Sneaking peeks at the porn clowns
Even flaming exhibitionists agree: Digital cameras and the Internet make invading a person's privacy much too easy.

------
By Daniel Terdiman

March 7, 2002 | Ouchy the Clown and his wife iKandi are, as their names might suggest, no strangers to attention. In the 2001 edition of the San Francisco Bay Guardian's Best of the Bay awards, Ouchy was named "Best marriage counselor who will beat you into reconciliation." It's not clear how much competition he had. For her part, iKandi was one of a group of guerrilla porn clowns who were recently thrown out of Macworld trying to promote their fake company, Evil Klown Industries LLC, and its iKlown Personal Digital Companion.

But when Ouchy and iKandi found pictures of themselves taken last fall at San Francisco's infamous Folsom Street Fair posted online, they got steamed. Ouchy had been performing his locally famous evil clown act, collecting $1 per minute spent flogging people on behalf of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, made up as he often is in a carefully-done fusion of white-face, red nose, black leather and lots of skin. IKandi, who has worked for years in public relations, was doing what she calls her "media bitch thing": trying to get the many would-be Annie Leibovitzes in the crowd to donate $1 per picture to the Sisters.

What they didn't know was that Stuart Zimmerman, the owner of a new photo storage Web site called Funpixs, was part of the camera-toting paparazzi. He snapped some shots of Ouchy and iKandi -- and several of their friends -- and then posted them on his fledgling site.

Flash forward several months to the day some friends sent Ouchy and iKandi a URL for the Funpixs pages where their Folsom Street Fair pictures were on display. Funpixs, which ostensibly bills itself as a place to store your own personal photographs, also functions as a site where people can buy hot images of hot people doing hot things at hot events.

They blew up, and iKandi fired off a furious message demanding the shots be removed. A couple hours later, a response arrived, granting her wish. But the message was hardly contrite. "[K]eep in mind that you were photographed at a PUBLIC EVENT and knew quite well that your picture would be taken probably hundreds -- if not thousands -- of times without your permission and without any say as to what is done with them. That is just your implied consent for being there and dressing up to attract attention."

Ouchy and iKandi knew their pictures were being taken at the fair. In fact, iKandi says, she didn't care when a photographer from Hustler took some shots of her wearing her leather corset, "with tii##es popped out," a see-through skirt and striped stockings. "We wouldn't mind being in Hustler," she says. "We gave consent and second of all, we get exposure that's legitimate that we approve of."

So why did she and Ouchy object when their images appeared on Funpixs? Because they weren't able to choose, they say; they weren't able to decide if they wanted Zimmerman making money off them, or if they'd get to share the profits. "I feel like they're sucking the blood out of the arts scene when they do stuff like this," iKandi says.

Zimmerman says he hadn't thought he was crossing the line by posting and selling photos he'd taken at the Folsom Street Fair, which he called a "test event" for Funpixs. Sheepishly, he also says that because of the controversy caused by the pictures -- others complained in addition to Ouchy and iKandi -- he no longer sells photos from public events. "It was never our intention to piss people off," Zimmerman explains. "We thought we were providing a service that people like and preserving a memory from an event people attended."

But did he break any laws?

In their 1998 article "The Developing Right of Publicity," Chicago attorneys Robert J. Labate and Jonathan S. Jennings addressed the issue of how much control subjects of photographs have over their own image. "The right of publicity is the right of a person to control the commercial use of her identity, such as her name, likeness and in some cases, voice," wrote Labate and Jennings. "Generally, it is recognized as a property right (that is, you own it) which can be assigned or licensed."

It is universally accepted in the United States that news organizations can publish any images they want, with or without consent. But when it comes to the sale of images, the law is murky. Labate and Jennings point out that enforcing the right of publicity is a difficult matter, depending almost entirely on the state a complainant lives in. And because of that, the Internet poses a unique problem. The Internet is universal and immediate, making it quite tricky to determine jurisdiction in a legal battle. In California and New York, home to most of the media industry, the right of publicity is fairly well developed; in at least 25 states, however, there is no such standard.

J. Thomas McCarthy, a professor at the University of San Francisco School of Law, says things aren't clear-cut even in a state like California. To him, the question boils down to where the picture is taken. In a public place, he says, a photographer can take pictures of anyone he wants and do anything he wants with them, so long as he doesn't use them in advertisements. In private spaces and at private events, he posits, people have a much greater expectation of control over their image. "It's a fuzzy line in the law," McCarthy says. "It's basically subjective. Do most people have an expectation of privacy at this place? Is what you do private and nobody else's business?"

