There’s a certain kind of story society loves to tell about sex workers. It’s usually simple, flattened, and convenient: victim or exception, broken or rescued, tragic or sensational. What it almost never is, is real. The book Sex Workers steps directly into that gap and does something quietly radical: it hands the narrative back to the people who actually live it. No intermediaries, no moral framing, no need to fit into categories that were never designed for them in the first place. At its core, the project is about visibility, but not the kind that turns people into objects of curiosity. It’s about self-representation. The book brings together portraits and personal accounts of sex workers in Germany, creating a space where complexity is not edited out, but centered. The people in these pages are not reduced to their work, and they’re also not separated from it. They speak about their realities in ways that resist easy categorization: about autonomy and constraint, empowerment and exhaustion, choice and circumstance—all existing at once. And that’s exactly where this …