OnlyFans: What's Not To Like?

A lot, as it turns out

Jenée Desmond-Harris, Slate magazine’s Dear Prudence, starts her podcast by asking the guest advice-givers to share a piece of unsolicited advice. (Before you ask — no, that is not a picture of her.) Now I’m always happy to be a podcast guest — or an advice-giver, for that matter, if you have any questions for me — but I was told years ago and in no uncertain terms that “unsolicited advice is just criticism.” So I refrain.

However… if I were asked for my general, all-around advice to the world it would be this: Don’t throw gasoline on a fire.

Generally, this applies to not escalating arguments, personal or political. Not picking at scabs, physical or psychic. Not tossing good money after bad. Stuff like that. But lately it has come to apply to sex and love addiction. A world of online porn and dating apps has been an arson-level accelerant on what was at one time a behavioral problem that bedeviled maybe 6% of the population. We took a manageable trash can blaze and turned it into a raging forest fire. Imagine the drinking age was reduced to 9 and booze was free. Think we’d have more alcoholism?

Which brings us to OnlyFans, which has metastasized into an $18 billion business by promising 190 million users an experience it doesn’t deliver and its 2.1 million “creators” an income it doesn’t provide by weaponizing sexual and romantic fantasy. And at the risk of coming across as a wet blanket… I don’t think this is a net social good.

Now, I have nothing against sex work in general. It’s a tale as old as time (although in my experience, it’s not particularly good for the tender hearts of either the buyers or sellers.) But in the time-old tale, sex work was something people did face to face, person to person. Me and my topless dancer pals, we were faking liking you. We weren’t faking looking at you. Not to burst anyone’s bubble, but the stars of Only Fans are not actually writing you personal notes or making you personal videos. It’s all make-believe. And they’re selling it to people who are addicted to make-believe.

I commend to your attention to this deeply researched and well-written Wired Magazine piece by Brendan I. Koerner: “I Went Undercover as a Secret OnlyFans Chatter. It Wasn’t Pretty.” Go ahead. Read it. I’ll wait. It’s a deep dive into every level of exploitation at OnlyFans, and I was amazed at how many levels there are and how deep and dark they get.

Sure, there’s the sex worker who exploits lonely, isolated sex and love addicts by promising a personal connection they don’t actually provide. But then there are the aggregators who manage stables of sex workers who don’t actually provide any sex, taking a generous slice of their income. Below that is a pool of exploited workers I didn’t even realize existed: poorly paid contractors who provide a simulacrum of personal connection for the fans. You didn’t really think Princsssparkles writes 10,000 personal messages a month herself, did you?

These are the actual creators, anonymous drones who pretend to be the OF models and write those titillating DMs for less than you could earn flipping burgers at McDonalds. Except they live in, like, Venezuela, so there aren’t that many McDonalds hiring. In a minute and a half, they’re all going to be replaced by AI anyway. Dear Addict: You’re paying for the privilege of sexting with a robot.

It’s a business built on overpromising and underdelivering, supported largely by addicts who don’t have the power to say “no thanks.” Aside from a handful of naked celebrities, the only people doing well are the guys up in the C Suite of the privately held company who bank the proceeds. They’re the best paid pimps in the history of pimping.

Like I said, I’ve got nothing against sex work. I’ve known plenty of hookers with hearts of gold. But I’ve never met a pimp I’d bring home for Sunday dinner with the family. I don’t like to feed a fire.