workers.
Security Issues: Are you a Leolist Gambler?
Security issues, namely scammers and identity verification, were another significant concern for participants. As many participants highlighted, scams are frequent on these platforms, especially Leolist and Tryst. Two participants mentioned that they felt that the majority of people using Leolist were scammers, impacting both workers and clients. A common tactic scammers use is to send fake emails to workers, also known as phishing. These emails contain links that, if clicked, compromise the security of a workers account. One escort recounted how her account had been hijacked: her photos and ad were stolen and linked to a new phone number. Despite making a complaint, the platform took no action, again reinforcing the lack of control that many workers feel. Additionally, moderators are not on the side of sex workers, who often have to fend for themselves. In this case, the escort contacted the impersonator directly through the number on the ad, to which the scammer then tried to sell her own account back to her, for three times the price she had originally paid.
According to participants, scams are also a frequent issue for clients. This is supported by the recent MERB forum entitled Are you a leolist gambler?, one of many threads on the platform where customers discuss the scams they’ve experienced on various platforms. Here, clients refer to Leolist as “a minefield”, where they often must wade through more than ten pages of listings, many of which appear fake or use stolen photos of celebrities and Instagram models to find a legitimate advertise14. One participant highlighted how this creates a culture of distrust between worker and client, making the essential processes of vetting and negotiation more difficult. This issue is only furthered by the frequent misconception that a verified MERB status alone constitutes adequate vetting, and many clients’ desire for anonymity. The outcome of this is a counterproductive cycle where workers struggle to vet clients for safety, and clients, afraid of being scammed, resist the vetting process.
However, scamming is not the only security threat sex workers face on these platforms. They also must navigate the difficult process of identity verification, which is mandatory to be a verified member of a number of these websites, including Tryst and Leolist. According to participants, Tryst requires an annual verification of all workers, including a video call with platform administrators, as well as a photo of an identification card. On Leolist, workers are required to send a minimum of five photos with a sign that shows the current date. However, as Leolist itself notes, the platform administrators do not manually verify that workers have followed all of the steps to become verified, specifically whether or not they’ve taken photos in different positions15. The intention of verification is to appear more trustworthy to clients, but as clients themselves have noted, this doesn’t mean much, as “many of the ads on LL [Leolist] with “verified” pictures still seem obviously fake”16.
Unfortunately, these verification requirements also introduce new problems to workers. The main issue is an increased risk of phishing scams, which one of our participants attributes to the lack of real human moderators on these platforms. Aware that sex workers must comply, scammers exploit these procedures to make their victims feel more easily targeted. According to this participant, scammers will send deceptive emails on the topic because they know that they are more likely to be opened. Additionally, and most alarmingly, identity verification bolsters the systematic collection of sex workers’ personal data and contributes to their overall surveillance. This proposes a profound threat to workers, many of whom depend on anonymity for safety, while being contradicted by a lack of verification of clients, who have the power to be, and frequently are, physically or emotionally dangerous to workers.
Our participants were clear in their desires for change on advertising platforms where scamming occurs frequently, like Tryst and Leolist and there were several ways they believed this could be achieved. They suggested a stricter moderation of clients and less invasive surveillance of workers. One participant suggested increased verification of customers, even just the collection of their emails for security purposes. Two participants recommended that having a supportive customer service agent who respects the work would be much more helpful when handling scams. One of them argued that a sex worker would be best for the role, as no one knows better the experiences and needs of sex workers than the members of our own community. Leolist, alongside workers and clients, would benefit from stricter moderation, because without it, sex workers must take on the task of moderation themselves, which is sometimes impossible.
Similarly, participants demanded platform-facilitated blacklists, a need heightened by the censorship imposed by SESTA/FOSTA, which prevents sex workers from communicating openly on most platforms. As of right now, blacklists are primarily facilitated by local sex worker rights organizations, for instance Montreal’s Chez Stella, or through small, independently organized communities. However, this leaves lots of room for bad clients and scammers to fall through the cracks, with sex workers ultimately facing the repercussions. This problem is only worsened by the isolation of independent sex work, which often prevents workers from finding communities where this information can be circulated. However, platforms could facilitate sharing this information, and make it easily accessible to their users. Participants contended that platforms have an obligation to provide blacklists, especially considering that, as of right now, workers pay for these services. This is not just a helpful feature, but a service workers are entitled to for their safety.
Organizing Against Platforms
Platforms have formalized the isolation of workers within today’s digital capitalism. In our interviews, almost everyone we spoke with mentioned a feeling of loneliness, even estrangement. Unlike physical workplaces, such as massage parlors or strip clubs, platform work does not provide a shared space where sex workers can interact with one another. Their workplaces — hotels, incall and outcall locations — are scattered throughout the city and generally temporary, which significantly reduces opportunities to build connections with colleagues. Additionally, some participants expressed regret that their unstable and variable schedules, inherent to independent work, make coordination and meetings with colleagues even more difficult.
Despite these challenges, our interviews also reveal avenues of resistance and mutual support. Informal online groups on WhatsApp, Facebook, or Signal are used to share safety tips, experiences with clients, and warnings about scams. For example, a worker from Bas-Saint-Laurent recounted being alerted via a Signal group about counterfeit $100 bills circulating.