In some cases, a private event promoter may feel compelled to inform attendees they could be photographed without consent. For example, tickets to Burning Man, the annual arts and experimental-community festival held on Nevada's Black Rock Desert, contain this warning: "Commercial use of images taken at Burning Man is prohibited without the prior written consent of Burning Man. You appoint Burning Man as your representative to take actions necessary to protect your intellectual property or privacy rights, recognizing that Burning Man has no obligation to take any action whatsoever."

Marian Goodell, a spokeswoman for the Burning Man organization, says, "We have expressed to people that there's a cultural expectation to their behavior as a photographer, and that's highly effective. Burning Man is a community. We're creating some protocols and standards and values in the culture. We're willing to do our part to uphold that. We expect participants and photographers to do their part as well."

In many cases, when Burning Man participants have found their pictures on Web sites, they have successfully managed to get the site owners to remove them. But in certain cases the organization has stepped in, particularly where shots of naked or topless women taken at Burning Man were being offered for sale. Such sites may portray their images as "artistic," since the women in the pictures might have painted their breasts in metallic silver or red or yellow or green paint. But without consent for the pictures, either from the subjects or from Burning Man, their right to sell them is tenuous.

By all accounts, the law governing publication of images online is no different than that for other media. What concerns Ouchy and iKandi, though, is that sites like Funpixs can reach potential buyers anywhere in the world. And it can take subjects months -- as it did Ouchy and iKandi -- to discover the images.

Exhibitionists beware. In an age of faster, quicker and cheaper technology, in which inconspicuous photographers armed with high-quality digital cameras can be lurking anywhere, in public or in private, people who don't want their parents seeing them dressed like evil porn clowns had better be careful. According to USF's McCarthy, that has always been true, but as the Internet becomes easier to use and imaging equipment gets better and cheaper, people's freedom to do what they want where they want and when they want is going to be more potentially embarrassing than ever before.


Embracing the "inner ho"
David Sterry is a baseball writer and former male prostitute who is working on a novel with no sex in it.

------
By Tracy Quan

Aug. 21, 2002 | David Sterry is, among other things, a 40-ish heterosexual baseball writer coming to terms with his "inner ho." Satchel Paige is one of his role models and, last year, he published (with coauthor Arielle Eckstut) "Satchel Sez," a book about the pitcher's wit and wisdom. Sterry's idea of a religious site is Yankee Stadium. And he looks the part. Slightly gray, with a deep baritone speaking voice, he's what Americans routinely call "a regular guy."

At a sex-worker conference in May, I couldn't help noticing how unusual a "regular guy" can look in a room filled with male sex workers who are still acting boyish (even into their late 30s), and far more likely to be interested in gardening and decorating than baseball.

At first, it's disorienting to hear Sterry talking so candidly about the lost inner prostitute -- a youthful persona he left behind after a year of turning tricks while in college. He's not a veteran of the sex trade like some of us and he's new to the hookers movement. So Sterry probably has no idea what people are saying behind his back. Because most of his customers were women, he defies a few stereotypes, including those of the sex-workers' movement.

One male sex worker (who never met Sterry) suspects that he's "under-reporting the number of men he serviced." Come on, another activist insinuates, did he really make a living just doing women? Activist sex workers love to debate the authenticity of their comrades -- out of earshot, of course -- and we often theorize about whether or why a particular prostitute is essentially putting on airs. So Sterry is not being singled out.

In p.c. lingo, it's often stated that many males who have sex with men "do not identify as gay." The homophobic young hustler who resentfully has sex with men, while pretending that "nothing really happens" with his customers, is a trope -- of the sex trade, of the streets, of the movement. "But," I ask one doubtful colleague, "shouldn't you read 'Chicken' [Sterry's memoir] before you jump to all these conclusions?"

Sterry admits that male sex workers weren't the first people to welcome him into the movement. He sounds wistful. "They haven't been as warm toward me. But the women have been wonderful, very supportive." When I float the phobic-hustler-in-denial theory, he protests, "I'm not homophobic! I worked in the theater for 10 years -- and I was best man at my ex-wife's gay wedding." Despite his straight appearance, this guy is not exactly wearing the mantle of macho.

Hetero male prostitutes are sometimes treated like curiosities in our movement. At the PONY (Prostitutes of New York) meetings I attend, they are rare. When such a guy appears at a PONY meeting, the girls gather out of sheer nosiness. We ask questions that we wouldn't ask another girl, out of respect for her privacy. We sometimes end up sounding like the voyeurs we've spent our lives dodging. With all this in mind, I asked David Sterry for an interview.

