Abstract
Sex work is a contested issue in academic, political, and public discourse, often polarised between abolitionist and labour rights perspectives. In Malta, where local research remains scarce, legal ambiguities, criminalisation, and stigma push sex work underground, exacerbating precarious conditions and restricting access to healthcare, legal protection, and social support. Despite ongoing public debates on regulatory reform, the absence of local empirical evidence allows misconceptions and legal uncertainties to persist. This article provides the first descriptive mapping of Malta’s sex work landscape rooted in empirical research. It integrates data from two independent research projects based on interviews with 81 participants, including sex workers (n = 45), non-sex-working stakeholders (n = 35), and one ‘pimp’. The aim is to offer preliminary insights into sex work in Malta across four key dimensions – actors, spaces, tools, and time – and present a nuanced analytical framework beyond traditional hierarchical approaches to sex work. The findings highlight the diversity of sex workers’ backgrounds in Malta, spanning different genders, nationalities, and socioeconomic circumstances. While some participants operate independently, including through digital platforms, others work under varying degrees of third-party management, revealing a spectrum of autonomy and constraint. Street-based workers face heightened risks of violence and police scrutiny, whereas digital platforms present both new opportunities and emerging vulnerabilities. In addition, entrenched stigma, unclear legal frameworks, and exclusionary service provision further hinder sex workers’ access to essential healthcare and legal protection. This study contributes empirical evidence to inform policy and public debate by documenting these complexities, challenging moralistic narratives, and advocating for an evidence-based approach. We encourage future research to expand this framework, engage with larger and comparative samples, and centre policy discussions on the lived realities of sex work.
Introduction
Sex work occupies a contentious space in academic, political, and public discourse, with perspectives on its regulation and recognition varying significantly. Some scholars advocate for decriminalisation, framing prostitution as sex work and emphasising labour rights (Agustín, 2002; Kempadoo, 2015; Wijers and van Doorninck, 2009), while others reject this terminology outright, citing concerns about exploitation and trafficking (Barry, 1979; Pateman, 1988; Valadier, 2018). Those who deny this term often support abolitionist approaches, such as criminalising the purchase of sex while conflating sex work with trafficking (Thomas, 2021). These polarised framings obscure the lived realities of those who sell sexual services, whose experiences cannot be neatly categorised as either empowerment or exploitation (Sanders et al., 2018).
In Malta, a small Southern European island characterised by rapid economic growth and complex labour migration flows (Pace et al., 2023), sex work occupies a legal grey area. While the sale of sex is not explicitly criminalised, laws on brothel-keeping, solicitation, and third-party involvement create a restrictive environment (Calafato, 2017), forcing sex workers to operate under considerable legal uncertainty. These constraints push sex work further underground, making it more difficult for workers to seek support, report abuse, or access healthcare and legal protections without fear of stigma or prosecution. Although discussions on regulatory reform began in 2019 and periodically resurface in public debate (Rossoni, 2021), legislative progress has temporarily stalled. Despite the urgent need for empirical research to inform policy, sex work in Malta remains understudied, allowing misconceptions, legal ambiguities, and popular discourse to shape the lived realities of sex workers.
This article provides a grounded, descriptive account of sex work in Malta, drawing on interviews with 45 sex workers, 1 self-identified ‘pimp’, and 35 non–sex-working stakeholders from 2 separate projects. In doing so, it offers an initial mapping of Malta’s sex work landscape to inform policy and practice. Beyond demonstrating the value of collaborative data integration, we identify key patterns that emerged across fieldwork. Although not generalisable, studies of this kind are crucial where data are scarce, bridging evidence gaps and shedding light on the diverse experiences of sex workers in Malta. Specifically, this article examines how sex work in Malta is organised and experienced across different social, spatial, and institutional contexts. As Weitzer (2014: 21) argues, ‘microlevel empirical studies’ such as this ‘provide a superior, evidence-based foundation’ for policy and practice than the anecdotal accounts that previously dominated.
