With an almost perfect 5-star rating and reviews commenting on the humanity and humor author Rayne Constantine used in her memoir, I simply had to buy Pizza, Pincushions and Playing It Straight. It’s a decision I don’t regret, and you won’t either if you stop reading here to pick up the book. However, if you’re on the fence or want more details, I’m glad to provide them.
Constantine spent a few years supporting herself as a college student by working as a prostitute in a brothel, which is legal in her country of Australia. In the pages of her book, she describes her experiences, the lessons learned, and the wisdom she wants to impart to the world. It is a quick and engaging read, and previous reviews were right on the money with their comments.
Although I wouldn’t necessarily call the book “laugh-out-loud funny,” Constantine’s wittiness and sometimes dark humor resonates with me. After all, we all have to find a way to survive in this world. In particular, I chuckled at the name “Interlubes,” which she uses for poignant stories between the chapters. I imagine that many of these stories were amalgamations of her experiences as a sex worker, much like you might expect from a book written by a therapist.
This book does a remarkable job of humanizing people. The reader has the opportunity to understand Constantine’s personality as a complex and flawed person, yet one who is undoubtedly intelligent and capable. If she weren’t, her memoir wouldn’t treat her clients with so much respect. Sex workers like Constantine fill a void in a world where close friendships between men are discouraged, entitlement to women’s bodies runs rampant, and pretty people receive more respect and recognition than perhaps they deserve. Pizza, Pincushions and Playing It Straight is a peek behind the curtain into people who, more often than not, simply desire human connection.
More than merely providing a glimpse into the personalities of sex workers and their clients, Pizza, Pincushions and Playing It Straight is a look into a system where sex work isn’t criminalized. As an American, I find the inner workings of a brothel especially interesting. But as a humanitarian, I understand how Australia’s laws enable sex workers like Constantine to protect themselves by rejecting dangerous clients openly working with and communicating with other sex workers, requiring safety precautions such as condoms use, and involving law enforcement (should they so desire) if clients harm them. To put it another way, countries that criminalize either the selling or buying of sex prevent sex workers from protecting themselves. Constantine makes that clear in her book.
This memoir also serves as a stark reminder of how so many people are pushed to the edges, ignored, oppressed, and otherwise marginalized. It’s disheartening to realize how many problems this creates and how so much falls on the shoulders of people who may not be qualified and are certainly not compensated enough to tackle these issues. Constantine doesn’t dance around the fact that she played therapist and companion as often as she did prostitute, a theme that is common in many of her peers’ experiences. Pizza, Pincushions and Playing It Straight might just surprise people with how often it highlights problems in society, especially because the author isn’t afraid of telling it like it is, as in the following quote:
“A percentage of my clients booked pseudo-counseling sessions under the guise of having sex. Booking with me is their secret shame. In the mind of these clients, they would prefer to be thought of as a cheater than someone who needs an outlet to talk.”
Similarly, the author makes poignant arguments about the state of sex education and how the lack of information and the deliberate misinformation received by youth makes them vulnerable. Constantine reflects on how she had to become a sex worker to learn some things about sexuality.
I suppose you could say that Pizza, Pincushions and Playing It Straight is more than a memoir and that the author has an agenda—if you think being able to afford a roof over her head and food on her plate, be treated with respect, and avoiding serious harm or stepping up as a society to help people with their mental health is an agenda. Constantine minces no words in her final chapter, where she discusses how policing sex causes harm under the guise of helping sex workers. Her demand for respect for herself and other sex workers is an obvious and sensible request that is long overdue in my eyes, and her intelligence and shrewdness shine through, hopefully dispelling some stereotypes about sex workers.
Those who do not have as progressive views as I hold might not start this book with opinions that are as similar to the author’s as mine were. But I hope that some people might be swayed after reading this book and encountering all of the honesty and humanity it contains, from start to finish. I think the approachable writing style has as much—or more—of a chance to accomplish this goal than the standard arguments about how sex work is work.
And, of course, I encourage anyone who is interested to buy the book directly from the author.
Written by Nicole Martinez.