Dr. Hilary Caldwell kicks off her morning by plunging naked into Canberra’s Lake Burley Griffin for the annual winter solstice swim. It’s a refreshing start to a day that marks a significant milestone for her. By 11 am, she’s back at her desk, ready for another leap: publicly sharing her journey as a sex worker for the first time.
Dr. Caldwell, who has kept her sex work under wraps from most, including journalists and even her own adult children until recently, is gearing up for the release of her new book, Slutdom: Reclaiming Shame-Free Sexuality. “They were really supportive,” she says about her children’s reaction. “They knew about the book, but thought it was purely academic. Now they know the full story: Mummy is a sex worker. Coming out to the world is less daunting than revealing it to my children.”
Slutdom builds on Caldwell’s groundbreaking doctoral research, Women Who Buy Sex in Australia, the world’s first study on this topic. “Initially, people doubted it happened frequently enough for a PhD,” she recalls. “Now, the acknowledgment that women buy sex is gratifying.”
Her book weaves together academic research, interviews with sex workers and their female clients, and her own experiences. While conducting her PhD at the University of New South Wales and her master's at the University of Sydney, Caldwell remained discreet about her sex work, revealing only her roles as a nurse and sex therapist. This secrecy, juxtaposed with her mission to de-stigmatize sex work, became a personal conflict. “Twice I was asked at a podium if I was a sex worker and denied it,” she shares. “Challenging someone to come out publicly can be dangerous due to risks like ex-partners, child custody, or homelessness.”
Despite these challenges, Slutdom radiates joy and aims to foster a “slutopia” where women experience sexual freedom without a gender-based “pleasure deficit.” Caldwell envisions a world where sex work is regarded akin to self-care. One interviewee compared it to a spa day, while another viewed it as a means to explore her desires and body. Another client mentioned her psychiatrist suggested that seeing a sex worker saved her therapy costs.
Interviewees ranged from an 18-year-old exploring sex work right at the age of majority to a 69-year-old embarking on this path later in life. “There’s no set age, but a common stage of self-development where they’re ready to shed ingrained shame,” Caldwell explains. Safety was a prominent reason women paid for sex, preferring the security of professional boundaries over the unpredictability of casual dating.
Caldwell advises thorough research for those seeking sex workers: “Examine their website and social media presence, how long they’ve been active, and who follows them. A good indicator is if they’re connected to reputable bodies like Scarlet Alliance.” She warns against male sex workers who overly focus on physical attributes in their advertising.
Beginning her sex work in 2003, Caldwell, fresh from a 15-year marriage and with four young children, saw it as a way to improve her financial situation. “I’ve always loved sex and realized I could be a better mother with more money,” she reflects. “I enjoyed ministering to the ‘skin-hungry.’” Over two decades later, she continues to serve long-term clients, finding that emotional connections often overshadow physical interactions.
Identifying as queer and inspired by movements like Reclaim the Night and SlutWalk, Caldwell advocates for a sex-positive cultural shift akin to the impact of #MeToo on sexual assault awareness. She’s heartened by the proliferation of sex-positive podcasts and the reduced stigma surrounding sex work, bolstered by decriminalization efforts across Australia. “My decision to come out now is about safety,” she concludes. “I’ve faced significant challenges to my privacy and safety, but now, in 2024, I’m coming out on my own terms.”