We structure our observations along four key dimensions – actors, spaces, tools, and time – providing a nuanced analytical lens consistent with approaches in the sociology of sex work (Sanders et al., 2018). This article contributes to sociological studies of sexual labour by examining the complex and situated conditions under which sex work takes place, moving beyond binary framings of exploitation versus empowerment. By focusing on Malta, it also illuminates the specific social, cultural, and policy dynamics of sex work in a Southern European context – an area that remains underexplored yet increasingly relevant to comparative scholarship (Aramayona and Guarneros-Meza, 2024). This article forms part of an ongoing line of research by the authors, offering a descriptive and contextual foundation for future analyses of labour, policy, and digital mediation.
Context
The Joint United Nations Programme on HIV/AIDS (UNAIDS) defines sex workers as individuals over the age of 18, of any gender or sexual orientation, who ‘receive money or goods in exchange for sexual services, either regularly or occasionally’ (UNAIDS, 2024: 1). While such operational definitions provide a useful baseline, they capture neither the social diversity nor the moral and economic contradictions of the sector. Comparative mappings across 15 countries identify more than 25 distinct forms of sex work, differentiated by setting, client recruitment, and practice (Harcourt and Donovan, 2005). A more recent volume featuring over 30 contributions from academics, sex workers, and activists worldwide further emphasises this diversity, locating sexual labour within overlapping informal and formal economies and spanning both temporary and long-term arrangements (Barton et al., 2024).
Sex work operates across a continuum of settings – from street-based work and brothels to private apartments, clubs, and digital spaces – and encompasses a wide range of practices, including sugar-babying, girlfriend experiences, domination, pornography, stripping, and other forms of erotic labour (Barton et al., 2024). Beyond its economic heterogeneity, sex work involves affective and embodied forms of labour (Brents and Jackson, 2013; Kilby, 2021; Oselin and Hail-Jares, 2022). Internal hierarchies – often captured under the contested label of ‘whorearchy’ (Nelson et al., 2024) – reproduce broader classed, gendered, and racialised inequalities (Smith and Mac, 2018). Representations of clients as deviant or violent, and of third parties as uniformly exploitative, tend to oversimplify the relational and moral dynamics at play (Hammond, 2015; Mensah, 2018). While violence and exploitation are well documented particularly in criminalised contexts (Krüsi et al., 2014), many encounters are also structured by intimacy, care, and mutual negotiation (Hammond and van Hooff, 2020).
Digital technologies have reshaped these dynamics. Online platforms enable self-branding, screening, and partial autonomy, yet simultaneously reproduce structural inequities: discriminatory banking and moderation policies constrain visibility and income (Pezzutto, 2024; Webber, 2024). Within digital sex work, racialised and gendered hierarchies persist – particularly the privileging of whiteness – which continue to shape opportunity and desirability (Garcia Hernandez, 2024; Nelson et al., 2024). Technology therefore functions less as an equaliser than as another arena in which social hierarchies are reproduced and negotiated. Policy frameworks often constitute a key source of harm, as criminalisation and neo-abolitionist models heighten the vulnerability of those already marginalised by race, gender identity, or migration status (Oliveira et al., 2023; Platt et al., 2018). Measures that criminalise clients, often justified as protective, have been widely contested by sex-worker collectives and public-health scholars (TGEU & ESWA, 2022; The Lancet Public Health, 2023). Empirical evidence shows that the risks of exploitation within sex work mirror those found in other precarious or criminalised sectors (Benoit et al., 2021), challenging the moral exceptionalism that continues to frame the field (Gerassi, 2015).
Within this international landscape, Malta remains an almost uncharted case. The scarcity of empirical research in Malta may stem from a convergence of structural, cultural, and affective factors. Deep-rooted Catholic morality, colonial-era legislation (Chapter 63 – White Slave Traffic (Suppression) Ordinance, 2007), and small-society intimacy have likely fostered reputational anxiety and institutional reluctance to engage with ‘taboo’ topics. In a context where visibility can entail social exclusion, researching or even acknowledging sex work as labour may evoke a form of vicarious shame – a discomfort extending beyond participants to researchers, policymakers, and institutions. Sex work is often regarded as ‘not a suitable topic’, unappealing for public funding and potentially damaging to professional reputations. At the same time, avoidance can function as a form of protectionism, rooted in the perception of sex workers as vulnerable subjects rather than as agents whose voices warrant inclusion in research and policy. Consequently, existing knowledge has largely emerged through adjacent fields – trafficking and migration (Kemp, 2017), and (sexual) health research (Padovese et al., 2021; Rossoni et al., 2022) – which offer valuable but necessarily partial insights. These disciplinary framings and sampling practices illuminate the most visible and institutionally mediated aspects of the sector while leaving others obscure. Collectively, moral stigma, political caution, and this interplay of protectionism and vicarious shame have produced what might be described as a moral economy of silence, in which both disclosure and inquiry remain constrained. Apart from Knepper’s (2009) historical analysis of ‘prostitution’ under British rule and Calafato’s (2017) policy overview, local research has relied largely on anecdote and advocacy. Neither of these contributions incorporates empirical data – a gap we have begun to address through our own doctoral research (see Camilleri, 2025a; Rossoni, 2026; Rossoni and Van der Woude, 2025). 1
The present study therefore documents contemporary configurations of sex work in Malta, situating them within broader sociological debates on sexual labour, moral regulation, and social inequality.
