I can’t say for sure if it was the woman squatting over a kitchen sink to pee on a parsnip, or editing the latest installment of A Very Creamy Christmas – a "cumpilation" of cum-hungry elves – that finally flung me over the edge. But at some point, as I sat at work staring blankly at the screen, I realised that if I was going to continue editing porn as a full-time job, I needed a release, a way to process, or at the very least document, the sexual absurdity I was encountering daily. So, I started drawing.
I’ll never forget one of my first drawings. It was born out of what felt like an eternity of editing gloryhole porn, staring at a dozen anonymous dicks taking turns thrusting through a makeshift hole in a dingy bathroom wall. After hours of this on repeat, my mind started wandering, imagining what else might make an appearance through that mysterious hole. The idea hit me: a large smug dolphin sliding its nose through, shiny and slick as if it were pleased with itself for joining the scene. When I got home, I sketched it out, chuckling to myself as the dolphin took form, a mischievous little rebellion against the monotony of endless penises that had thrust into my retinas. Although my skills have come a long way since then, Gloryhole Dolphin remains one of my best-selling designs to this day.
Don’t get me wrong – I’m no prude, and definitely not anti-porn. I’m a kinky lesbian, and I love porn and the sex industry. It’s been my life for the last 15 years, and it’s what I know best. But, nothing compares to the sheer strangeness of mainstream porn, especially as a queer woman in her early twenties, newly immersed in an industry full of bizarre niches, garish themes, and endless sex puns. Working as a porn editor felt like a crash course in the outrageous limits of fantasies, with DVD box covers gaudy enough to make you squint and “plot” lines that were straight up satire. And yes, I came in just at the tail end of the DVD era, when people were still paying up to $70 AUD for a single title. How times have changed.
I decided to create a separate Instagram account to keep a record of my drawings – a private little outlet just for me. I wanted it to be distinct from my regular Instagram, a space where I could post freely without worrying about who “got it.” The process was cathartic, letting me capture the bizarre often unintentional humour I encountered daily in my work. For the name, I kept coming back to the idea of “weird,” since people have always used that as a descriptor for me. So, by blending “Wee” with “weirdo,” Hey Weeirdo was born.
Over time, I have moved through various roles in the industry, each one fuelling more ideas for drawings. My art has become like a timeline, each piece a little memory of the places I’ve worked and the people I’ve met (or watched having sex). My own colourful work history in cartoons – a timeline of filth, if you will. And being able to incorporate some of my own filthy fantasies and personal romps was an amusing way to subvert the bland, overly sanitised, and tired lesbian porn tropes I was constantly surrounded by.
But I wasn’t trying to position myself as an artist. I’m pretty introverted and didn’t want to share anything too personal, so these sexually subversive drawings became a way to express myself without fully revealing myself. But before long, people started following the account, requesting stickers and prints, and soon I was selling my weird artworks around the world.
As my account grew, I noticed something unexpected: sex workers from around the world were connecting with my work. Many of my followers seemed to find a sense of recognition in the absurdity I drew. It made sense – many sex workers live daily with a mix of the erotic and surreal, and the strangely comedic aspects of their jobs. My drawings struck a chord with others who understood the unique strangeness of this industry, with every like or comment feeling like a silent laugh or nod that we were somehow navigating this surreal space together.
My career has taken some interesting turns over the years. I’ve wrangled nude jelly wrestlers, run men’s magazines, been a camgirl co-ordinator, porn director, porn script writer, dungeon receptionist, and I’ve run escort directories. These days, in addition to illustrating, I also run my own independent porn studio. I’ve written, directed, filmed, retouched, edited and drawn more naked bodies than I could count.
One of my favourite illustrations comes from when I was a receptionist in a professional BDSM house, where I often got tasked with working the late-night shift. On busy nights, I’d scurry through the dark house like a cockroach, up and down the stairs fetching towels and toys for the Mistresses. One night, while taking out the bin from one of the dungeons, the bag ripped open, spilling what I can only describe as "dungeon bin juice" into my shoe (don’t ask). At the very moment the stench hit my nostrils, a giant cockroach flew straight into my eye and latched onto my eyelid. It was a nightmare of a moment, but it sparked the creation of one of my best-selling designs to this day – Bend Over Bitch – a femme cockroach in thigh-high boots, rocking a massive strap-on.
I’ve also spent many years working for men’s magazines as both a writer and a retoucher, which was often a frustrating experience, especially as a queer woman. I spent countless years catering to the male gaze, which often felt like a compromise of my own identity. I’ve retouched bumholes, bloated lips, smoothed skin into oblivion, and erased everything from birthmarks and piercings to cellulite, tattoos, underwear tags, and ankle monitors. The more time I spent tweaking these impossible ideals of beauty, the more disconnected I felt from the whole process. To channel my frustration, I created PENTHORSE – a porn parody magazine that flipped the script. It wasn’t just a magazine; it was my statement, a rejection of the mainstream, and an invitation to explore sex and porn in a way that felt genuine to me – funny, unapologetic and a total subversion of my 9-5.
While my art has changed over the years, I continue to be fascinated and inspired by the porn industry’s obsession with parodies and puns, which has inspired me to create my own imaginary porn DVD covers. Some of my favourites that I have created are: Gils Gone Wild (a fish-themed take on bad lesbian porn – “Be gentle, it’s my fish time!”), My Step-Mom is a Clown (inspired by porn’s obsession with step-fucking), Clown Fight Club (“Wanna fight me? You have to fuck me first!”), Stuck in the Milf (“Help I’m stuck and I’m horny!”), Girls Just Wanna Have Gums (“Watch these gum addicts fill each other’s cavities until they’re smiling ear to rear!”), Super Naturals (alien porn), I Actually Am Here to Fuck Spiders – the list goes on.
Even though posting my work online these days feels like playing a game of shadowban roulette, I will continue to draw my way through this often bizarre world because it’s absolutely worth the high I get seeing my stickers slapped on strip club lockers or being inked on sex workers skin, knowing that my weird little world has grown far beyond me.
Amie Wee, also known as Hey Weeirdo, is a writer, illustrator and big gay clown living in Sydney, AU.
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