4 Surprising Side Effects Of Starting An OnlyFans

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Radical Self-Acceptance

If you had asked me a year ago if I would willingly show my naked body to strangers on the Internet for money, I would have laughed in your face and ghosted you so hard they have made an Unsolved Mysteries episode about it. Me? I could never. And why are you asking me such a personal question? The most skin I had shown online at that point was the occasional cleavage or midriff. And when I did show skin (or even face), it made me so anxious that I would spend the rest of the day debating deleting the post and/or my internet presence entirely.

J. Kelly Brito/Unsplash

One time, I accidentally flashed some wrist. Had to fake my own death. 

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Years of believing the myths I grew up being told about what I was “supposed to look like” (rail-thin, big ass, big tits) and what purpose I was “supposed to serve” (satisfying the male gaze) convinced me I wasn’t inherently worthy of anything without external validation. I used to wholly define my self-worth based on what other people thought of me. By the time I picked up my first issue of Teen Vogue and skimmed the pages filled mostly with impossibly skinny, airbrushed, white women, I had developed severe body dysmorphia and a depleted sense of self that stuck to me like a second skin. 

Now, I’m not saying that OnlyFans miraculously cured my self-hatred and bestowed the gift of radical self-acceptance upon me. Rather, radical self-acceptance helped me make informed decisions about starting an OnlyFans. I put in years of work to shed that skin, and I’ve realized I’m inherently worthy of being, regardless of how others perceive me. It’s my duty to take up space where I see fit and fall back where I don’t. 

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3

Recognizing I Am Both The Audience And The Performer

Before I started an OnlyFans, I learned how to really not care about what other people think or say about me. Strangers, loved ones, relatives who suddenly care a whole lot about what I’m doing with my life — no one but myself. While I’ve encountered many cool people in the sex work universe (especially other SWers, and a sub who regularly sent me memes — shoutout), there are scammers everywhere, and people can feel emboldened to say some pretty vile things from behind a screen. It takes particularly thick skin to withstand the scrutiny and strains that come of sex work. For me, developing this new kind of second skin meant first retraining my brain to not be so unnecessarily self-critical. 

Meiying Ng/Unsplash

Different from the dysmorphia second skin. This job has a lot of skin. 

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My secret? Oh, you know, just the combination of a global pandemic, months of isolation, many mental breakdowns, therapy, several acid trips, the guidance of my loved ones, and the philosophies of The Four Agreements, Marianne Williamson, Gabi Abrao & Alejandra Smits, and Karl Marx to name a few. With the help of that simple little melange, I’ve located the self-aware sweet spot that allows me to take accountability for my actions without ever having to hold onto the way something makes me feel. That doesn’t mean I can always stay there, but at least now I know where to find it when I feel myself drifting.