In Neil Gaiman’s “Neverwhere”, the protagonist Richard Mayhew meets a young woman called Door. Soon after, he turns invisible. He loses his job; his fiancee leaves him. The only people who can see him are the other “invisibles” of London, such as a busker, who lets him into a hidden version of London – London Below. From there, Richard Mayhew goes on a rollercoaster of an adventure across London’s magical underbelly.
Neverwhere is one of my favourite books for many reasons. It brings to life London’s Tube stations with charm and whimsy. Blackfriars becomes three Black Friars, who host three ordeals, while Hammersmith is quite literally a smith, who crafts a crucial key! It combines fantasy with great character insight. Crucially, it’s the overlooked citizens of London who are the gateways to the novel’s magic.
I’ve lived, studied and worked in London for a while now. Part of me is a proper Londoner. I know which Tube door to stand at for exactly the right platform exit and I do sometimes judge tourists who stand on the wrong side of the escalator at Kings Cross. I love exploring London as a city. Over the years, I’ve developed a deep fondness for the quirky Wellcome Collection, and a strong crush on Camden’s jazz scene.
Crucially, it’s the overlooked citizens of London who are the gateways to the novel’s magic.
But for the most part, London has just been a means to an end. It’s been a landscape for my commutes, peppered with run of the mill Starbucks and blandly ambient Cafe Neros. It’s been a grey surface for me to skate on, from event to party to event. It’s been somewhere I’ve loved living, but I could replicate the same relationship with any other major city.
That’s changed with sex work. Seeing clients has given me a deeper connection to the upper echelons of London. The glittering reflections of the glass skyscrapers in the Financial District are no longer just somewhere I walk through to get to the office. They’re the location of my drinks with clients, at lush basement bars and verdant rooftop gardens. The beautiful Georgian architecture of Kensington isn’t just a feature I admire on my autumn walks anymore. It’s now a cosy spot for my overnights. London has become a place where I have two lives. By day, I study and work. By evening, I seamlessly slip into my best dress, and into the other side of my own world.
Through sex work, I also now have access to the unknown parts of London. Just like Richard of Neverwhere, as a sex worker I become an invisible part of the city, and so I can see the invisible magic of this city. One day, I’m waiting for a coffee date with my client, looking perfectly in place in Central London. No one knows the secret pleasure I’m about to carve out. Looking for something to do, I go on a wander and find Bloomsbury Square, where Virginia Woolf once walked. On another day while searching for somewhere to top up my lipstick before a booking, I happened across The Vault of Soho, a hidden bar behind an unassuming bookcase in a whisky shop. One night, stumbling out of the train on my way to a client, I look up and realise I’m witnessing the neon sunset over Blackfriars station. Its glass wall showcases the splendour of London’s bridges, St. Paul’s Cathedral glowing in the distance.
London has become a place where I have two lives. By day, I study and work. By evening, I seamlessly slip into my best dress, and into the other side of my own world.
Commuting around London from incall to outcall over the week, sometimes at odd times of the day, opens me up to a quieter, but all the more special side of London. A side of London that reveals itself to me like a secret pocket, if I just happen to be at the right place at the right time. Sex work has transformed London from being a pragmatic place to live, to a beautiful place to explore. To experience.
Through experiencing London, I’ve come to appreciate it as its own living creature. Even though I know I can get an Uber, I sometimes prefer the tube. I’ve gotten to know its mechanics like the back of my hand. Its slick, oiled rhythms have become part of my calendar. The first tubes of the early mornings, the pre-commuter hush, rush hour’s thunder, the stilted movements of tourists, and the conductors’ snarky announcements have all become part of my routine. So have the birds that sing in Bloomsbury, the quiet leaves that crunch underfoot in Primrose Hill, and the sun that sets over Hampstead. London has come alive, and I’m so happy to be living in it.
Sex work has transformed London from being a pragmatic place to live, to a beautiful place to explore. To experience.
When people list what makes a city, they don’t often think of sex workers. At worst, we’re not meant to be here. Many cities have policies of stigma and criminalisation built to actively keep us out of our own metropoles. At best, we’re forgotten. We’re not considered as people who live, work and contribute to our cities. People don’t realise just how many sex workers they are adjacent to in their day to day lives, whether they brush against a companion searching for a place to top up her lipstick, or work in an office with someone who has a dungeon booking just that evening. We become invisible. It’s ironic then, that its through sex work that I’ve become all the more a part of London.
Just like Richard Mayhew, being a little bit invisible gets me involved in the beauty, magic, and charm that is all around me, but I may have never otherwise opened my eyes to. In an abstract way, I read Neverwhere as a testament to the beauty of sex workers everywhere. We make up our local landscapes. We may not always be noticed. But we know of the hidden wonder of our cities. In fact, we’re part of that hidden wonder. We create the pleasure and magic that makes a city worth living in for so many of its residents. To quote Neverwhere, sex workers are part of the ‘lights on buildings and on bridges which loo[k] like earthbound stars … reflected with the city in the night water of the Thames.’
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