I feel like we have so much in common! I had a feminist mom, like you, and divorced parents. We both did a stint at one of those experimental free schools. Started sex at 13. And then we became ... teen prostitutes. But here's where I start having second thoughts: The title of your book is "Chicken." You were turning tricks at 17. When I was a 17-year-old hooker, I thought of myself as a woman and if anyone had called me a chicken I would have slapped him! Isn't 17 kind of old to be calling yourself a "chicken"?

You may not have been a chicken at 17, but I certainly was. I didn't start working when I was 14, like you. At 17 I had had quite a bit of sexual experience, and yet in many ways I had led a life of sheltered affluence, wrapped in the suburban cocoon of my family. I saw myself as a man at 17, but unfortunately, I was not yet. I did not have the skills and tools to make my own way. I was taken advantage of because of my naiveté and ignorance.

So you didn't lie about your age? I worked in a nightclub at 15 where I was surrounded by hookers in their 20s. Those girls would have kicked me right out of there had they known I was so young.

I was hired by older women who wanted a teenage man-child, and that is what I delivered. I had the body, face and mind of a teen, not yet a man. To me, the whole point of chickenness is that it's that glorious in-between time when you're not a child anymore, but not yet an adult -- a teenager who engages in indiscriminate sexual activity for money. Tracy, I was so young and so tender. My pimp collected chickens, and I used to party with them, it was one of the great joys of my time in the Life. And believe me, I fit right in with all these beautiful young chickens.

I feel like I'm totally out of touch with teen prostitutes. I honestly don't know what I would say to a 16-year-old hooker if I met one today.

I do outreach with Larkin Street Youth Services in San Francisco, giving away condoms, lube and bleaching kits for needles, telling homeless kids about the health clinic and living facilities. We give out toothpaste, sunscreen, Handi Wipes -- the most popular item is Q-tips.

Q-tips! Really?

The kids can't get enough Q-tips. Also, because I discuss being raped and being a skanky ho, I have become a lightning rod for people confessing the horrible shit that's happened to them.

You dedicate "Chicken" to the "boys and girls who have been victims of abuse at the hands of adults." Did you really feel that your clients were abusing you?

I generally was not abused as a sex worker. One couple I wrote about in the book paid to humiliate me. I hated that. I was a terrible submissive.

I like the way you capture the teen hustler attitude --floating, aimless, "get the money up-front." But your female customers come across as individuals, which is very noticeable to me. I saw my customers as two-dimensional stereotypes back then. I didn't try to see into them the way you did. I didn't have to. I wonder if female customers work your emotions more. Was there any such thing as a stereotypical female client?

The only thing they had in common was that they had money and they were a lot older than me: traveling business ladies, rich lonely housewives, old hippies, kinky L.A. freaks, the newly liberated and the curious. I even had a grandma I worked with; she didn't make the book.

When you wrote "Chicken" did you see yourself as part of the "sex worker literati"? Did you think you'd be riding a cultural wave? Making a political statement?

I was a sex worker for one school year when I was 17, so I felt in many ways removed from the life. However, I was always drawn to sex workers after that, and had many friends in the sex-worker world. I felt compelled to write "Chicken" for deeply personal reasons. I wasn't even aware there was a "sex worker literati," so I feel lucky to be riding that wave as it's cresting.

The Sex Worker Art Show in Olympia, Washington, was the first event I performed in to promote my book -- in January -- and it was a life-changing event. The organizer, Annie Oakley, is one of the most amazing people I've ever met. I was overwhelmed by all the love and support people gave me. Being in that event allowed me to embrace my "Inner Ho" in a way I did not think was possible. And backstage: It's the only time I've been in a room where someone asked, "Does anyone have a spare nipple clamp?" and three people raised their hands and said, "Sure!"

Well, you went on to organize a number of sex-worker literati shows this spring on the West Coast. There's no convert like a recent convert.

And our next Sex Worker Literati event is in New York on Sept. 26. What I love about the shows is that they're a public forum to talk about sex and sexuality without anyone grinding their ax. So many times when I have been to meetings of people who have something in common -- like sex-worker conferences -- the interaction devolves into factions and personalities clashing. At the sex-worker literati shows, people are more interested in exploring the issues with the audience. They're sweet, touching, deep, troubling -- and I want to emphasize that they're always riotously funny.

Are there books or movies about male prostitution that strike a chord for you?

I did a TV show called "Mornings on 2," and they juxtaposed my interview with clips from "Midnight Cowboy." I love that movie, it's one of my favorite films, and it really seems to capture the damage, frustration and seediness of that world. "My Private Idaho" was very good. J.T. Leroy's "Sarah" is a beautiful book. "American Gigolo," on the other hand, is a joke. Believe me, Blondie was never playing in the background when I was working.