The first time Amber met another escort in person, she cried. They were at a diner in Midtown at two in the morning, both coming off late appointments, and for the first time in eight months of doing this work, Amber could speak freely. She didn't have to edit her stories or watch her words or maintain the elaborate fiction of her fake consulting job. She could just be honest. "I didn't realize how lonely I was until I wasn't lonely anymore," she told me when we met weeks later at that same diner.
The isolation of escort work is profound in ways that people outside it can't fully comprehend. You're living a double life, which means you can't be fully honest with anyone in your civilian world. Your family doesn't know. Your old friends don't know. Your roommate doesn't know. You're carrying this enormous secret that touches every part of your life, and you're carrying it alone. "It's like being a spy," Amber said. "Except spies at least have handlers they can talk to. I had nobody. Every hard thing that happened at work, every scary client or degrading moment, I just had to swallow it and pretend everything was fine."
Finding other NYC escorts changed everything for Amber. She discovered them through online forums and private social media groups, spaces where women in the industry could connect safely. The first few weeks, she just lurked, reading other women's posts and feeling the relief of recognition. These women understood things nobody else could. They knew what it felt like to smile through an appointment while dying inside. They knew the specific fear of getting into a car with a stranger. They knew the exhaustion of maintaining separate identities. "It was like finding my people," Amber explained. "Finally, I wasn't alone."
The community she found operates mostly in shadow, through encrypted apps and private groups with strict vetting processes. There are online forums where escorts share information about dangerous clients, discuss strategies for difficult situations, and offer support during crises. There are local meetups, informal brunches where women in the industry gather to decompress and connect. Amber attends one every month, and she says it's become essential to her mental health. "We laugh about things that would horrify normal people," she said. "We understand each other's dark humor because we've all lived through the same darkness."
What surprised Amber most was the genuine care these women have for each other. In an industry that pits women against each other as competition, she's found remarkable solidarity. When she had a scary encounter with a client, three escorts she'd never met in person talked her through the aftermath and helped her report him to screening services. When she was short on rent, another New York Asian escort lent her money with no questions asked. When she was considering quitting, the community convinced her to take a break instead. "We look out for each other," Amber said simply. "Because nobody else will."
But the community also has its limitations and complications. There's hierarchy even among escorts, divisions based on rates and clientele and whether you work independently or through agencies. Some women look down on others who charge less or offer different services. There's gossip and drama and competition that occasionally turns ugly. Not every escort Amber has met has been trustworthy. She's learned to be careful even within this community, to protect certain information, to maintain boundaries. "It's not perfect," she admitted. "These are still strangers with their own agendas. But it's better than being completely alone."
The transient nature of the community is another challenge. Escorts leave the industry regularly, either by choice or necessity, and when they do, they often disappear completely from these spaces. Amber has watched women she felt close to simply vanish, deleting their profiles and cutting all contact as they try to leave this life behind. "You lose people constantly," she said sadly. "Someone you talked to every day is just gone. And you have no way to reach them, no way to know if they're okay. That's hard. You form these intense bonds because you're going through something difficult together, and then they evaporate."
What the community has given Amber, beyond practical support and information, is validation that her experiences are real and her feelings are legitimate. When she's frustrated with a client, other escorts understand. When she's scared, they don't tell her she's overreacting. When she feels ashamed, they remind her that shame belongs to a society that stigmatizes this work, not to her for doing it. "They help me remember that I'm not crazy or damaged or wrong," Amber said. "That this work is hard, that the way I feel about it makes sense, that I deserve compassion even though society says I don't." She paused, her eyes getting wet. "I don't know if I could keep doing this without them. They're the only people who see the real me, the one who exists between my escort persona and my civilian identity. They see all of it, and they don't judge. That's everything."