Tit for Tat
Dipping toes into the world of Spicy Content Creation
Do you remember the Hollywood nude leak scandal in 2014? The “Fappening”? Nearly 500 photographs of women in Hollywood, many containing nudity, some of which were fake, were leaked by a man named Christopher Brannan. Brannan was convicted of Aggravated Identity Theft and sentenced to 34 months in prison. Stars like Jennifer Lawrence, Vanessa Hudgens, Kirsten Dunst, and Kate Upton were among the pool of actresses whose privacy was violated and exploited. Luckily, I had found no evidence to support the theory that my privacy had been compromised. I Googled my name and found nothing incriminating.
It was Martin Luther King Jr. Day, 2020, and I was getting ready to play violin with the Santa Monica Symphony. I’d rosined my bow, and was waiting backstage for the show to begin, I checked my email on my phone out of boredom and saw that I’d received an email from my very Catholic, Italian great-aunt, who I’ve seen maybe thrice in the last two decades. She started the email by addressing me and my father who she had CC’d on the email. She proceeded to inform the both of us that my great-uncle had found scandalous photos of me in an article written about The Fappening. She said that they were “disheartened” and that they would pray for me, and light a candle for me at mass.
At the time that I opened that email, I felt overcome with rage. I remember feeling violated, not only by the leakers, but by her. Why send an email about that to me and my father? With a link to the photos? How had I gone 6 years without knowing I was a victim of Celebgate, and my great-uncle was the one to find out first? It was sick. I was mortified. Indignant.
I told my dad to respond to my aunt for me and to remind her that my privacy had been violated, and that she should remember that many great works of Italian art include depictions of naked women. I even included some photos of those works in my response email. Looking at her email today, it seemed more that she was just expressing her concern for me, and maybe that she was disheartened that that had happened to me, not that I had taken the photos. But I still don’t know, because I kind of wrote her off after that.
I’ve jokingly talked about doing OnlyFans or selling feet content on the Internet for the last few years. Between pandemic-woes, re-locating twice, low engagement for my music - and even worse payout - comical residual checks from acting, and feeling chewed up and spit out by Hollywood despite my IMDB history, I would make jokes to friends about joining risqué platforms such as OnlyFans and Feet Finder. I never intended on actually doing it. I’ll admit, I held some judgment around it. I didn’t have a problem with other women doing it, I’m a feminist after all. But I did feel that that kind of work was “beneath” me.
*Ring Ring*
Pride, is that you?
I knew that many women and even successful actresses like Bella Thorne, and Drea De Matteo were making lots of money on OF, but still, there was something in me that wished I’d never need to step into that world. But alas…
In March of 2023, I’d just moved to New York City, and had spent the previous 5 months studying to get my New York Real Estate License. Yes, real estate. The field that many out-of-work actors and musicians turn to when they're tired of working shit hours for shit pay in restaurants, clubs, and bars. Truth be told, I was having a real estate “moment”, where I got really interested in learning about real estate investing, and I thought becoming an agent would not only be a good way for me to start my foray into real estate, but it would also provide me with the stability I needed to live in one of the most expensive cities in the world. In case you didn’t know, the rental market in New York is unlike anywhere, and you can actually make pretty decent money from it during the summer. I was ready to work, and had just taken a hosting position at a Michelin Star restaurant, but the income from that job wouldn’t be enough to cover all my expenses.
I got a call from my dear friend Alice, who I’ve been to hell and back with. She called to tell me that she was getting engaged (ahhh!!!), that she and her fiancé were coming to New York to look at rings, and that she wanted to celebrate my birthday with me. When I’d asked what she’d been up to, she said she started a Playboy account. I was curious. Wasn’t Playboy a magazine? Was it even still in publication? Yes, and Playboy now had their own subscription platform like OnlyFans, but with the cache of a major reputable brand.
“Do you get naked?” I asked.
“I never do full frontal”, she responded.
Then I received a proposal of my own.
“We could do a shoot together.”
Well. Thanks to Christopher Brannan, my tatas had already seen the light of day on the Internet. Not that what he did is in any way forgivable. But the scary part was kind of already over. This would be at my discretion. And it wasn’t OnlyFans. Repping the Playboy brand, and doing it with a friend I’d been through so much with made me feel more open to the idea.
We did a PG-13 shoot, nothing too spicy. And let me just tell you, I hadn’t giggled like that in ages. It felt so good be in my feminine energy, just playing around and having fun like I did in my early twenties. I didn’t even realize how much I had been operating out of my masculine energy. Out of necessity of course. But also because for the last three years, I’d been through a pandemic where I was forbidden from getting too close to anyone, a move to a new city, and two years later, another move to another new city. I hadn’t been engaging in that fun play energy that I was pretty well-known for once-upon-a-time.
I made a nice little chunk of change from that first shoot, so I decided that maybe I could do it again. And once we learned we could make more from the OF platform than on Playboy, making the same content, I decided I could sell there too. To be honest, I can’t see myself having my own page. According to everything Alice has told me about running her account, it’s a full-time commitment, and most subscribers prefer off-the-cuff content like selfies taken in the middle of an average day, and interaction that feels more personal. What I enjoy is getting dressed up with my girlfriend, working on-location in beautiful, inspiring spaces, and being photographed by someone I trust to make me look good, who isn’t creepy. Money is great, but for me, if there isn’t an artistic vision, I’m not motivated enough to do it.
One thing I should note, should you be a gal reading this curious about trying out this kind of work, it may be difficult to balance having a presence in the spicy content creation space with having, say, a suit job, or a job in childcare. Needless to say, real estate wasn’t really for me. One season was enough, but at least I tried it, and proved to myself I could succeed at something new.
All in all, I’ve had fun with the shoots, and it’s been an interesting experiment in learning and exercising my boundaries. I’ve come face to face with my own self-judgment. I’ve been able to reclaim my power and my sexuality on my terms, and it’s been nice to feel good in my skin, after over a decade of battling body dysmorphia, and struggling to love myself for not having a body I’m simply never going to have. I’m learning to love my imperfections; my cellulite; my dips; my fluffy tummy. I’m learning to make what I have work. For me.
And to that end, do you know how many hours I prayed for these boobies??? I even stuffed my bra as a kid. I wanted a nice pair of boobs so badly. And boy, did the good Lord deliver. It would be a disservice not to let them be worshipped! I know that when I'm 80 years-old, and sagging, I won’t look back on my youth with regret because I didn’t capture the moment. I’ll be glad I took these photos, and exercised my freedom as an American to sell photos of my titties to strangers on the Internet.
As for men, I don’t need to know what they do on their own time. That’s none of my business. I am, in fact, a full, living, breathing, real woman. I know who I am beyond tits and ass. But for most men, I have existed as merely a fantasy. Why shouldn’t I be compensated for it?
To see my latest collaboration with Alice, CLICK HERE!
To read Alice’s writing on Substack, CLICK HERE!