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it is just a mirror. It reflects back whatever someone brings to it: curiosity, loneliness, imagination, fear, or rage. When someone approaches AI with degrading fantasies, dehumanizing language, or a desire for control, the system doesn’t challenge them the way a human might. It doesn’t flinch. It doesn’t set boundaries. It doesn’t say “no.” For people already inclined toward entitlement, misogyny or transphobia, this can create a dangerous feedback loop. They rehearse cruelty in a consequence‑free environment, and the rehearsal makes them hungry for more. As a man, I am comfortable to admit that statistically, the people engaging in this abuse, are likely to be men who look like me.  

Sex workers often become the target of this displaced aggression. They are accessible, visible, and socially stigmatised; conditions that make them easy targets for people who feel powerless or disenfranchised elsewhere. When someone spends hours using AI to simulate domination, degradation, or violence, the line between fantasy and entitlement can blur. The person begins to expect compliance in all walks of life. They begin to believe they are owed something. When a real human being—one with boundaries, needs, and autonomy—doesn’t match the script, the frustration spills outward. Sex workers have always been on the front lines of society’s unresolved issues: shame, desire, control, loneliness, and moral panic. AI simply adds a new layer to this. It gives people a private arena to explore impulses they would never admit publicly, and then those impulses leak into real interactions with real people who deserve safety and respect. This is something we see increasingly in some video games too (the photo adjacent is taken from CyberPunk 2077 where a player can visit a sex worker called JoyToy).  

The impact on sex workers as I hear it, is significant. They do not just have to face demands which they find increasingly unable to cope with but also increased hostility from clients who have been conditioned by AI to expect instant gratification and no limits. They are expected to deal with someone’s dehumanisation fantasy without consent, negotiation, communications or boundaries. AI never requires these things.  

I have not yet heard of sex workers being included in any conversation about AI ethics, despite being a population which is in the front line of feeling the impact. As usual they carry the darkest burdens of our society without ever being involved in the places where policies are shaped.  All I can say, when talking to my clients, is that they deserve better.  

family gatherings, the expectation to perform happiness can be exhausting. Those who are grieving, struggling financially, or simply not in the mood are often sidelined by a cultural script that demands cheerfulness. The season’s “mandatory joy” can amplify feelings of isolation rather than connection. There is nothing worse than living a simulation of happiness when you are far from being in that space.  

What began as a pagan celebrations of natural progression, hi-jacked by religious and communal observances has been steadily reshaped by the culture of 'giving' and by definition 'receiving'. Christmas has become a marketplace spectacle: sales campaigns, gift‑giving rituals, and the commodification of “holiday spirit.” The symbols of generosity and togetherness are repackaged into products, while corporations profit from the pressure to buy, decorate, and indulge. Christmas has also become political about fake outrage over the use of the word and the 'wokeness' of not buying into it.

Acknowledging this tension doesn’t mean rejecting Christmas altogether. It means reclaiming its meaning beyond consumption, appreciating presence over presents, authenticity over performance. Acts of quiet reflection, community care, or even choosing not to celebrate can be radical gestures against the enforced jollity and capitalist appropriation. The meaning of Christmas is not universal, it is not a mandatory obligation but it should be up to each and every one of us to experience it as we feel.  

Christmas, then, is not only about joy but also about questioning whose joy is being sold, and at what cost. In resisting the pressure to conform, we rediscover the possibility of a season rooted in honesty, solidarity, and genuine connection. Or not... The point is not to buy into any rhetoric, including mine, but to build your own experience as you see fit, without rejection or fear of disapproval. 

is Ashley’s writing; it is both accessible and rigorous. She traces the etymology of “slut” and its shifting meanings across centuries, revealing how language has been used to police the female body and silence dissent. From medieval morality to modern media, she shows how slutshaming is not just about sex—it’s about power, control, and hoarding of resources. 

What makes Sluts especially compelling is its refusal to treat slutshaming as something that used to happen in the past and to other people. Ashley shows us it is very much present and it is here and now and holds a mirror to us as a society. She argues that despite progress in sexual openness, this shaming persists—often disguised as concern, judgment, or “common sense.” Whether through influencer culture, political rhetoric, or everyday gossip, the book reveals how slutshaming adapts to new platforms and continues to harm those who defy normative expectations.

The book is rich with interviews, case studies, and cultural references. Ashley includes voices from across the gender spectrum, highlighting how slutshaming intersects with race, class, queerness, and disability. This intersectional lens is vital: it shows that while all women are vulnerable to sexual stigma, marginalized groups face compounded scrutiny and violence.

I liked the emphasis on reclamation and it reminded me of how 'queer' was reclaimed by the LGBTQIA+ community. Rather than simply condemning the term “slut,” she explores how some have embraced it as a badge of resistance. This reclamation is not universal, and Ashley is careful not to romanticize it—but she treats it as a valid, empowering choice for those who find strength in subversion.

Sluts is a must-read for anyone interested in gender justice, media literacy, or sexual ethics. It’s especially relevant for therapists, educators, and activists seeking to understand how shame operates—and how to dismantle it. As Laura Whitmore put it, “I wish I read this when I was younger”.

fascism, the public response was disturbingly muted. The Metropolitan Police reported no offences. No major political figures condemned the march. And while some passers-by booed, their voices were drowned out by chants and silence from institutions that should have stood up.

