The Real Shame Isn’t Us - It’s the Stigma

The Stigma We Live With: Why It's Time to Normalize Intimacy Work

As someone who works in the intimacy industry here in Aotearoa and connects with people from all walks of life, I see firsthand how deeply stigma still runs - not just in New Zealand, but worldwide.

Despite the fact that sex work is decriminalized here, there remains a lingering shadow cast by outdated beliefs, shaming language, and media portrayals that keep reinforcing the same tired tropes. We're either painted as broken women with no other options or glamorized into caricatures for entertainment. Rarely are we shown for what we really are—professional, emotionally intelligent, grounded humans who offer something many people deeply crave: connection, care, intimacy, and safety.

Let’s be clear: this is work. It takes skill to hold space, read the room, understand consent and boundaries, attune to nervous systems, maintain hygiene, emotional neutrality, and professionalism—all while helping someone feel special, seen, and safe in their own skin.

The language used to describe our work is often weaponized. We're called "hookers," "dirty," or "selling ourselves"—terms that reduce a multifaceted, deeply human service to a single judgment. No one says a massage therapist “sells themselves” for using their hands. No one blames a psychologist for being paid to listen and hold emotional space. Yet because our work involves sexuality or touch—something so deeply human—it’s treated as taboo.

Many people assume that the job is transactional or shallow. In reality, some of the most emotionally present, respectful, and self-aware conversations I've had have been in session. Clients share things they've never told another soul. They get to drop their armor, breathe, and be witnessed without judgment.

And still—we carry stigma in our everyday lives. Some of us hide what we do from family, friends, or even healthcare providers out of fear of being treated differently. We’re often not seen as mothers, daughters, partners, or professionals. We’re judged solely on the one part of our work that others misunderstand the most.

So why does this matter? Because decriminalization is only one step. True change happens when people start recognizing our humanity—not just tolerating our existence, but respecting our work and seeing the value in what we do.

If you're someone reading this and you’ve never considered how stigma shows up, here’s a gentle challenge:

• Notice the words you use when you talk about people in the industry.

• Question the portrayals you see in films or TV—are they respectful, or reductive?

• Ask yourself if your reaction to someone doing this work would be different if you saw them at your child’s school or yoga class.

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We are not “less than.” We are not what the media stereotypes. We are people. We are professionals. We are doing our work with heart, integrity, and care.

We are offering something deeply human—something many people are starved of: real presence, genuine care, non-judgment, and connection.

And yet, we are often judged more harshly than those who cause harm in positions of power. A politician can cheat on their spouse, lie to the public, and still be re-elected. A man can hire an escort and still be seen as respectable. But the woman he hired? She’s degraded, dismissed, whispered about.

It’s not the work that’s the problem. It’s the lens society views it through.

So if you're uncomfortable, ask yourself: why? If you’ve ever paid for a massage, a therapist, or even a date via a dating app—you’ve engaged in a form of exchange for care, time, or connection. The only difference is what society chooses to moralize. And that moralization often says more about you than about us.

It’s time to stop pretending that sexuality disqualifies someone from being respected.

Because if connection, presence, and intimacy aren’t valuable work—then maybe we need to take a hard look at what we’ve learned to value in the first place.

We’re not asking for pity. We’re calling for perspective.