For a million dollars, would you sell views to your “tunnel of love”?
Also known as your vagina, but “tunnel of love” is the term Margo uses when explaining to her mother why she decided to display it for the entire OnlyFans world to see.
Maybe not for a million. What about two million?
In Margo’s Got Money Troubles, Margo decides to support herself and her young son by selling access to her body on OnlyFans. From her perspective, she has limited options. She doesn’t believe she has marketable skills beyond waitressing, and finishing college feels impossible while raising a child alone.
I get it.
I was once a single mother, and without the help of my parents, I likely would have needed government assistance to survive. My parents were my safety net. Margo doesn’t really have one.
At this point in the story, she’s supporting herself with occasional help from her mother and her father, who is recovering from addiction. Reliable childcare is scarce. Jobs with flexible schedules are hard to find. In that context, a remote job that allows her to work from home and care for her child sounds pretty appealing.
But is it?
Her mother, a former Hooters waitress, warns her about how people will perceive her once she makes that choice. She tells Margo that people will see her as trash and that no one will want to help her. Unfortunately, much of that prediction comes true.
Her father feels he has little room to judge, considering he’s living with her after rehab. Meanwhile, her estranged baby’s father suddenly resurfaces seeking custody of their son because he now sees himself as the more responsible parent—despite the fact that he was a professor who took advantage of a much younger college student.
The show raises some fascinating questions.
Is posting your body on OnlyFans empowering? Is it a feminist act? Or is it a double-edged sword—one that offers financial freedom while simultaneously exposing women to judgment and stigma?
Is it worth it?
And if the reward at the end of the journey is two million dollars or more, should anyone care what society thinks?
I’m conflicted.
Change often begins when someone challenges the rules and makes what was once taboo seem normal. At one point, women who wore pants were likely viewed as rebellious, improper, or worse. Society eventually changed its mind about clothing, hairstyles, and many other expressions of female autonomy.
But has it changed in the same way when it comes to women monetizing access to their bodies?
A study titled My Body, Your Choice: An Analysis of the Nuance of OnlyFans Toward Women’s Autonomy and the Commodification of Women highlights this tension:
“At its very core, OnlyFans highlights freedom of choice and bodily autonomy among women. This is also how it is widely perceived by different creators and users, contributing to frameworks of liberal feminism wherein sex work is viewed as a symbol of feminist liberty because women can gain economic freedom by selling their bodies. However, from radical and Marxist feminist perspectives, OnlyFans represents the commodification and objectification of women. While creators may feel they are in control, they still rely heavily on male validation for financial independence.”
That conflict sits at the heart of Margo’s story.
Times have changed, but perhaps not enough.
Women are still criticized for having children outside of marriage, while far less criticism is directed toward the men involved. Women judge women. Men judge women. And often the responsibility and shame fall disproportionately on one person.
Maybe things will change when society stops treating motherhood outside of marriage as a woman’s failure alone. Maybe things will change when men are held equally accountable for the children they help create.
Until then, a woman can absolutely choose to sell access to her “tunnel of love” and make a substantial amount of money doing it.
But she also has to navigate the reality of the world as it exists today—not as we wish it were.
The views may pay.
The money may solve immediate problems.
But the social cost can be far-reaching, and unlike previous generations, today’s choices can live online forever, resurfacing years later in ways we never anticipated.
Wonk. Wonk.
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