Methods
This article draws on data from two doctoral projects (2020–2023) examining sex work in Malta. Together, they involved 35 non–sex-working stakeholders, including activists, practitioners, policymakers, and service providers, and 46 participants directly engaged in the sex industry, including sex workers and 1 self-identified ‘pimp’.
Both projects relied on semi-structured interviews (Guest et al., 2013) as their primary method, complemented by additional techniques suited to each study’s aims. In the first project, recruitment combined purposive and snowball sampling (Liamputtong, 2007) through online and community networks, using an event-based approach that encouraged participants to narrate experiences organically. These interviews, conducted in 2020 and 2022–2023, explored respectively the non-sex-working stakeholders’ (n = 35) institutional framings of sex work and sex workers’ (n = 17) own lived realities. A female psychotherapist was present during interviews with cis- and trans-female participants to foster a supportive and safe environment. In the second project, semi-structured interviews were combined with photo-elicitation to examine migrant sex workers’ labour, mobility, and regulation. Twenty-nine participants were recruited through Malta’s public sexual-health clinic and outreach in asylum-seeker centres, including 25 migrants from Europe, Africa, South America, and Asia, and 4 Maltese participants: 1 ‘pimp’ and 3 sex workers.
Sex-working participants in the first project were compensated financially (Camilleri et al., 2025), while those in the second received sexual-health kits as an ethical token of appreciation. Both projects obtained institutional ethical approval and adhered to strict confidentiality and consent protocols (Saunders et al., 2015), ensuring informed consent and the right to withdraw at any stage. Field notes documented context, atmosphere, and researcher reflections throughout. Although developed independently, the studies shared overlapping aims, enabling analytical integration through four cross-cutting dimensions: actors, spaces, tools, and time. Each author coded their data separately before refining these dimensions collaboratively through reflexive dialogue, combining inductive openness with deductive structuring (Elo et al., 2014). This integrative approach provided a comparative yet grounded lens for examining the relational, spatial, and temporal organisation of sexual labour in Malta.
Conducting research on sex work in Malta required navigating stigma, institutional hesitation, and the intimacy of a small society. The scarcity of prior data reflects a moral economy of silence in which sex work is simultaneously visible and disavowed, generating reputational anxiety among participants, organisations, and researchers alike. Access often depended on trust built gradually through discretion and transparency, as in other studies of hidden or criminalised populations (Elmir et al., 2011; Sanders, 2006; Zhang, 2012). Collaboration with NGOs and service providers sometimes facilitated recruitment but also involved negotiating institutional gatekeeping and moral unease. Researchers prioritised participant safety, confidentiality, and emotional well-being, conducting interviews in neutral or participant-chosen locations with clear boundaries around anonymity and data handling.
These dynamics help explain why empirical research on sex work in Malta remains limited – not necessarily because the phenomenon is marginal, but because inquiry itself is shaped by stigma, intimacy, and institutional power. Understanding these constraints is essential both for interpreting our findings and for designing future research that continues to challenge the silences surrounding sex work in Malta.
From the field
Actors
Sex workers
Sex work in Malta reflects the diversity seen abroad in other contexts (Karandikar et al., 2024; Mellor and Benoit, 2023), encompassing individuals of various genders, nationalities, ages, and socioeconomic backgrounds, often defying easy categorisation and contributing differently to the dynamics of the industry. This diversity is reflected in our sample, which included primarily cisgender women (30 participants), along with a smaller number of cisgender men (9) and transgender women (7). No transgender men participated, which may reflect both lower visibility and lower prevalence of transgender male sex workers. Nationalities also varied: 23 participants were from third countries, 15 were Maltese, and 7 were EU nationals. Ages ranged from as young as 20 to over 65.
