Hollywood has never been shy about putting sex workers on screen – but it has rarely done them justice. The latest example is Anora, a buzzy drama about a stripper that swept this year’s Oscars.
Its surprise Best Picture win was hailed by some as a breakthrough for sex worker representation. Yet many in the audience (especially sex workers themselves) had a very different take. Did Anora truly signal progress in Hollywood’s portrayal of sex work, or was it just the same old clichés in a shiny new package?
Let’s take a closer look into the Anora controversy and see how it stacks up against Tinseltown’s long history of getting sex work wrong.
The Online Controversy
By all traditional measures, Anora was a triumph. Sean Baker’s film about a New York stripper who marries into extreme wealth swept the Oscars, winning five awards, including Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Actress. Mikey Madison’s portrayal of Ani, the film’s lead, was hailed as a milestone for sex worker representation in Hollywood. On the surface, it seemed like a progressive step forward.
But as soon as the awards were over, the backlash began. Many sex workers took to social media, some praising the film for its authenticity, while others slammed it as yet another Hollywood misfire—just better disguised. The divide was stark. While the Academy celebrated Anora, many in the sex work community weren’t convinced.
“Anora is a reminder that Hollywood actresses win awards playing fake sex workers while real sex workers die and no one cares,” wrote former sex worker and author Laura LeMoon. That harsh reality check underscored the ongoing disconnect between Hollywood’s glamorized narratives and the lived experiences of actual sex workers.
Even mainstream audiences were split. Some saw Anora as a bold step forward; others dismissed it as Oscar bait wrapped in virtue signalling. The film was praised for involving real strippers in minor roles and using awards speeches to advocate for sex worker rights, but critics questioned whether it was truly as progressive as it claimed to be. As Vox writer Kyndall Cunningham put it, “Anora’s sex worker opus might not be as progressive as it looks.”
Subverting or Serving Tropes?
Anora isn’t a bad film—far from it. It’s entertaining, well-acted, and offers glimpses into a stripper’s real-life hustle. Ani (stage name Anora) is neither a tragic victim nor an untouchable “boss bitch”—she’s just a 23-year-old woman working her way through life, juggling rude customers, club politics, and financial uncertainty.
But then comes Ivan—the charming, wealthy club patron who sweeps her off her feet. The twist? He’s the son of a Russian oligarch, and after a whirlwind romance, Ani agrees to marry him. It’s a plot that had many sex workers rolling their eyes. Haven’t we seen this before? The rich knight in shining armour rescuing the “fallen woman”—straight out of the Pretty Woman playbook.
To be fair, Anora doesn’t take the easy way out. Things spiral after the elopement, and Ani’s dream of a better life collides with the harsh reality of power and control. The film avoids the worst clichés—she’s not “saved,” nor is she punished with some gruesome fate. By the end, she’s bruised but still standing. That alone sets it apart from Hollywood’s usual treatment of sex workers.
And there are moments that sex workers appreciated. The film acknowledges mundane but real concerns—like strippers’ lack of health benefits and the grind of keeping regulars. Cosmopolitan UK even noted that Anora was the first major film to mention strippers’ labour rights. But for every moment Anora gets right, it stumbles elsewhere. Ani’s blind trust in Ivan felt unrealistic to many, reinforcing the “naïve stripper” stereotype.
But What Do The Sex Workers Themselves Think?
We reached out to Kings Lover and spoke to Chanelle, one of their high-class London escorts who had her own take on it:
“This whole ‘sex workers are just looking for an escape’ thing is so overdone. Plenty of us have wealthy clients, but we’re not running off to Vegas with them. If anything, most of my clients are more emotionally attached to me than I am to them.”
Interestingly, some strippers defended Ani’s naivety. “I too was a naive idiot as a stripper in NYC in my 20s,” one dancer posted. Others, however, felt the film leaned too hard on pity—especially in its emotional climax. Sex worker and writer Marla Cruz put it bluntly: “Anora is just another story about how sex workers are crass, impulsive, and destined for heartbreak.”
And that’s where Anora leaves us—with a heroine who isn’t punished for her job, but still ends up humbled and heartbroken. It’s better than most portrayals, sure. But it still sends the same old message: sex work is never just a job, it’s always a struggle. Hollywood, it seems, just can’t resist.
What is Hollywood’s Obsession with Sex Work Tropes?
