The Internet Loves Sex. Why Does it Hate Sex Workers?

In 2022, I moved to Delhi for my master’s. I found a nice place in the heart of the city, and I was excited to make friends. The first night, my flatmates and I were getting to know each other, talking and drinking. One of them mentions that her dissertation was on the rights of sex workers, which made me feel comfortable enough to slip in, “Hey, I’m a sex worker.”

They appeared curious, asking me many questions, which I took as a good sign. After a moment of silence, one of them asked me if I could help her with a paper on sex work (which ended up being a request to write it for her), since I inherently knew more. I said yes, because I thought if I helped her, we could be friends. But with the admission that I’m a sex worker, the othering had already begun.

One day I heard one of them go “She’s not like us. Her lifestyle is different.” I didn’t think too much of it. But then they stopped inviting me to hang out with them. I would be in my room for the most part that week. A few days later, on a late Friday night, I hear a knock on the door. I thought it must be one of my flatmates. It was my parents. They had come to take me back home. My flatmates had snitched to the landlady that I’m a sex worker and she was furious. She wanted me off the premises. How could she let a sex worker into her house? My parents asked me to pack my stuff. I sat in the car, crying all the way back to Chandigarh. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. I had been thrown out.

On the way back, I consoled myself, “At least I’m not living with whorephobes anymore.” When I eventually managed to convince my parents to let me go back to Delhi, I was hesitant about getting back into full service sex work. But I needed money. So I turned to the internet.

Online, I’d sell my nudes, do cam sex. Previously, I would find my clients through dating apps but when dating apps like Tinder and Bumble banned me, I turned to the American app Seeking Arrangement, which had rebranded itself as Seeking, now a dating site with an emphasis on “luxury dating.” However, “[U.S] laws like SESTA and FOSTA make companies liable if sex workers offer their services through their platforms,” Ossiana Tepfenhart writes in The Dirty Little Secret “Open-Minded” Dating Apps Don’t Want You To Know. In essence, I was working out of India on platforms bound by American laws, leaving me in a legal liminal space.

In India, the Information Technology Act, especially its amendments and associated rules, has serious implications for online content that might affect the digital presence of sex workers. According to Section 67 of the IT Act it is illegal to publish or transmit “obscene” material in electronic form. This broad definition may be applied to any materials pertaining to sex work.

The 2021 IT Rules have further tightened up the content regulations. These require social media platforms to remove any content that breaches the guidelines or ethical codes. This moves platforms from being passive hosts to more active publishers, which necessitates increased AI-driven content moderation.

However, AI-assisted content moderation today has led to a disturbing trend of systemic censorship and deplatforming of sex workers. This includes social media sites, payment processors, and content-sharing platforms. Activists have called this "algorithmic whorephobia," which is another way in which sex workers are marginalised with dire consequences in real life. Algorithmic whorephobia is especially alarming because it creates a scaling effect. A few posts could be flagged on a daily basis by human content moderator, whose personal biases may be affecting their judgement of what should be flagged. Then, millions of posts are given the same biased treatment within seconds by an AI system with no accountability or transparency.

Algorithms adjust to comply with state regulations reduce the reach of sex workers' posts. If flagged for promoting illegal activities, entire forums or groups may be closed down. Sex workers, who are already marginalised, face greater online restrictions compared to other groups.

“Algorithmic whorephobia is not a glitch; it is discrimination by design," explains Dr Zahra Stardust, author of forthcoming book Indie Porn. It is a result of whore stigma, which manifests across a range of social services, online and offline. That stigma, which is embedded in laws and policies that criminalise and discriminate against sex workers, is then coded into the community standards, terms of service and moderation decisions of platforms. Algorithmic whorephobia manifests in a range of contexts, such as AirBnB banning sex workers via their 'trustworthiness' algorithm, Meta scanning messages for people engaged in 'sexual solicitation,' and payment processors using sexual proxies to refuse service to sex workers. The specific enforcement and interpretation of these laws can vary. And this ambiguity is precisely what subjects sex workers to the whims and fancies of the state and social morality.

Amongst sex worker communities stories abound of shadowbanning, inexplicable account suspensions and stealth removals or throttling without explanation. For instance, very often, even my regular posts would be removed from Instagram for “violating community guidelines.” I’d repeal, the post would be back up. But the question is why it keeps happening. When you’re a sex worker, everything about your existence is inappropriate. As Gabriella Garcia argues, “To Big Tech, the sex worker is as indispensable as they are disposable."

Sex workers built the internet. Yet we find ourselves at the mercy of automated content moderation.