Some hold university degrees or prior professional experience and engage in sex work following periods working in unrelated sectors. They often bring a range of transferable skills and knowledge which they apply to sex work. As in other contexts (Bowen, 2021), many combine sex work with other jobs or side hustles, while others pursue it as their primary occupation. Their degree of independence also varies: there are those who manage their work autonomously, taking advantage of online platforms to attract clients, and those who rely on so-called ‘pimps’ or managers who take a portion of their earnings in exchange for protection, resources, or client referrals. A key insight that emerged in both projects is that economic status and personal history do not necessarily predict someone’s relationship to sex work. Moreover, economic disadvantage was not necessarily synonymous with a stable upbringing – nor was the reverse true. Sex workers from a range of backgrounds engage in this industry for a variety of reasons such as achieving financial independence, settling or avoiding debts, or funding further education.
A few participants mentioned relatives who had engaged in sex work, often describing it as one option among several rather than an imposed path. Some recalled childhood or adolescent trauma but rarely linked it directly to their entry into sex work, citing more immediate economic or relational motivations. Experiences of coercion varied: some described pressure from intimate partners or pimps, while others had partners who were unaware, indifferent, or accepting of their work. Substance use also surfaced in diverse ways – from recreational consumption of alcohol, cannabis, or cocaine to dependency on heroin or crack cocaine as a coping mechanism.
Clients
The profiles and needs of clients, as described by the sex workers and consistent with existing international research (Hammond, 2015; Hammond and van Hooff, 2020), are also diverse. There appeared to be widespread agreement that clients are predominantly men, though a few participants mentioned the occasional female client, often accessing service with a male partner or spouse. Client profiles varied from single to married and included influential figures such as businesspeople, politicians, and police officers, in line with previous research (Nestadt et al., 2023).
Clients’ ages varied, as did sex workers’ preferences in this regard. For example, some sex workers felt that younger clients could be rougher, while others viewed young clients as timid and less experienced. Different nationalities and ethnic backgrounds were also present among the clientele. Sex workers may often filter clients according to their preferences or according to generalised experiences with others of a similar profile, although this depends on the demand they are experiencing. Participants noted that some clients requested sex workers to use drugs during services, eliciting mixed reactions. Some would decline. Others would conditionally agree, including if clients supplied the drugs or if remuneration was high enough. According to sex workers, clients’ motivations can vary, from seeking simple companionship or conversation to wanting more complex fantasies fulfilled. Some are cautious and respectful, while others can be violent or exploitative. This volatility is compounded by legal ambiguities that particularly endanger migrants with uncertain status.
Third parties
Though the term ‘pimp’ is frequently associated with racialised stereotypes, this representation obscures the diverse roles, practices, and profiles that characterise third parties in the sex industry (Mensah, 2018). ‘Pimps’ and managers in Malta may be Maltese or foreign, male or female. Some sex workers transition into managerial roles through their experience or networks. While managers and pimps may be involved in serious criminal activity, they are not uniformly so. Moreover, there are third parties who operate as business partners providing premises, hygiene supplies, or connections through social media. When participants reported exploitation or trafficking, it involved both local and foreign third parties, many of whom were never even met in person by the sex worker. Importantly, not all sex workers viewed these arrangements as exploitative, even if ‘pimps’ or managers often hold on to a large share of earnings. While some sex workers appreciate the perceived security offered in exchange for large shares, others find greater autonomy – alongside associated risks – preferable. Their opinions on this matter could also fluctuate according to their lived experiences.
