Inara Serra and the Future of Sex Work

 

This guest post by Deborah Pless appears as part of our theme week on Representations of Sex Workers.

The first time you watch Firefly, Joss Whedon’s sprawling but criminally short-lived space western, it’s easy to think that it gives you a rather progressive view of our future. While some things haven’t changed, like the need of governments to meddle in the affairs of their people, and the way that humans will always find a way to piss each other off, the universe it portrays is one pretty far advanced from our own. Most cultural conflicts have been whittled down by years of inter-marriage, the universe even speaks a pidgin of American English and Mandarin Chinese, and prostitution is not only legal, but respected.

All in all, a pretty good outlook, right? Especially for sex workers. Because in this world, they have rights, they have solid healthcare, they have independence, and they even have a pretty high level of social recognition. We know all of this because one of the main characters on the show, Inara (Morena Baccarin) is a Companion, the best of the best.

Inara shows all the benefits to the cultural changes of the last 500 years. She’s a Companion, a highly trained and respected sex worker who ministers mostly to dignitaries, businessmen, and other elites. She’s taken a ride on Serenity, the ship around which most of the show’s action centers, because she wants to see the universe. Because she is a Companion, she can write her own ticket – there will always be clients, so long as they stick to planets with some level of economic stability, and she can just rent a shuttle for as long as she wants. Plus, Inara herself is fun, witty, and classy as all get out. She’s the woman we all want to be, and she’s a sex worker. That’s progressive, right?

 

The problem here comes not from what the show is saying about sex work. It’s saying very complimentary things. The issue is that this show, this wonderful lovely show, is showing us something entirely different. Namely, that sex work is bad and nasty and wrong.

How? Well, let me tell you a thing.

The first thing you might pick up on in the show is that while Inara is not ashamed of her career, and she meets with no real prejudice about it from most of the characters, she does get a lot of blowback from one place in particular: Captain Mal Reynolds (Nathan Fillion). Mal hates that Inara is, as he puts it so gently, a “whore,” and he makes his feelings known on the matter a lot. And then some. And then a little more.

In and of itself, this would be a perfectly reasonably addition to the story. Granted, it would give lie to the idea that sex work is now perfectly respected in this universe, but one out of countless characters to decry what she does isn’t so terrible. There’s always someone who disagrees, right?

Well, Mal isn’t just the captain of the ship or the plucky hero, he’s also the audience avatar. His is the emotional arc in which we invest. And Mal is the one who has the biggest objection to Inara’s work. This implies that we too should have an objection to what Inara does.

 

It goes even further. In episode six, “Shindig,” Mal and Kaylee (Jewel Staite) must attend a party where Inara will also be with a client. Kaylee is happy to just go and admire the finery, have some strawberries, and maybe dance a little, but Mal takes it upon himself to find Inara while she is working and get into a fight with her. A fight that then escalates because Inara’s client, Atherton Wing (Edward Atterton), turns out to be kind of a jerk and calls her a whore on the dance floor. After he offers to buy her. Yeech.

Mal is enraged that someone else dared to call Inara what he calls her on a daily basis, and steps in, punching Atherton and accidentally challenging him to a duel for Inara’s honor. And then we spend the rest of the episode with Inara trying to save Mal from inevitably getting murdered, and Mal refusing to be rescued because a lady’s honor is at stake.

The problem, again, comes from the context. It wouldn’t be so bad if Mal were genuinely defending Inara, though it would undermine the idea that as a Companion Inara is a strong independent woman who can handle herself. That she needs to be rescued at all and can’t handle it or won’t handle it until Mal steps in is problematic in and of itself. No, the real issue here is how Mal steps in. He steps in by using violence to assert that while he can denigrate Inara’s work, no one else can. And that’s just kind of creepy.

Again, though, because this narrative is really Mal’s story, it supports his actions. He is shown as totally good and right and understandable to act like this, and Inara forgives him for being an ass. They share a nice drink and laugh over it all. Also, Inara reveals that she had the power to get back at Atherton the whole time, but didn’t want to use it, I guess.

 

And it doesn’t stop there. While Inara continues to be our “good” whore, the one who can get the crew out of any tight spot with her power of sex and sexiness (this happens at least two different episodes, and since there are only 13 total, that’s a lot), all other sex workers are considered inferior and, well, whores.

You have Saffron/Yolanda/Bridget (Christina Hendricks), a con artist with Companion training who marries men when they’re drunk and then robs them blind, or just pulls long cons on them in order to get their money. You have the whores that Jayne (Adam Baldwin) beds, who are denigrated by their proximity to Jayne – he’s a man-beast after all, so any woman who would sleep with him, especially for money, must be doubly unclean, right? And we have the Heart of Gold, from the episode of the same name, a little whorehouse in the middle of a desert planet run by a former Companion named Nandi (Melinda Clarke).