Interviewees also highlighted the importance of community initiatives such as Projet Jasmine, hosted by Médecins du Monde in France, which compiles escort site blacklists and makes them accessible to all sex workers, as platforms often require payment to access this information. In Montreal, some participants mentioned the community organization Stella, which provides health services and opportunities for community gatherings.
SWAC was also named as a crucial space for sharing experiences, strategies, and organizing. However, mobilizing colleagues online can be challenging. As Uma Rani, economist at the International Labour Organization explains in the podcast Platform Predicament – Making Sense of a Datafied Future of Work, the very functioning and nature of platforms “makes it more difficult for unions or cooperatives to reach these workers and organize them. This is an additional obstacle the labor movement must overcome.”17. Yet history shows that struggle pays off: after three years of mobilization, Uber drivers in Victoria, British Columbia, obtained the country’s first union certification, thanks to a provincial law recognizing their employment relationship with Uber.18
The survey also highlights the illusion of freedom inherent to independent work. Sex workers, like many gig workers, are told they are “their own bosses,” yet their autonomy is constantly undermined by the opaque governance of digital platforms, which dictate their visibility, access to clients, and even the parameters of their personal security. While organizing against these platforms may be challenging, one participant suggested we focus our efforts on local infrastructures, such as MERB, where organizing can actually take root and have tangible effects. Building connections with other gig workers, for instance, drivers, delivery couriers, and content creators, could also strengthen these efforts and forge alliances across independent and precarious labor sectors. Whoreganizing has always been a space for creativity and experimentation; we hope this inquiry can lay the groundwork for a deeper understanding of sex workers’ experiences on these platforms and contribute to strategic thinking around organization and resistance.
1. Emily Coombes, Ariel Wolf, Danielle Blunt & Kassandra Sparks. (2022). Disabled Sex Workers’ Fight for Digital Rights, Platform Accessibility, and Design Justice, retrieved from https://tinyurl.com/fight-for-digital-rights 
2. Tart cards are small printed advertisements historically used by SWers in the UK and other countries to promote their services. They are typically displayed in public places, such as phone booths, shop windows, or lampposts. Each card usually includes a name or alias, a phone number, and sometimes a brief description of the services offered.
3. The lockout of Québecor Média employees (2009–2011) was one of the longest and most publicized labor conflicts in Quebec. It profoundly disrupted the production and distribution of print content. The conflict has opposed management against the union, Syndicat des travailleurs de l’information du Journal de Montréal (STIJ), which was demanding better working conditions amid profound transformations in the media industry, particularly with the digitization of the press.
4. Triple-X Workers’ Solidarity Association of B.C. (2015). Press Release: Yellow Pages Ceasing Escort Advertising, retrieved from https://tinyurl.com/yellow-pages-shuts-out
5. To learn more, see Adore Goldman and Céleste. (2022). Crusade Against Pornography, From Yesterday to Now, retrieved from https://tinyurl.com/crusade-porno
6. Simply, platforms orchestrate the production and exchange of products and services by optimizing relationships among a network of actors – consumers, advertisers, service providers, producers, suppliers and even objects.
7. The Capacitor Collective. (2025). “Immigrant Workers Centre Montreal: Interview with Sarah Jean Salman” Notes Toward a Digital Workers’ Inquiry, p. 46
8. Ibid.
9. Kimberlé Crenshaw. (1993). Mapping the Margins: Intersectionality, Identity Politics, and Violence Against Women of Color, retrieved from https://www.jstor.org/stable/1229039
10. For a deeper understanding, see Adore Goldman and Céleste. (2022). Crusade Against Pornography, From Yesterday to Now, retrieved from https://tinyurl.com/croisadeporno ↩
11. According to community organizer Danielle Blunt’s report Deplatforming Sex: a roundtable conversation, “deplatforming” is when an individual user or an entire category of content is removed from one platform entirely. Because of legal and social stigma, sex workers are routinely deplatformed from online spaces, including both mainstream social media and even sex work facilitating platforms like the ones we’ve discussed. ↩
12. According to Blunt and her team in Hacking//Hustling’s report Posting into the Void: Studying the Impact of Shadowbanning on Sex Workers and Activists, a “shadowban” is a form of content moderation wherein a platform hides an individual user’s posts from the rest of the community. This makes content the platform deems inappropriate, high-risk, or low-value invisible to others, while still allowing the account to remain active and generate ad revenue for the platform. A shadowban is typically not disclosed to the user and is often publicly denied by the platform or dismissed as a technical glitch. ↩
13. Workers First Union. (s.d.). Uber Deactivation Guide, retrieved from https://www.workersfirst.nz/my-industry/uber-deactivation-guide ↩
14. MERB.cc. (2025). Are you a leolist gambler? retrieved from https://tinyurl.com/leolist-gambler ↩
15. Leolist.cc. Verified Pictures, retrieved from https://www.leolist.cc/user/verified ↩
16. PERB.cc. (2019). What the F%#K does “verified” mean on LL?, retrieved from https://tinyurl.com/verified-leolist ↩
17. Bot Populi. (2021). “Épisode 1: Platforms the Origin Story, Platform Predicament – Making Sense of a Datafied Future of Work”, retrieved from https://botpopuli.net/episode/platforms-the-origin-story ↩
18. Pivot. (2025). Syndicalisation des chauffeurs Uber en Colombie-Britannique, une victoire difficile à reproduire, retrieved from https://tinyurl.com/syndicalisation-uber ↩