Image: Hulton Archive/Getty

The last line of Pretty Woman is that “Some dreams come true, some don’t; but keep on dreamin’.” It’s quintessentially Hollywood, the place where dreams are made and sold. The girlfriend experience (GFE), a niche brand of sex work, is a fantasy, and the Hollywood version is the fantasy of that. It’s a reflection of a reflection, imbuing an already-idealized version of intimacy with pixie dust. It’s a favorite subject of media storytelling, and while there’s no harm in fantasy, the media message of this one represents some deep-rooted—and deeply internalized—misogyny.

The Dream We’re Sold

 Pretty Woman, which is turning 35 this year, may not have invented the on-screen GFE, but it’s arguably the biggest reinforcement of the dream. Edward hires Vivian because he wants companionship without the messiness of a relationship, but he falls for her. Vivian, in turn, thinks Edward is a fat payday, but also can’t resist his charm. They rescue each other: Edward from loneliness, Vivian from life on the streets. It’s not exactly a fair exchange.

Fairness, however, is not the name of this game: It’s power.

The Girlfriend Experience: Whose Fantasy is it Really?

Director Steven Soderbergh’s 2009 movie The Girlfriend Experience stars adult film actor Sasha Gray as a worker who specializes in pretend relationships, compartmentalizing her job from herself to the extent that she uses a different name. Her business sense, however, is jeopardized when she meets a client who makes her question her boundaries (hello, Vivian, who never kisses on the mouth.) She’s so overcome with feelings for the man she risks her livelihood and her own limits, willingly ceding her own power.

Focusing on the girlfriend experience uses the emotional aspects of sex and either commodifies them, or makes them look like wish fulfillment. Pretty Woman adorns Vivian’s time with Edward with luxury and privilege, which of course will disappear like Cinderella’s finery when their week together ends and the clock strikes midnight. It’s no coincidence that movies like Pretty Woman and this year’s Anora are known as Cinderella fantasies.

Anora plays with the twinkly dreams spun by Pretty Woman before dousing them with the cynicism of the last three and a half decades. Sure, she goes from stripper to a one-man employee and enjoys the numerous rewards of the job—travel, partying, drugs—then is promoted to Mrs., complete with fur coat and immense diamond ring, only to have it (almost) all snatched away. Anora herself is duped by the princess dream fantasy, which, it turns out, was just a job all along.

The Commodification of Care

The fantasy’s core, however, is the fulfillment of a male ideal of sexual and emotional compliance. In this dream world, the loving, attentive girlfriend wants nothing more than closeness, usually for his pleasure. Her duty is still to provide what he wants—but in the pixie dust version, she’s materially rewarded. After all, although the protagonists of Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion (1997) have watched Pretty Woman “like 36 times,” what still causes Michele to choke up? “I just get so happy when they finally let her shop,” she says. “Yeah, like those sales girls in Beverly Hills aren’t bigger whores than she is!” Romy replies, simultaneously criticizing sex work in general while still cheering for Vivian.

Soderbergh’s Girlfriend Experience makes the question even more direct. Christine’s boyfriend, an athletic trainer, also flatters and coddles his clients, begging the question of by what degrees do we sell intimacy? If we’re all paid to pretend to like, support, and accommodate someone, why does it matter who’s literally selling sex and who’s figuratively giving people what they want?

Who’s Really in Control?

It matters because this is still women enacting and reinforcing a particular angle of the male gaze: intimacy on demand. Pretty Woman was written by J.F. Lawton and directed by Gary Marshall. Soderbergh’s movie was written by Brian Koppelman and David Levien. White Lotus was created by Mike White. Anora was both written and directed by Sean Baker.

It’s a man’s man’s man’s world and women exist to make the magic happen. But it’s sold to us as empowerment because the provider is in charge and lavishly compensated for her labor. Whether a high-end call girl or a pedestrian street walker, these women’s lives are changed by a wealthy man’s bidding. All the boutique clothes in Beverly Hills—or anywhere—don’t change that.

GFE: It’s Just Work

It’s a soap bubble take on actual connection: one that easily pops when the cash runs out or the john wants the fantasy to be real. A friend of mine tried it out once and was so besotted with the woman he hired, I was concerned about either soap bubble scenario, or both. Fortunately, as a scientist, his rational mind prevailed and the expensive arrangement eventually ended. It was, after all, just work.

I’m sure some people will roll their eyes at this: It’s just a movie … Where’s the harm in fantasy? Lighten up, my dude. Okay, sure: If two consenting adults want to role play client and provider, or, conversely, loving partners, that’s their business. But look it in the eyes, kiss it on the mouth, however you want to do so, acknowledge what it’s really about: power and how we pay for it.