In the episode, “Heart of Gold,” the crew heads out to this brothel in the middle of nowhere at Inara’s behest. It seems that Nandi has been having some trouble with one of the local men, who is insistent that not only is one of the girls pregnant with his baby, that he is within his rights to take it from her. The crew comes in to save the day, keep the baby with its mother, and make sure that this man doesn’t get to ruin the Heart of Gold.

 

In the process, though, we learn a lot more about sex work in this universe, and it’s not pretty. While the show makes it very clear that these sex workers are the good guys, and the mean man trying to steal a baby is a bad guy (very subtle), it doesn’t do much to support this thesis. For starters, Nandi is shown to be “slumming it.” She stopped being a Companion in order to become an unlicensed whore because she wanted her freedom, but look where it’s gotten her. Stuck in the middle of nowhere with no resources, a hostile environment, and the law breathing down her neck.

Her girls (and boys), while nice, are completely undeveloped as characters. We know nothing about the plight of the everyday sex worker in this universe. But we do know that we as an audience are supposed to be mildly disapproving. What Inara does is safe and respected, you see, whereas these people are doing it wrong. We know this because of the implicit messages the show sends: only Jayne takes Nandi up on the offer to use the brothel’s services, and while several other characters could, were they so inclined, they don’t. This is most notable with Kaylee, who is shown to be a character comfortable with her sexuality, happy to indulge, and at this point, deeply sexually frustrated. But she wouldn’t stoop to paying for it, I guess.

The only other character who does have sex in this episode is Mal himself, who beds Nandi, but only after they make it clear that this is about feelings and fun and definitely not about money. Because, again, only a monster like Jayne would stoop to paying for it.

The double standard here is both annoying and also indicative of the show’s real attitude. Because if the show really does want to claim to be permissive toward sex work, then it has to be permissive on both sides. Not only is it okay to be a sex worker, it’s okay to be a client of a sex worker.

Or neither. I’m not saying which way the show should go here, I’m saying that by stigmatizing the clients of sex workers, the show is stigmatizing the workers themselves.

 

Oh, and there’s the thing where all the “good” prostitutes have to die. As penance.

Now, off the top of my head, the only actual sex worker who dies during the show is Nandi, who is very tragically killed during the siege on her brothel. Of course she is revenged and it has a happy-ish ending where the girl gets to keep her baby and everything is right in the world. Only Nandi is still dead. And one can only surmise what the reason for that is. On the one hand, this is Joss Whedon and he does bathe in the tears of his viewers. But on the other, Nandi’s death is largely unnecessary as far as the plot goes, and it only serves to put a wedge between Mal and Inara, as well as to figuratively punish her for the choices she made in life.

As usual, this wouldn’t be noteworthy or even that offensive if it were a singular event. It isn’t. We (the fans) recently learned a little bit of trivia about the show that would have come out had the show gone on longer than half of a season. Namely, that Inara was terminally ill.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YTxGOi9coWQ”]

So, now this means that of the sympathetic sex worker characters on the show, both of them were killed off or going to be killed off in suitably tragic and noble ways, but also in ways the figuratively punish them for their sins.

Like I said, the show has very mixed feelings about sex work.

 

I think what happened is this: while Firefly really does want to show us a world where sex work is accepted, or more accepted, and a lot of cultural barriers have broken down, the show is much more concerned with portraying a world of incredibly harsh class divisions. For example, our heroes are all working class or fallen upper class, and the main struggle in the series is that of our plucky underdogs fighting against the rich and powerful who seek to dominate them.

This isn’t a bad thing. It’s a huge part of what makes the show watchable. But it comes at a cost. You see, by making the narrative more about class, it creates a need to work a class narrative into all of its stories. A story about a brothel in the wilderness can’t just be a story about sex work, it has to be a story about class and sex work. By doing this, by setting up Inara as the high class sex worker and everyone else as lower class and therefore bad, the show stigmatizes sex work as a whole. After all, if the only difference between the good whore and the bad one is her paycheck, then there’s no difference at all.

Look. Whether you’re okay with it or not, Firefly is kind of lying here. It says it’s progressive and open-minded, but it really isn’t. Shows, and people, are defined by what they do much more than what they say. So while Firefly and Inara say they’re liberated, independent, and free-thinking, their actions say differently.

And I do not hold to that.

 

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Deborah Pless runs Kiss My Wonder Woman and works as a youth advocate in Western Washington. You can follow her on twitter and tumblr just as long as you like feminist rants and an obsession with superheroes.