Why I Started Investigating the Escort Industry as a Young Journalist

Posted by Maria Rodriguez | March 20, 2024

Two years ago, if someone had told me I'd become New York City's go-to journalist covering the escort industry, I would have laughed. At 21, fresh out of Columbia's journalism program, I was convinced I'd be covering city politics or maybe arts and culture. The last thing I expected was to spend my early twenties learning about an industry that most people prefer to pretend doesn't exist.

But here's the thing about journalism—sometimes the most important stories find you when you least expect them.

The Story That Started It All

It was October 2022, and I was working as a freelancer, desperately pitching stories to anyone who would listen. I was covering a city council meeting about business licensing regulations when I noticed something odd. The council was discussing new requirements for "personal service businesses," but the language was so vague it could mean anything from massage therapists to dog walkers.

During the public comment period, a woman named Sarah (not her real name) stood up to speak. She was articulate, well-dressed, probably in her thirties. She explained that she ran a companionship service and that the proposed regulations would essentially force her business to close. The way she spoke about licensing requirements, safety protocols, and client screening made it clear she was running a legitimate operation. But the discomfort in the room was palpable.

After the meeting, I approached Sarah. What started as a quick interview for a small story about business regulations turned into a three-hour conversation that completely changed my perspective on an industry I knew nothing about.

What I Learned That First Day

Sarah explained that she ran what she called a "high-end companionship service." Her clients paid her to accompany them to business dinners, cultural events, or simply to have intelligent conversation over dinner. She had a master's degree in art history and spoke three languages. She screened her clients carefully, maintained professional boundaries, and paid her taxes.

"People assume I'm doing something illegal," she told me over coffee in a Midtown café. "But providing companionship isn't illegal. Going to dinner with someone isn't illegal. The problem is that society can't believe a woman would choose this work, so they assume there must be something seedy about it."

That conversation planted a seed. If there were people like Sarah operating legitimate businesses, why wasn't anyone writing about them? Why were the only stories about this industry focused on trafficking and crime? Where were the voices of the actual workers?

The Research Rabbit Hole

I started digging. I read academic papers, court cases, and policy reports. I discovered that escort services—when they truly focus on companionship rather than sexual services—operate in a legal gray area that varies by jurisdiction. In New York, it's perfectly legal to pay someone for their time and company. It becomes illegal when sexual services are explicitly offered or expected.

But the legal distinctions, I learned, matter much less than the social stigma. Even people running completely legal operations face discrimination in banking, advertising, and basic business services. They can't use most mainstream advertising platforms. They struggle to find lawyers willing to represent them. They often can't even rent office space when landlords discover the nature of their business.

The more I researched, the more I realized this wasn't just a story about one industry—it was a story about how stigma affects working people, how our legal system handles moral gray areas, and how technology is changing personal service industries.

My First Real Interview

Three weeks after meeting Sarah, she introduced me to another escort named Alex. Alex had been in the industry for five years and had a completely different perspective. Where Sarah's operation was high-end and selective, Alex worked more broadly, serving clients across different economic levels.

"Look," Alex told me during our first interview, "I'm not going to pretend this is just like any other job. It's not. But it's also not what people think it is. Most of my clients just want someone to listen to them. They're lonely, or going through a divorce, or they need a date for a work function and don't want to deal with the complications of a real relationship."

Alex also opened my eyes to the safety challenges that workers in this industry face. The inability to advertise on mainstream platforms pushes people toward less secure methods of finding clients. The stigma makes it difficult to report crimes or seek help when things go wrong. The legal ambiguity means workers often don't know their rights.

The Bigger Picture

As I conducted more interviews, I began to see patterns. The industry wasn't the monolith I'd imagined. There were college students working part-time to pay tuition. There were single mothers supporting their families. There were people who genuinely enjoyed the work and others who saw it as a temporary necessity. There were small independent operators and larger agencies. There were people working legally and others who weren't.

What struck me most was how normal most of these people were. They worried about the same things everyone worries about—paying rent, family relationships, career goals, health insurance. But they also dealt with unique challenges that stemmed entirely from the stigma surrounding their work.

Why This Matters

Some people have asked me why I'm "wasting" my early career on this topic. Why not cover something more "respectable"? But here's what I've learned: the way a society treats its most stigmatized workers says everything about its values.

When we refuse to talk honestly about industries like this one, we make things worse for everyone involved. We push legitimate businesses into the shadows. We make it harder for people to work safely. We ignore real policy problems that could be solved with better regulation and social acceptance.

Over the past two years, I've interviewed more than 150 people connected to this industry—workers, clients, law enforcement officers, lawyers, policymakers, and advocates. I've attended court hearings, city council meetings, and academic conferences. I've read hundreds of police reports, legal filings, and research papers.

My goal isn't to convince you that escort work is good or bad—it's to help you understand it more accurately. Because whether you approve of this industry or not, it exists. And the people working in it deserve accurate representation, fair treatment, and basic human dignity.