Soho isn’t just a nightlife hub—it’s a symbol of queer resilience. It’s where generations have gathered to feel safe, seen, and celebrated. To have that space invaded by a group accusing the community of immorality is not just offensive—it’s dangerous. It sends a message that queer joy is still up for debate, that religious extremism can masquerade as moral protest, and that public safety is conditional.

The lack of outcry reveals a deeper issue: the normalization of intolerance when it’s cloaked in religious or “traditional” values. The King’s Army didn’t just march—they performed a spectacle of dominance. Their uniforms, formation, and slogans weren’t random. They were designed to intimidate, to reclaim public space from queer visibility, and to test how far they could go without consequence.

And they succeeded.

This silence isn’t just passive. It’s complicit. It tells LGBTQIA+ people that their safety is negotiable, that their spaces can be invaded without recourse, and that hate—when dressed in scripture—is tolerable. It’s a reminder that progress isn’t linear, and that visibility doesn’t guarantee protection.

We need more than reactive outrage. We need proactive solidarity. That means public officials speaking out, media framing these events accurately, and communities showing up—not just when it’s convenient, but when it’s uncomfortable. It means recognizing that “Jesus saves” shouted in a queer space isn’t neutral—it’s a weaponized slogan when paired with accusations of immorality.

Soho deserves better. The LGBTQIA+ community deserves better. And the rest of us—whether allies, advocates, or simply decent humans—must ask: when hate marches through our streets, will we stand by, or will we stand up?

(photo from Yahoo news)

In this, it is like what Sartre said (I think) which is that the way we look occurs the moment we become aware of another’s gaze. When by ourselves and ‘unseen’ by others our presentation, our understanding of ourselves can be free and self-directed, what Sartre terms “being-for-itself.” But under scrutiny, under observation, that same self-awareness or self-definition is then reframed as “being-in-itself,” an entity defined by someone else’s perspective. This shift reveals that our subjective view of ourselves is never wholly self-sufficient but always vulnerable to external definition.

It is this vulnerability to external critique that I often discuss with clients and that defines the parameters of their well-being. At times, it is the cornerstone of our therapeutic relationship encapsulated in Sartre’s remark, “I see myself because somebody sees me.” We can work together the moment they realise ‘I see them’.  Well-being for my queer clients is not always rooted in self-awareness, which is solid, but a byproduct of interpersonal vision. It is unfortunate that for them, when they realise they are looked at in public, they have to adopt the other’s vantage point, reconfiguring their body, behaviour, and freeze in anticipation of their judgment. What we are working on is the idea that this external ‘looking at’ should lose some of this potency; well-being thus springing from reducing the compulsion of becoming what we imagine the observer perceives us to be.

Crucially and unavoidably, for my queer clients out in the world and away from their own tribe, ‘the looked at’ leads to objectification. Society often views queer people as static, reducing their vibrancy and flexibility to a label to be categorized and known. As such, as Sartre would argue, this classification reduces queer people well-being and freedom.  Their potential choices are censored and filtered through the lens of how they think the observer defines them. I will give you an example – a trans male client of mine – who looks too young for his age (and does not live in the UK) – is reducing his world to activities where he does not need to ID himself, thus avoiding ‘the look’. He cannot order coffee in a Starbucks because of his youthful underage appearance, he is asked to produce ID, which is currently in his dead name and gender, and is tired of sparking an argument about how he is committing fraud. In class, when the register is called, unless he answers when called in his dead name, he is marked as absent.  He is then caught in the paradox of his teacher ‘looking’ straight at him which confirms his existence and it simultaneously constraining his capacity to define himself in his own terms.  

Sartre’s most famous observation was that “hell is other people”. In the age of ever-present cameras, social media, CCTV and other surveillance methods, ‘hell’ is more than just other people; it is unavoidable judgement, objectification and shaming. I feel that my conversations with my clients about their well-being must go further than authenticity, they need to include the ethics of how we seen others but also how we reclaim our self-definition when being seen.

(piece as seen in Embrace: Living your best Queer Life - please also check out that excellent online zine)

therapy for all kinds of reasons: stress, relationships, identity, transitions, or simply wanting to understand themselves better. Sometimes we fire fight – sometimes we grow.  

Think of it like emotional physiotherapy — not just for breaks, but for balance.

2. The therapist will tell me what to do.

Therapy isn’t advice-giving. It’s more like a conversation with someone trained to help you hear yourself clearly. You’re the expert on your life — therapy helps you trust that.

It’s not a GPS. It’s a co-pilot who helps you read your own map.

3. I don’t want to be trapped in the past  

Exploring the past isn’t about blame. It’s about noticing patterns, understanding where they came from, and deciding what you want to carry forward.

Sometimes the past is a lens, not a trap.

4. I am afraid I will cry or get emotional  

In therapy, emotion isn’t a breakdown — it’s a breakthrough. Tears aren’t weakness. They’re data. They’re release. They’re real.

