It’s not every day that you see a prostitution window sharing a sidewalk with a nursery school. Unless, of course, you live in Amsterdam.
Amsterdam needs no introduction. For a cute little city in the Netherlands, it has an oddly infamous reputation: ask anyone what they associate with Amsterdam, and the answer will undoubtedly be prostitution and drugs. Despite a common misconception, the latter is still illegal; the former, however, is a fully legal and lucrative business. Before taking a brief trip to Amsterdam last week, I expected to spend as little time in the Red Light District as possible, avoiding it like a (venereal) plague. Instead, I found myself fascinated by an industry that before I had seen as a taboo at best and exploitation at worst.
Growing up in the States, I never gave prostitution much thought. I knew it was exploitive of women, that no one willingly became a prostitute, that the men who went to prostitutes were perverts and pigs. It was an open and shut case not just in my eyes, but in the eyes of everyone I knew; to this day I have never heard an American defend prostitution. I grew up in a very feminist household, which only cemented my view on prostitution as something women needed to be saved from, and that prostitutes were victims of a patriarchal society where they couldn’t further themselves in an industry besides the sex one.
Armed with 21 years of unquestioned opinions, I took a tour through Amsterdam last week that took me into the very heart of the Red Light District after dark. I’ll be the first to admit that I was nervous; I stuck as close to my tour guide as possible, as though any of the men on the streets would confuse a tiny American girl in a goofy winter cap with one of the dancing ladies in the windows. Because that’s exactly how the Red Light District is set up: the prostitutes can rent out a window in the buildings along the canal and flirt with the men on the street, hoping to draw in customers throughout the night. Not that their profession is confined to the moonlit hours; there are prostitutes in the windows all day long as well, and locals pass their windows while running errands without giving them much of a second glance. To the people of Amsterdam, the prostitutes aren’t some sort of seedy novelty, but are rather women just going about their business.
This was a point that my tour guide stressed, and the point that I continue to have the hardest time wrapping my head around. In Amsterdam, no one is forcing these women to become prostitutes; there are no violent pimps lurking behind the curtains. The women know that they are providing a service that many will pay well for, and they’re able to be their own bosses and make their own hours. Prostitutes make a minimum of 50 Euros per 15 minutes with a customer, though most customers only spend an average of 6 minutes with the girl of their choice. The Ladies, as our guide called them, also had complete autonomy over who they chose to see. In other words, they’re completely in control. The question becomes, then, is prostitution actually a uniquely female empowering profession?
It sounds crazy, and I’m still trying to reconcile this with my own beliefs, but the idea has some merit. These women have more autonomy over their work than most of us ever will, and some are able to become quite wealthy. Furthermore, they have learned to profit off of their sexuality; is selling sex really that different from selling anything else? Prostitution is called the World’s Oldest Profession and has existed in almost every culture in one way or another. It’s also a profession that is almost completely female dominated: a few windows were rented out by male prostitutes in Amsterdam some years back, but the practice stopped because of lack of interest.
So is prostitution wrong, or is it just our American prudishness about sex that turns the profession into a sin? If these girls aren’t looking to be saved from their lifestyle, do we have the right to judge them, or pity them? Although I’ve had a few culture shocks since coming abroad, none have preoccupied me quite as much as this one. On which side of the window should feminists stand?