Support services
Support services for sex workers exist, but access is often complicated by stigma and mistrust. Many sex workers avoid healthcare and social services due to past negative experiences or fear of judgement, sometimes at significant personal risk (Rossoni and Camilleri, 2026). While some acknowledged the efforts of NGOs, they perceived these organisations as primarily focused on supporting those wishing to exit the industry – something which sex workers may not necessarily want to do. Several participants felt that such services did not understand the experiences and needs of those who did not wish to leave. Sex workers also tended to harbour a deep mistrust of law enforcement, a sentiment reinforced by direct negative encounters, particularly among street-based workers. This distrust is further shaped by broader social narratives and secondhand experiences that portray the police in an adversarial light. In the case of irregularised sex workers, fear of the police derives from anxieties connected with the risk of deportation. Those who did engage with support services often felt unheard and excluded from decisions affecting their lives. Unclear legal frameworks further exacerbate the situation, leaving many sex workers (especially migrants) unsure of where to turn if they face violence or abuse (Rossoni and Camilleri, 2026).
The public
Public discourse on sex work in Malta is heavily shaped by neo-abolitionist ideologies, which portray sex workers primarily as victims and largely neglect their perspectives. When sex workers’ voices do appear, they often centre around street-based workers with substance use disorders (Camilleri, 2025b). This narrow demographic overlooks the broader realities of sex work. It reinforces narratives of exploitation, fuels rescue-based interventions, and sidelines discussions on labour rights, leaving little room for more nuanced understanding in media and political debates (Rossoni, 2021). This framing is also often based on those seeking support services, leaving sex workers who do not access these services largely invisible (Balzan, 2023; Lia, 2024).
Language also plays a pivotal role in these discussions. Because the Maltese language lacks a direct equivalent for ‘sex work’, conversations default to prostitution-related terminology, perpetuating moral and legal biases. Meanwhile, the frequent conflation of ‘legalisation’, ‘regularisation’, and ‘decriminalisation’ confuses the public and hinders informed policymaking. These challenges are compounded by an NGO sector in which closely linked organisations create the appearance of widespread consensus or ‘common-sense’ approaches relying more on folk wisdom than evidence and promoting neo-abolitionist policies as the default stance. Their use of terms like ‘prostituted women’ emphasises third-party control, which does not always reflect sex workers’ lived experiences.
Malta’s legal framework does not recognise sex work as labour, reinforcing both structural and social stigma. Many sex workers feel compelled to keep their involvement hidden, fearing discrimination and exclusion. This entrenched stigma, combined with a lack of institutional recognition, perpetuates a cycle where sex workers’ voices remain marginalised, and discourse remains skewed towards victimhood rather than rights-based approaches. On a broader level, Malta’s restrictive legal and social environment continues to conflate sex work with trafficking, and abolitionist views dominate public discussions. NGOs and activist groups shape these narratives – often without including sex workers’ input – while moral and religious influences further complicate policy reform. At the same time, the rise of digital sex work presents new forms of autonomy for some sex workers but also introduces additional vulnerabilities, challenging traditional views of the industry.
Spaces
Sex work in Malta takes place across a range of settings, from highly visible street work to more discreet indoor and online arrangements. Street-based sex work, particularly in harbour areas such as Gzira and Marsa, remains the most exposed and is often but not necessarily associated with substance use – notably heroin and crack cocaine (Calafato, 2017). It carries significant risks, including physical danger and police scrutiny, as sex workers seek clients in public spaces and may provide services in secluded outdoor areas or vehicles. Indoor sex work occurs in various locations, including brothels, rented apartments, private homes, and hotels. Some sex workers share living spaces for mutual support, though this can pose legal risks. Many rely on digital platforms – such as escort websites and social media – to advertise, vet clients, and coordinate transactions. While online work provides a degree of anonymity and control, it also exposes sex workers to harassment, scams, and the risk of content being leaked without consent. Some specialise in particular services, such as domination or financial domination (findom), navigating boundaries differently.
Sex work intersects with nightlife and adult entertainment venues, where erotic dancing may be combined with the sale of sexual services. While management structures in these establishments vary, interviews revealed significant levels of exploitation, highlighting a spectrum of conditions from relative independence to coercion. ‘Escorting’ is sometimes used for work in bars, clubs, or hotels. However, several sex workers view this as a superficial distinction rather than a meaningful difference in working conditions. The transnational nature of sex work further complicates the landscape. Many sex workers in Malta have previously worked in other countries, while some travel abroad – either independently or with clients – to access better pay or legal conditions. In the case of migrants, who may engage in different kinds of sex work (incl. street-based sex work, digital sex work, or sugar-babying), some had already been involved in sex work in their home countries before moving to Malta. In contrast, others turned to it upon arrival due to financial necessity.