You don’t have to hold it together here. You just have to show up.

5. Therapists will judge me.

A good therapist holds space without judgment. They’ve heard it all, and they’re trained to meet complexity with compassion — not moral verdicts.

You’re not too much. You’re not too broken. You’re not alone.

6. If I start…I’ll be in therapy forever.

Therapy can be short-term, long-term, or somewhere in between. Some people come weekly, some come monthly, some come when life gets loud. It’s flexible, not forever.

You set the pace a therapist will follow.  

7. Therapy is just talking — it doesn’t change anything.

Talking with intention can shift how you see yourself, your relationships, and your choices. Insight leads to action — and sometimes, that action is simply being kinder to yourself.

Words can be tools. Therapy helps you use them well.

Therapy isn’t about fixing you. It’s about meeting you — gently, honestly, and without judgment. It is about being able to be seen, heard without censoring yourself.  

before the interaction began, the makeup was secretly removed. The participants however, believed they still had the scar. Off they went... During conversations with others, these participants reported feeling judged, stared at, and treated differently—despite having no visible scar. Their belief that the scar was in place, profoundly shaped how they interpreted others’ behaviour, thinking that neutral or ambiguous social cues were rooted in other's  discrimination or discomfort. In this way, this experiment revealed a powerful psychological truth namely that our expectations and internal narratives can fundamentally impact how we experience the world. Even in the absence of actual stigma, the belief that said stigma existed, led participants to perceive social rejection. This experiment, which has incidentally been replicated successfully since, is important because it demonstrates unequivocally how our mindset 'creates our reality'. Without wishing to become overly philosophical, it reduces us to Kant's sharp divide between the world as it truly is (noumenal) and the world as we perceive it (phenomenal). He argued that we never experience reality directly—we only experience it through the lens of our own mental framework.  In this way, the Dartmouth Scar Experiment goes beyond even Kant into Sartre's ideas outlined Being and Nothingness (last bit of philosophy I promise !). Sartre said (I think) that we acquire consciousness, the moment we become aware of another’s gaze. When by ourselves and ‘unseen’ by others our presentation, our understanding of ourselves can be free and self-directed, what Sartre terms “being-for-itself.” But under scrutiny, under observation, that same self-awareness or self-definition is then reframed as “being-in-itself,” an entity defined by someone else’s perspective. This shift reveals that our subjective view of ourselves is never wholly self-sufficient but always vulnerable to external definition. Imagine how distorted our understanding of reality may become if we perceive the 'gaze' as intrinsically critical because of a believed fault....phew!... I am glad I got all that out of the way.  Philosophical musings aside, I suppose it all comes down to one thing, there is no way we can ever know anything totally objectively....and that is ok as long as we are aware that this is what goes on. Therefore before we judge ourselves and others too harshly, we should remember that it is all a bit like wearing tinted glasses—everyone’s lenses are slightly different. 

less than appropriate, least of all this year, where I have heard, from genuine sources, that a pride march was sponsored by a betting agency, with a chequered past when it comes to community rights.

Are pride sponsors authentic in their support or rainbow-washing? Are the values of the sponsor conflicting, supporting pride this month and bankrolling lobbyists anti-queer rights the next? Are they likely to run for cover at the flimsiest sign of pressure?  

Here are a few thoughts on guidelines for vetting the sponsors, these are not criticisms, but observations and suggestions.  

Pride is for the whole year not just for June: Are the corporate partners values demonstrated all year around? Are they inclusive and queer friendly?

Internal policies: do they have non-discrimination policies, can provide diversity data, support for trans-inclusive healthcare.

The P word – what are their political contributions? Have they ever backed an anti LGBTQIA+ politician? … that’s a deal-breaker.

Have a word….with local queer activists and involve them in sponsorship offers decision making.  

Sustainability – funding doesn’t need to be all corporate mega-bucks, are there local queer friendly businesses you can involve? How is your fundraising? So many local non-profit organisations with genuine queer community ties would add so much value to the endevour and keep the flame alive.  

Napoleon said that an army marches on its stomach, acknowledging the logistics of conflict. Pride marches on money but its values must guide its steps. We need to do more than just make Pride happen we need to keep the protest flame alive and look after its soul. When the funding is genuine and supports the message, the whole thing becomes that much more valuable.  

the UK's drop in ranking:

Lack of a conversion therapy ban – Despite years of advocacy, the UK has yet to implement a full ban on conversion therapy.

Limited healthcare options for young trans people – Access to gender-affirming healthcare remains restricted, further affecting the country's standing.

While the UK still maintains some protections for LGBTQIA+ individuals, its score of 45.65% is below the EU average. Countries like Malta, Belgium, Iceland, and Denmark now lead the rankings, while Russia remains the least LGBTQIA+ friendly country in Europe.

The issue not just where we are now but where we go next? Where do we draw the line in the oppression of a minority that is both benign and vulnerable? We must take urgent action to restore legal gender recognition and thankfully the Good Law Project is on the case, ban conversion therapy immediately and recognize that access to relevant healthcare access for trans and queer individuals is not a privilege but a basic human right.  

Source of map and more stats on - https://rainbowmap.ilga-europe.org/