QUEER CRUSH OF THE WEEK: Tilly Lawless

By Matilda Douglas-Henry

Tilly Lawless possesses an energy unlike anyone else I’ve known. She exists within the past and present – a pastoral magnetism that evokes Picnic at Hanging Rock, or riding bareback through the New South Wales scrub in nothing but an akubra; yet is also profoundly contemporary, with a rare ability to use social media as a worthy platform for articulate and provocative self-expression.

As a sex worker, Tilly is proud and unapologetic. She inadvertently sparked a viral phenomenon with the hashtag #facesofprostitution in response to a Mamamia article that failed to acknowledge the varying and valid identities of sex workers. Tilly became a reluctant hero overnight – appearing as a guest on international radio, and being featured in publications across the country. Ever since, Tilly’s voice has been a refreshing solution to the perpetuated and harmful ‘sex worker’ tropes. They are not inherently insecure. They are not doing this as a last resort. They are people.

It may be disconcerting that a cis white woman is seen to be the reigning face of prostitution – but nobody is more aware of this than Tilly. Her speeches on panels or at events are always loaded with an articulate interpretation of her privilege, and how she can seek to interrogate this from her public platform.

I met Tilly in 2013 at a warehouse party in Marrickville (remember when Marrickville warehouse parties were the place to be in Sydney for the weekend?). We were initially obsessed with each other because we share a first name, and although we live in different states, we cultivated a wonderful and intimate friendship over these past few years. Tilly has taught me so much about what it means to be queer, and for that I will always be grateful.

While spending a rare sunny Melbourne afternoon with Tilly this week, we talked about the importance of writing, the danger of femme invisibility, and her love for the Promised Land.

Congratulations on being Heaps Gay’s Crush of the Week! What do you think is your most crushable quality?

I think perhaps that I am open and approachable? But that has worked against me at times in the romantic sphere, so I’m not sure.

Recently, you came back from an amazing European adventure with your girlfriend, Dani. It looked like a beautiful time! 

Yes, we had such a wonderful time! And both came home broke which is pretty typical for a holiday I guess.

You are both a sex worker and a writer – in your experience, how do these practices inform each other?

I always wrote about myself and my emotions, far before I began sex work at 20. So I suppose it was quite a natural progression for me to write about my frustrations and the injustices I push up against as a sex worker. My first decision to enter sex work was influenced by – besides the more overhanging financial need – all the sex workers who featured again and again in books I read (Nancy in Oliver Twist, Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s), and the way they crossed boundaries of behaviour usually allowed for women.

You’ve become one of the most recognisable faces in the fight to de-stigmatise sex work. Has this been a somewhat resistant role for you to take on as a cis white woman?

I feel a great responsibility to ride with the wave of publicity I have got and utilise it to speak about things that are important, but I am acutely aware of the fact that I can only speak for myself and that, with the platforming of my voice, others are lost in the process. I know I am allowed this position because of my various privileges – I can be out because it is easier for me, as a white, cis, able bodied woman form me to be out. It is often exhausting and disheartening, especially when I am attacked by people online who assume I speak out of some sort of desire for accolade.

I speak from grave obligation, not enjoyment; the media is a fickle thing and often when I suggest other sex workers to be interviewed, I am told no. They just want me because I have a name now that draws people to read. Which is a messed up thing in itself – the cult of celebrity that exists online is problematic in so many ways – and, I wonder, am I best to let pass this opportunity to talk about sex worker rights and other things that are important because they won’t pick someone else? Or do I just go with it, and make what I can of it?

You and I have spent a lot of time talking about the nuances of queer invisibility. How does that factor in to your own experience?

Femme invisibility has always been a big personal issue for me. When I came out at 15 I was called a ‘fake lesbian’. When I fell in love with my first girlfriend at 17 I was called a ‘fake lesbian’ throughout my relationship with her. To this day I still have people assume I am straight, and even with evidence to the contrary (being at a lesbian bar, mentioning my girlfriend) say dismissive things about my sexuality and shut me out of the queer community. To have your relationships and identity constantly undermined is incredibly hurtful.

I recently found out that an acquaintance of mine, another queer woman, had been criticising the fact I was outspoken about queer issues; ‘Tilly suffers no discrimination for being gay because she straight passes constantly, she should take a back seat and let other people talk’. Whilst I recognise the fact that I am afforded privilege from the fact I am not read as queer – I am not vulnerable to hate crimes for example – I take issue with the fact that I am once again told my voice and sexuality is not legitimate because of my appearance. The idea that you have to present a certain way to be a gender or sexuality oppresses all of us; someone should not have to ‘fit’ a list of socially prescribed things to have their identity taken seriously.

One of my favourite things about your writing is how steeped it is in a mystical sense of place – particularly when you are feeling homesick for Bellingen, where you grew up in a magical place called the Promised Land. As a queer person, how important is a sense of place to you?

I’m not sure if my connection to a place has been influenced by the fact that I am queer; I know that the way I form friendships and create my own family around me has been though, and those link with each other. I have always needed somewhere where I can put down my roots. I am a massive homebody & find I can never quite rinse the dirt of somewhere else from my bones, and so my writing becomes a sort of bucolic pine because of that. As a queer person who grew up in a remote area with hardly any other queer people around, moving to Sydney and being able to structure my own queer family around me has been so important. Queer people are often ostracised from their biological families because of their difference; I find that the family you create for yourself and the friendships you form through choice are part of what forms your sense of home. Bellingen is my home because I ache for the land there; Sydney is my home because my queer family is there.

Who is your crush of the week?

Danny Levi Bryce-Maurice, for being resilient and authentic in spite of it all.