I thought I’d feel too disgusted or heartbroken to watch the Lily Phillips documentary—where the 23-year-old OnlyFans creator embarks on a journey to sleep with 100 men in one day. I expected to see a woman who was stereotypically naïve, superficial, or too young and inexperienced to grasp the gravity of her choices. What I saw instead, was a woman in control—of her business, her brand, and her life—getting exactly what she wanted from this stunt: a lot of revenue.
Almost all the takes boil down to this: Lily Phillips was either a victim or a slut. Feminists argued men exploited her, while conservatives insisted she exploited herself. But I didn’t see either. And neither did Phillips.
“The thing is, I’m not a victim, so I don’t deserve this sympathy,” she told the Daily Star. “I would much rather people put their efforts into someone who’s an actual victim.”
In fact, it was Phillips who got the men to perform free labor. She vetted the men, selected who she wanted, and required them to pay hundreds of dollars for STI tests and pay for their own transportation to the shoot day that she chose. The men’s faces weren’t even important enough to be shown—just their bodies.
One man in the film complained that it was “the most expensive shag ever,” estimating he spent over $1200 in travel costs for a few minutes of transactional sex with Phillips.
Even when Philipps breaks down on camera at the end, it’s not because she had a negative experience herself. But because so many of the men did. “It’s hard having the interactions with them,” she said. Adding, she wanted to give them “a good time” but that ultimately there wasn’t enough time. Some of the men were so desperate for more time with Phillips that she says they even tried “guilt-tripping” her.
To be clear, I’m not saying the concept of anyone—regardless of gender—having sex with 100 people in one day isn’t unsettling. The documentarian audibly gags upon entering the room, filled with condoms, tissues, and other remnants of the day’s activities. Phillips herself admits to dissociating through much of it and recounts how semen accidentally ended up in her eye, despite her asking for it to go elsewhere.
Some might argue that true agency is impossible under patriarchy—questions that extend beyond Lily Phillips. Do women really get lip injections because they want to? Do men risk infertility by taking testosterone shots to look buffer and comply with masculine ideals because they’re making the best choices for themselves? None of us can truly separate our decisions from societal expectations. But dismissing Phillips as a victim simply because she’s a woman feels reductive.
I’m also struck by the lack of curiosity about the men who participated in the event. The shame seems exclusively reserved for Phillips, for choosing to have sex with 100 men. While the men are reduced to faceless numbers in her lineup. Why do we balk at her decision but not theirs? Why does society insist on framing her as the one with something to lose, while the men’s decisions escape scrutiny entirely?
Furthermore, it’s worth noting the blatant hypocrisy at play. Men in adult entertainment often earn less than women, and the industry predominantly employs women due to audience demographics. Not to mention that it’s Phillips and not the men, who will ultimately monetize the content being created.
Yet, where are the think pieces decrying their exploitation?
Admittedly, even I, a woman, had unconsciously judged Phillips before watching the documentary, expecting a tale of victimhood and exploitation. That’s how deeply patriarchy has conditioned us to view women’s sexuality: if they dare to monetize their bodies, they must be victims, stripped of agency.
We readily accept male athletes, actors, and influencers profiting from their physicality, yet we deny women the same autonomy. Which is to say, the real question isn’t about Phillips’s victimhood or her savvy; it’s why we refuse to acknowledge her right to be a complex human being, capable of both strength and vulnerability, exploitation and empowerment.
