In My Skin, by Kate Holden
Your support helps us to tell the story
From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.
At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.
The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.
Your support makes all the difference."I remember tenderness," says Kate Holden, of her life as a prostitute, "boredom, the ice-creams we would eat at 3am in front of the television; the smell of cocks, shy men with silky skin". If this sounds like The Sound of Music, be assured that it isn't. Holden's beautifully written account of her descent into hell is uncomfortably honest about the pleasures, as well as the pains, of life in a brothel. A middle-class English graduate, Holden was "going to be an archeologist who read Virginia Woolf in a tent" when heroin dragged her in a different direction. Her talents as a prostitute won her a large and loyal clientele. So should her talents as a writer.
Join our commenting forum
Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies
Comments