Between Takes with Nica Noelle

Back in the 70s when the adult feature film Deep Throat first came out, it seemed porn was poised to be the new art form — or at least to revolutionize cinema as we knew it. We felt very cosmopolitan and European as we sat with our partners in darkened theaters as six foot tall images of human genitalia filled the screen. Linda Lovelace became a household name, and her success opened the door for a whole generation of porn stars. Names such as Seka, Sharon Mitchell, Nina Hartley and Kandi Barbour became synonymous with erotic entertainment and sexual, exotic beauty. The porn industry itself became known as “The ‘Other’ Hollywood.”

But then, something happened — or rather, it didn’t happen. Porn never quite made good on its promise to make sexual sophisticates of us all. The “new art form” devolved into what most referred to as “smut”, and nobody sat proudly in theaters anymore to watch the latest x-rated film. In fact, porn went completely back in the closet — or almost completely. Most people still watched it, but you certainly didn’t admit you did. And if someone you knew caught you going into an x-rated theater, it could change the way they felt about you — and not likely for the better.

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Recently I attended a party at an Altadena art gallery. A good friend of mine was bartending the event, and when I arrived he introduced me to his sister, Laura. Laura’s dress and hair was new-age bohemian chic, and she immediately struck me as smart, cool and quirky. I liked her instantly, but her reaction to me was a bit hard to read. She wasn’t unfriendly, but I sensed a bit of wariness, perhaps even suspicion, directed my way.

After telling Laura how nice it was to meet her, I found myself distracted by a portrait of Adolf Hitler painted entirely in glitter. I moved in to take a closer look and Laura quickly moved on. I didn’t see her again for the rest of the night.

The next day, my friend told me that he’d mentioned to his sister what I do for a living and that her response had been a mixture of shock and moral indignation.

“Don’t you feel sorry for her?” Laura had apparently asked him. “Aren’t you going to try to help her? You’re her friend, aren’t you?”

The words stung, but I wasn’t really surprised. Unfortunately, Laura’s reaction represents how many people continue to view those who work in the adult industry: as damaged human beings, even as victims. I sometimes forget how strange my job can seem to “civilians.” By “civilians,” I mean conventional folks that hold jobs where their coworkers never once get to see them naked. (Not even at the company Christmas party!)

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