
I get off on men paying for my time and skills. It seems like an appropriate fetish to have as a native New Yorker. (
"Oh yeah. That's right. Compensate me fairly. Get that overpriced rent paid. Mmmm.") It is part of what makes being a Professional Dominatrix a worthwhile pursuit for me.
The downside? It's the same story for every sex worker: I worry about my looks. How to enhance them. When will I lose them? Should I try to lie about my age? Oh my God, is my ass really that big... and should I try to capitalize on that?
Looks aren't absolutely everything, but they play a role. When I first started out, I knew diddly squat about how to tie a proper knot. I didn't know a thing about medical play. Basically, I had no real marketable skills as a Dominatrix. But I had an authentic schoolgirl uniform (one day, I will tell you my creepy stories) an assortment of lingerie, and a penchant for being borderline underweight, so that was enough for plenty of people. Even now, when I can actually bind a man with speed and finesse, looks matter. (I doubt anyone would contact me without seeing photos, anyway.) And it does something to your head when you think about it: I have made more money in a profession that does not require so much as a High School diploma than anywhere else.
I am worth more in a catsuit than I am in an office, in some J.Crew knits.
The idea is hot. Yet infuriating. And sometimes, tinged with half-hearted regret, because maybe if someone had told me back then that you can't make a living off of a love of books and writing, I wouldn't have all these stupid student loans. Someone could have told me to quit it with the poetry, at the very least.
Anyway, I was thinking about how inordinately vain being a sex worker has made me, and I realized that a lot of the same dynamics come into play when dating. I once had an online dating profile in which I exposed my personality flaws. It said that I mope alot. I'm irritable in the morning. I will never offer to pay for dinner: not so much as a fake purse reach. My sex drive operates in fits. But there was a (tasteful!) photo of me in a bikini, so nobody cared if I was a basketcase.
So, at the conclusion of this rambling post, my shamefully heteronormative question for the men: How important are looks when you're looking to date a woman? And for the ladies: How important do you think/feel looks are to men?