Certain migrants actively sought sex work as more economically lucrative than other occupations and thus preferable, especially when supporting family members through remittances, tapping into their network to move to Malta. Others, however, were misled about working conditions, facing restrictions on movement, deceptive recruitment, or exploitation. Moreover, numerous participants had previously travelled and worked as sex workers in countries other than Malta. Sex work in Malta spans diverse settings, shaped by legal constraints, stigma, and varying degrees of autonomy and control. While digital spaces have become increasingly central to the industry, sex workers remain vulnerable to both structural barriers and evolving risks across different working environments.
Tools
Sex workers in Malta employ a variety of tools and strategies to navigate their work, including digital platforms such as social media, dedicated websites, and encrypted apps like WhatsApp. Smartphones are crucial not only for Internet access but also for sharing locations with trusted contacts, calling taxis, peers, or ‘pimps’ to leave problematic situations, and managing client communication. In some cases, workers share client information with peers or use a single phone number across multiple individuals, with one person triaging clients to sex workers. This phenomenon complicates network analysis, further obscuring the industry’s structure. Online tools enable sex workers to advertise, vet prospective clients, and coordinate logistics. Security measures include meeting new clients in public, recording initial interactions with clients, blocking overly demanding clients, carrying pepper spray or toy pistols, and enforcing strict boundaries (e.g. refusing certain services or avoiding specific neighbourhoods). Some participants report considering relaxing their boundaries if offered enough compensation (or even exorbitant amounts of money). Some, particularly those lacking in tech-savviness, rely on third parties – pimps, partners, or friends – for communication or protection, though this often (but not always) comes at the cost of some autonomy or income. This echoes the findings of research on the conflicting role of technology in sex work, as described in previous sections.
Legal ambiguity itself can function as a ‘tool’ that puts sex workers in a vulnerable position (Rossoni, 2026; Rossoni and Van der Woude, 2025) especially when laws fail to distinguish between trafficking and consensual sex work. Contraception is commonly used to prevent pregnancy and sexually transmitted infections. However, street-based sex workers note the risk of carrying condoms, as having several condoms or condoms and cash together may be deemed suspicious by the police and confiscated. This environment encourages underground activity and discourages reporting violence. Substance use among sex workers can be strategic or recreational: some use heroin or alcohol to cope with the lifestyle, while others use cocaine or pink cocaine (tusi) to enhance experiences or bond with clients. In some cases, they use drugs only when clients request it and conditional upon hefty compensation. Similarly, in cases where these sex workers may require police intervention, they may be hesitant to engage out of fear of criminalisation. Financial strategies also vary: some save money for future goals, others focus on short-term aims, and many struggle with addiction, unpredictable income, or exploitative management. High earnings from sex work can deter individuals from moving into more mainstream employment, where the pay-to-time ratio may be comparatively lower. Some participants cross-dress to attract more clients – which has led some participants into an identity crisis – while others use timers to ensure sessions do not run over the agreed time. While sex work generally can also include the use of sex toys, particular fetish or BDSM services involve creative props, such as using iced tea to mimic urine or fudge to imitate faeces if online.
Despite facing significant stigma, confusing laws, and frequent risks, many sex workers actively craft their strategies to safeguard their labour, personal safety, and financial well-being in a context that often overlooks or misunderstands their realities.
Time
Sex work is often characterised by flexible schedules, allowing individuals to adjust their availability based on financial needs, personal circumstances, and market demand. Some sex workers treat it as their primary occupation, working consistently, while others engage in it seasonally or occasionally, depending on economic needs. Many participants planned their work week in a way that balanced personal commitments while ensuring competitiveness, often making themselves available in the evenings and on weekends. In addition, some took early-morning appointments to cater to clients before they started their workday. Structured forms of sex work, such as pre-arranged escort services, tend to involve more scheduled meetings. In contrast, street-based and informal arrangements are often more sporadic, requiring sex workers to be available at unpredictable hours. Some participants also reported managing their time around trips abroad, where compressed yet lucrative work periods offered a temporary increase in earnings.