Sex work was crucial in driving early internet adoption and innovation. It motivated users to overcome technical barriers and spurred demand for better hardware and connectivity. The adult industry pioneered many online business practices that are now widely used. Sofia Barrett-Ibarria explains, “[S]ex workers populated early chat rooms, fuelled the rise of e-commerce that began with online porn, and later adopted cryptocurrencies as a means of survival long before they hit the mainstream.” Despite this significant role, sex workers' contributions are often erased from internet history narratives, raising questions about why this erasure occurs and who benefits from it. There's a digital scarlet letter branded on everything we post. Across the world, algorithms flag anything that even remotely relates to sex work, regardless of whether or not it violates any stated rules. I have had my posts and account deleted so many times, as have my peers in other countries. It’s like we are being completely removed from the internet – discarded despite our role in its success.

When OnlyFans was started in 2016, it was meant as a platform for influencers. But it didn’t take off till sex workers helped popularise the site. Then, in August 2021, OnlyFans announced its decision to bar sexually explicit videos from its site. Only when they received guarantees from financial institutions that they would not impose sanctions on adult content, OnlyFans announced that they had put their intended policy update scheduled on hold. There’s clearly a pattern: the same platforms that were made popular by sex workers’ content now turn against them.

Three years ago when my Instagram account was suddenly deleted, I lost my main channel for finding new clients. I had to work as a full-service sex worker to make ends meet. Online platforms allow sex workers to more thoroughly research potential clients before meeting, reducing risks. We can clearly communicate services, rates, and boundaries upfront. Street-based sex work generally involves more personal risk, less ability to vet clients, and potentially more stigma or legal risks. So when the algorithm just decides you're persona non grata with no explanation, it feels like your very existence is pushed into the shadows.

The fight against this algorithmic discrimination is ultimately about more than just sex work. It's about the kind of internet we want to create. Is it one that amplifies diverse voices, or one that reinforces existing power structures?

I was diagnosed as schizophrenic in 2019. I have been in and out of psychosis since the latter part of my teenage years. When I moved to Delhi for college, being psychotic meant there were only a few things I could do when I needed the money and I couldn’t rely on my parents.

The bulk of users that are in the industry are disabled women and trans people. According to the Disability Studies Quartlely Paper, Disabled Sex Workers' Fight for Digital Rights, Platform Accessibility, and Design Justice, “Even prior to the Covid19 pandemic, online sex work was exponentially gaining attention and used by many people with disabilities as a means of making money while avoiding offline workplaces, which can create many barriers for disabled sex workers participation.”

Algorithmic content moderation and discrimination also affects accessibility for disabled people. “Sex workers are unable to use accurate alt text on our images for fear of shadowbanning and deplatforming. This makes content and resources inaccessible for screen readers used by blind people. Sex workers are forced into censoring themselves in a way that makes their content and harm reduction materials illegible to our disabled comrades, further facilitating harm,” explains Posting Into the Void, a community report by Hacking//Hustling. It's like we have to choose between reaching our disabled friends and keeping our accounts safe. So we end up censoring ourselves. We use vague descriptions or leave out important details. This is especially frustrating when we're trying to spread important information about staying safe and healthy in our line of work.

Many who proclaim support for disability rights or rally against online censorship fail to recognize how their own internalized prejudice against sex work contributes to this growing problem. The censorship we face isn't just a tech issue – it's a reflection of society's moral judgments, often unconsciously upheld even by our supposed allies.

This disconnect becomes particularly evident when discussing class solidarity and workers' rights. Some people claim to support these ideals broadly, but their attitudes reveal a more complex reality when it comes to sex work. It's annoying when people claim class solidarity when what they really mean is “Yes, but it couldn't be me.” Almost like: “I’m with you, but sex work is beneath me.”

It's annoying to constantly have to defend how you choose to survive in this capitalist hellscape. It's annoying to be bombarded with questions about your profession on dating apps, as if you're an exotic animal in the zoo for taking in. It’s annoying when you’re on a date and the person asks if they could interview you for their documentary instead, and the entire conversation shifts. I want to be loved and seen without being made into a spectacle. As adrie rose, a Jamaican-American essayist on sex and tech says in Paternalism, Prostitution, Paying for it on the Left, “In my defense, I just hate talking about sex work with people that aren’t sex workers.”

As a mad, trans/agender person in the sex industry, I too am tired of your pity. When doing phone sex, I have had clients tell me that “a good girl like you shouldn’t be doing these kinds of things.” I shouldn’t be doing these kinds of things and still you want me to moan for you.