If Anora feels like it straddles the line between progress and cliché, it’s because it stands on decades of Hollywood baggage. Sex workers in film have long been reduced to a handful of predictable tropes—either tragic victims, glamorous fantasy figures, or cautionary tales.
These outdated portrayals have shaped how audiences perceive the industry, often reinforcing harmful stereotypes rather than dismantling them.
The Cinderella Call Girl
The most famous (and misleading) portrayal is Pretty Woman (1990), where Vivian (Julia Roberts) is plucked from a life of street prostitution by a wealthy businessman. He buys her designer clothes, whisks her away to the opera, and by the end, she’s seemingly “saved” from sex work altogether.
The Dead Hooker Trope
On the flip side, Hollywood loves the image of the “disposable sex worker”—a nameless victim killed off to serve the plot. How many crime films and detective dramas open with the body of a murdered prostitute? It’s so common that TVTropes literally has a page dedicated to it.
When Hustlers was released in 2019, many strippers celebrated the fact that, for once, the sex worker characters weren’t murdered by the end. That alone speaks volumes.
The Fallen Woman
Another staple of Hollywood’s playbook is the “fallen woman” narrative—the idea that sex work is inherently degrading and that women in the industry must either suffer or be redeemed. This dates back to the early days of cinema, when morality codes required any character involved in sex work to be punished by the end.
The Dark Side of Sex Work
Hollywood also loves to frame sex work as either a last resort or a pathway to destruction. Films like Monster (2003), Midnight Cowboy (1969), and Requiem for a Dream (2000) depict sex workers as damaged, desperate, or doomed. The message? No one sells sex unless they’re suffering.
Why Does Hollywood Keep Repeating These Patterns?
Part of it is cultural inertia—these tropes have been around for so long that they get recycled without much thought. Another issue? Many filmmakers come from privileged backgrounds and have little real knowledge of the industry. Their biases seep into scripts, shaping narratives that feel “relatable” to mainstream audiences rather than authentic to sex workers.
And then there’s Hollywood’s need for drama. A sex worker simply living her life? Apparently, that’s not interesting enough. Instead, filmmakers crank up the stakes—adding danger, trauma, or a “rescue” arc—because they assume audiences won’t empathize with a character who isn’t struggling.
Which brings us back to Anora. While it avoids some of the worst Hollywood clichés, it still relies on familiar storytelling beats—a dose of Cinderella fantasy here, a dash of vulnerable victimhood there. It’s a step forward, but it’s still trapped in the industry’s limited framework.
Until Hollywood starts listening to real sex workers, these patterns will continue. And as long as they do, films like Anora will remain more about what mainstream audiences want to believe than what sex work actually is.
It’s Not All Bad Though…
If you want a more nuanced take on sex work, you usually have to look beyond Hollywood. Indie and international films have long offered richer, more complex portrayals—ones that don’t rely on the same tired tropes.
Take Working Girls (1986), an indie film by Lizzie Borden that was ahead of its time. Shot with a female gaze and featuring former sex workers, it follows a day in the life of a brothel, portraying sex work as just that—work. The women clock in, deal with annoying clients, share snacks in the break room, and worry about rent. There’s no fairy-tale romance, no serial killer lurking in the shadows—just the real-life mundanities and emotional compartmentalization that come with the job. Over 35 years later, Working Girls remains a gold standard for realism.
Foreign films have also explored sex work with greater nuance. Luis Buñuel’s Belle de Jour (1967) follows a bored housewife who secretly becomes an escort, not out of desperation, but out of curiosity and desire. Federico Fellini’s Nights of Cabiria (1957) humanizes an Italian street worker with warmth and depth, while Jeune et Jolie (2013) offers a detached yet thought-provoking look at a teenage girl who drifts into escorting.
Recent films have continued this trend. Sauvage (2018) dives into the emotional life of a gay male hustler, while Good Luck to You, Leo Grande (2022) flips the script entirely, following a middle-aged woman who hires a young male escort—portraying him as a confident, self-assured professional rather than a tragic figure. Even Sean Baker’s Tangerine (2015) broke barriers with its hilarious, unfiltered take on two trans sex workers hustling through L.A.
Hollywood is slowly catching on. However, as Anora’s mixed reception proves, mainstream cinema hasn’t quite shaken its old habits of romanticising, pitying, or moralising sex work.
