Disclaimer: The name used in this article is an alias to protect the individual's privacy. Any similarities to real persons, living or deceased, are purely coincidental. Certain identifying details may have been altered.

Evie Taylor, 22, is a student living in London. With her flowing black hair, porcelain skin, and freckles scattered delicately across her nose, she is easily the embodiment of the "girl next door." Dressed in cream corduroy trousers and a lace-patterned blouse, she carries an air of quiet sophistication, polished, and effortlessly put together. To anyone passing by, she appears to be just another university student, navigating the chaos of essays and deadlines. But beneath this carefully curated image reveals a reality few would suspect, a stark contrast to the assumptions that could be made based on her appearance. Evie’s world is shaped by something far more complex: the unrelenting gaze of a society that both idolises and scrutinises young women, placing them in roles they never signed up for.

Navigating the world as young person specifically a student without adequate financial aid is an underrepresented burden.  According to HEPI’s December 2024 survey, the average annual rent for student accommodation in London stood at a staggering £13,595. In many cases, prices soared even higher, sometimes doubling that figure. To put this into perspective, the maximum student loan available for London based students is £13,762, just enough to cover rent, leaving little to nothing for food, transport, or necessities.

This financial strain forces many parents to bridge the gap or, for those without that safety net, makes university an unaffordable dream. For Evie, like many young people, attending university without a job was simply not an option. “I hope to be an animal conservationist in the future,” she told me with a bright smile, as we discussed her studies and life as a student. On the surface, she was like any other young woman juggling ambitions and academia. But Evie wasn’t what I had pictured when I thought of a sex worker—something I asked her if she considered herself to be. She paused for a moment before replying, “I wouldn’t have said so before, because I feel like it’s kind of a blurry line with cam girls. But I guess… yeah.”

Ordinary and unassuming, Evie swans through the world without drawing much attention. Her delicate features and fresh faced innocence make her look years younger than she is. Perhaps the only poignant feature that sets her apart at first glance. When the topic of age comes up in our initial conversation, she offers a small, awkward smile. “One reason I’m probably quite successful on my camming website is because I have a young-looking face.” When I broach the subject on how her youthful appearance might attract fetishization, her demeanour shifts. “I don’t engage with that, though,” she says, her voice quieter now. “If they ask me to pretend, I’m younger than 18, for example, I won’t do that.”

But the requests come regardless. While many women encounter uncomfortable propositions in real life, online, where a screen offers both distance and anonymity, people feel emboldened to express the most disturbing of fantasies. “I’ve been asked some quite fucked-up things,” she admits. “I had a guy ask me to find cotton underwear with cartoons on it and wear them.” I see her recoil at the thought, and my mind flickers to the people in my own life; friends, colleagues, even family, anyone who might secretly hold such disturbing desires. Despite the closeness with her own family, this part of her life remains hidden. “I feel like I live a completely double life,” she says. “If they found out… I feel sick at the thought of what would happen.”

With the mass saturation of sex in modern culture, I can’t help but feel that oversexualisation in media, film, and television has become disturbingly normalized. The accessibility of the vast reach of the adult entertainment industry makes it easier than ever to engage with, or participate in. With platforms like OnlyFans and camming websites offering a quick and seemingly effortless way to make money, it’s hard not to wonder whether women are, to some extent, being indoctrinated into it. When financial security is just a few clicks away, morals can feel like an afterthought, eclipsed by the lure of fast cash. I asked Evie whether she kept her job a secret from her family out of embarrassment or perhaps even regret. “I don’t find it shameful for myself, but I would feel very ashamed if they found out,” she confessed. Her words struck me, an almost unconscious contradiction, as if she hadn’t fully confronted the weight of her own feelings. As our conversation continued, I noticed a quiet naivety in her statements, layered with an undertone of an struggling esteem. When I asked about relationships outside of her job, she hesitated before saying, “I could see it having problems… causing problems.”

I was curious whether Evie ever felt a clash between her work and personal life or if, after entering a culture where attracting male attention through promiscuity is normalized, she felt dependent on sexualizing herself for validation. “100%... I mean, I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing, though," she began. "Because in one sense, I feel really secure when I’m having sex. But on the other hand, obviously, when I’m trying to attract a guy’s attention, it kind of gets mixed up in your head. I’ve definitely experienced wanting to be, trying to make myself be perceived in a sexual way by a lot of men.” She paused before adding, “However, I also think that’s quite a common thing anyway, in young women. Lots of people who don’t have any involvement in this kind of life still crave men’s attention.”

But I wonder if young women outside of this industry also resort to hyper sexualization as a way to gain the same kind of attention. It raises a concerning issue: to gain male validation, the only form of value she feels she can offer is her body, overshadowing the importance of her intellect or personality. It's difficult to reconcile the idea of true self-esteem or empowerment when she feels the need to exchange her physical self for approval.

Upon reflecting on my interview with Evie, I am struck by her apparent disregard or denial of the impact her work has on her mental well-being. It seems clear that the job has had a deeper, more pervasive effect on her psyche, reshaping her interactions with both herself and men. The ease of financial gain appears to overshadow the more prominent consequences of her engagement in this industry. Unlike a conventional hospitality role, which, while physically demanding, may not fundamentally alter one’s sense of self, the nature of the industry appears to infiltrate her self-worth and personal identity. In her pursuit of external validation and financial stability, the distinction between empowerment and self-exploitation becomes increasingly difficult to discern.

“I don’t find it shameful for myself, but I would feel very ashamed if they found out,”

— Evie Taylor, 22