I started working in the sex industry because I needed the money. I also have bills and rent to pay, especially as a disabled person with medical needs. I have enjoyed it and sometimes hated it. I have had repeat clients who were fun to hang out with. I have had clients who were difficult, wouldn’t pay on time, wouldn’t listen to a “No.” Sometimes I’d lay in bed imagining it was over; I’d imagine getting dressed up and heading out with my money, sitting down somewhere for a nice meal and thank fuck I’m alive. I’m not empowered by sex work. But do I have to be? Am I allowed to make choices?

There’s the obvious question of what kind of sex is discriminated against, when the Internet is also a place of booming sex toy companies, and sex educators who win awards and are on panel discussions for their work as digital creators. With so many influencers and startups exhorting users to have their own sexual agency, I wonder if my agency as a sex worker counts. My lived experiences and professional realities seem at odds with the sanitised version of sexuality that platforms deem acceptable. This dissonance isn't just frustrating – it's a manifestation of deeper, systemic biases.

Dr. Safiya Noble, author of Algorithms of Oppression, contends that the intertwining of private interests in boosting particular websites and the monopolistic control of a few major internet search engines results in biased search algorithms. These algorithms tend to prioritise whiteness and marginalise people of colour, especially women of colour. Additionally, Salty World’s report on algorithmic bias finds that social media algorithms adversely affect queer people, women, BIPOC, people with disabilities, sex workers, and plus-size people. The report also stated that “the most common reason given for the censorship of tr*ns and n*nbinary people’s content is ‘nudity.’” So, when you’re both a sex worker and trans, the Internet is neither friendly nor liberating.

Dr. Stardust adds that “Algorithmic whorephobia impacts a range of communities beyond sex workers, including artists, activists, sex educators, LGBTQIA+ communities, and people engaged in harm reduction and health promotion. Algorithms designed to detect sexual speech are often programmed to simply detect explicit words and don't understand context, resulting in broad overcapture and a chilling effect upon sexual expression. This is not just inadvertent overcapture; it happens as a matter of course.”

The opacity of these automated systems makes it difficult to prove intentional discrimination, but the pattern of who gets censored speaks volumes. Feminist scholars Prof. Susanna Paasonen and Dr. Carolina Are explain that, while mainstream celebrities can post risqué photos with impunity, sex workers find even their most benign content being flagged. Educational posts about sexual health are removed as "inappropriate," while violent content often slips through unnoticed.

This points to a fundamental flaw in how AI moderation systems conceptualise "appropriate" content. By training on datasets that reflect societal stigma around sex work, these algorithms perpetuate a false dichotomy between "acceptable" and "unacceptable" forms of sexual expression. The result is a kind of digital respectability politics, where only sanitised, mainstream depictions of sexuality are tolerated. Anything that challenges that norm – be it queer sexuality, kink, sex work, or educational content – gets flagged as deviant and dangerous. It's a form of automated slut-shaming. Which is to say, whorephobia isn't just a problem for sex workers; it reflects and reinforces broader societal stigmas and biases that affect everyone. When discriminatory attitudes against sex workers are encoded into technology, they perpetuate harmful stereotypes and allow for the policing of bodies, sexuality, and expression on a wider scale. This systemic bias seeps into other areas, influencing how different marginalised groups are treated online and offline. Stigma against sex work often intersects with and reinforces other forms of discrimination, like sexism, racism, classism, and discrimination against LGBTQ+ people.

Anne Semans and Cathy Winks in The Women’s Guide to Sex on the Web explain, “The adult industry is pioneering commercial activities on the Web, and the same gimmicks employed by adult pay sites today may be employed by your favourite online magazine tomorrow.”

Sex workers aren't waiting for big tech to change course. Many are exploring alternative platforms and decentralised technologies as a way to route around censorship. From blockchain-based social networks to encrypted messaging apps, sex workers are once again at the forefront of innovation online. There are apps like Lips where you can share “your art, essays, poetry (anything!)” without biased censorship or trolls. We've always had to be creative to carve out safe spaces for ourselves. If the mainstream platforms won't have us, we'll build our own.

“One obvious policy step towards preventing algorithmic whorephobia are to decriminalise and destigmatise sex work and introduce dedicated anti-discrimination protections for sex workers at a domestic level… This means that ending algorithmic whorephobia also requires the repeal of all national laws that incentivise platforms to detect and deny service to sex workers,” says Dr. Stardust.

We're not just fighting for our right to exist online. We're fighting for everyone's right to be their authentic selves in digital spaces without fear of algorithmic punishment. This is about the soul of the internet. “Automating whorephobia: sex, technology and the violence of deplatforming” explains that anyone studying or making rules for the internet should listen to sex workers, because they have critical insights about safety and fairness online. At the end of the day, the internet is mine as much as it’s yours.