As the sun rises, she wakes in bed, replies to a client’s midnight message, and dolls up—ready to face her next client, bare and exposed.

SHE STRIPS before the man, the camera capturing every slow unraveling of lace and silk adorned on her body. In this fleeting moment of intimacy, her body and identity align—unapologetically and undeniably—as a woman.

Sex work’s legitimacy as actual labor remains a constant point of discourse, and trans identity is often questioned due to rigid binary beliefs—contesting and dismissing the very existence of trans women as “real” women.

As people raise concerns about the inherent exploitation found in the industry, others would say that such work can be a tool for the fulfillment of those in female bodies. Yet, such sweeping statements fail to lay bare the deeply personal and complex realities embedded in sex work as transwomen.

Lost in transition

Coco*, a 28-year-old sex worker from Quezon City, recalls the beginning of her transition. Back in high school, she secretly took contraceptive pills from her mother’s clinic until her breasts grew.

It was a game of hide-and-seek, not just with the identity she had been searching for, but also with the people who refused to accept her for who she was. Despite her early start, her mother’s constant disapproval forced her to put her transition on hold and eventually leave their home.

Her journey was all about changes and financial stability. Recognizing how undergoing gender-affirming procedures can be a luxury, Coco reflects on the many girls she knows who cannot become their true selves simply because they cannot afford it.

One of these girls is Coco’s acquaintance, Anne*, now 24, who began her transition journey in 2015. Transitioning was not just a mere option for her; it was the only way to live authentically as herself.

Throughout high school and college, Anne jokingly calls herself a “skinny legend” because her lunch money wasn’t for food; it was for the pills that let her become the woman she wanted to be.

More than Anne’s sacrifices, the constant rejection from her parents made an already difficult journey even lonelier, pushing her deeper into depression and gender dysphoria.

Amid all her struggles, Anne remained steadfast. “I feel wronged in my body and I will do everything para matanggal ‘yung insecurity ko na mukha akong lalaki. That’s not who I am (I feel wronged in my body and I will do everything to get rid of my insecurity of looking like a man.)” she says.

For Coco and Anne, transitioning was about reclaiming their womanhood after being rejected by both society and their families. There was no choice but to shoulder the cost of their transformation, even if it meant turning to the sex industry to survive.

My body, your rules

Desperate to make a living, these women entered an unfamiliar industry as early as college, where their bodies became currency. They would perform various sexual requests—from online content to providing sexual services to incall and outcall clients or escorting.

Anne recalls how her first encounter was getting paid for applying makeup to herself, even before their transaction began. Meanwhile, Coco offers similar services but identifies as an “all-around girl,” selling content and performing both online and in person.

“I had three clients in a day [that I had to meet], and parang an hour lang ‘yung interval (The interval was like only an hour). I was desperate at that time, I needed to pay the rent,” she shares.

This fast-paced and demanding schedule only happens in desperate situations. A typical day for both involves dolling up, filming content, and answering calls. They may seemingly be simple tasks, yet beneath the surface lie constant risks, from scams to lurking dangers in both physical and digital spaces. Such instances make an already unstable job even more precarious.

These struggles, however, form only a part of the complex intersection of identity and sex labor. Many trans women sex workers today have begun carving out spaces for autonomy.

For instance, Coco refuses to undervalue herself as she never adjusts her prices, while Anne finds power in the game, reveling in the thrill of having men at her fingertips. Both also share the importance of going only by the contract. Any requests beyond that should not be tolerated.

Within these spaces, sex work has also helped Anne affirm her womanhood. “They don’t judge you [by] whatever’s between your legs,” she explains.

These women granted themselves the agency that was denied to them. After all, this complex web of struggles and triumphs shapes their identities in this demanding industry.

No body, no crime

In this delicate dance between abuse and power, both walk a fine line just to maintain their safety as each encounter with clients can pose harm.

On her first day in the “shithole,” Coco found herself in a cybersex den’s small room with four other girls, all sharing a single computer and each assigned a six-hour shift. When it was her turn to strip in front of the camera for the first time, the other girls urged her to undress. Standing her ground, she refused her colleagues to dictate her actions.

On the contrary, Anne feels emboldened in her encounters. She says playfully, “May mga lalaki pala na uto-uto. Kahit mura-murahin mo sila, [sa kanila mo ilabas] ‘yung mga stress mo sa buhay. Empowering siya kasi kahit paano, nakakabawi tayo sa mga lalaki.”

(There are men who are gullible. Even if you curse at them and take out your life’s stress on them, it feels empowering because, in a way, we get back at men.)

Despite these negotiations, prejudices do not easily fade within a system built around patriarchy and gender inequality. Ultimately, these requests for sexual acts are still demanded to cater to the man who made the call.

It’s a trap!

Transwomen sex workers have been trapped countless times—in their bodies that once felt like prisons, in circumstances that forced them into the industry, and within a society that imposes rigid assumptions.

Coco and Anne know that sex work becomes a trap once you see it as one.

When asked about leaving the industry, Anne—a college graduate—expresses her eagerness to move on next year and find a more stable and safer job. Her hopes for a brighter future contrast with Coco, who sees no way out as a college dropout. “Kapag wala nang may gusto, saka na ako titigil… This [sex work] is the only thing we know how to do,” she says, sharing her and her trans-sisters’ realities.

Since time immemorial, sex work has existed in many forms, mirroring systemic inequalities, gender oppression, and societal hypocrisy. While the world profits from, consumes, and even fetishes it, those within the industry are stripped of dignity and denied basic rights.

Sex workers like Coco and Anne hang by a thread of constant worry, with no amount of money, autonomy, and experience can wash away the fear that lingers with every client transaction. Because in a world where people in their line of work are unprotected, who can they turn to for help?

“Because sex work is illegal, men with bad intentions can do whatever they want and they get away with it without any punishments,” Coco says.

After the interview, Anne returns to bonding with her four cats, while Coco ends her day the same way she has for the past 12 years: With a post on her accounts.

‘Transwoman, 28, QC. Content for sale and open for escorting tomorrow.’

As an all-around girl operating in the shadows, she faces gnawing uncertainty with every transaction and encounter, and her grind never truly ends.