Beyond sex work, many participants engaged in other jobs, both in the formal and informal economy, treating sex work as either a primary profession, a side hustle, or one of many precarious jobs. Managing multiple occupations made time allocation particularly complex. To optimise efficiency, some sex workers outsourced client communication to trusted friends or peers, mainly to avoid ‘time-wasters’ – clients who engaged in prolonged negotiations without booking services. Participants reported developing strategies to identify and filter out such individuals quickly. For those experiencing coercion or exploitation, control over their schedules was often severely restricted, and personal time could be a luxury. Depending on the degree of exploitation, they had little to no autonomy in organising their time with clients, highlighting a stark contrast between consensual sex work and conditions of forced labour.
Key takeaways and next steps
This article contributes an initial descriptive mapping of Malta’s sex work landscape to inform policy and practice. It highlights the power of collaboration and data integration, structuring observations along four key dimensions: actors, space, tools, and time. By integrating data from two separate projects, drawing on interviews with sex workers, a ‘pimp’, and diverse stakeholders, we aimed to demonstrate how collaborative, integrated research can uncover insights that remain hidden when efforts are siloed, especially when researching hidden or hard-to-reach populations in stigmatised contexts. As previously highlighted, this article contributes to the sociology of sex work by foregrounding the diverse and situated experiences within the industry, moving beyond polarised debates, and offering a unique Southern European perspective that enriches and expands this growing field of scholarship.
These initial findings underscore a striking diversity in sex workers’ backgrounds spanning Maltese nationals, EU migrants, and third-country nationals of different genders and ages. Working arrangements range from street-based contexts, which present heightened risks, to digital platforms that offer new opportunities and fresh vulnerabilities. Relationships with clients and third parties vary greatly: some workers view pimps or managers as business partners, while others experience coercion in varying degrees. As underscored in other contexts (Smith and Mac, 2018), stigma and legal uncertainty further drive sex workers underground, hindering access to support services and exacerbating precarious conditions. Although these observations represent only part of our data, they provide a much-needed descriptive snapshot of a largely underexplored sector. We acknowledge that smaller sample sizes, methodological differences, and unknown sampling parameters limit the generalisability of our conclusions, while social and legal pressures may have affected participants’ openness. Nonetheless, these constraints do not diminish the value of grounding our analysis in empirical evidence – especially from 81 participants, over half of whom had firsthand experience in sex work. Our hope is that this contribution moves the discourse beyond moral panic and legal ambiguity towards evidence-based discussions.
We are confident that the framework and findings presented here will inform future research, including larger and comparative studies in similar contexts. We invite scholars, activists, and practitioners in Malta, Southern Europe and beyond to draw on our initial mapping and continue refining it, whether via greater stakeholder engagement, longitudinal designs, or innovative data-collection methods. By doing so, we can advance a deeper, more nuanced understanding of Malta’s sex work sector – one that foregrounds evidence over assumption, acknowledges sex workers’ lived realities, and ultimately informs policies and practices aimed at enhancing the rights, safety, and well-being of all involved.
Footnotes
Acknowledgements
We thank our participants for their time and openness in sharing their experiences. We are also grateful for the constructive feedback from our peer reviewers and the guidance of our doctoral supervisors during our research. Special thanks go to Ms Ilona Deguara for her contributions to the first author’s fieldwork and to Dr Valeska Padovese for the second author’s fieldwork.
Data availability statement
The data generated and analysed during this study are not publicly available due to ethical restrictions and the obligation to protect participant confidentiality.
Funding
The authors disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: The first author’s project was partially funded by the Tertiary Education Scholarships Scheme (Government of Malta) but conducted independently, without editorial influence.
Ethical considerations
For the first author’s fieldwork, UCL’s Research Ethics Committee (Project ID: 13063/002) approved the study. To ensure cultural sensitivity to the Maltese context, additional approval was obtained from the University of Malta, the local data controller, through the Faculty of Social Wellbeing’s Research Ethics Committee (Ref: 4235_07022020 for non-sex working stakeholders; Ref: 3988_09012020 for sex workers). The second author’s fieldwork was approved by Leiden Law School’s Ethics and Data Committee (ID: 2022-030).
Consent to participate
Informed consent was obtained from all participants prior to their involvement in the study. Depending on the context, consent was either written or verbal and audio-recorded. This was necessary where participants were unable to write, or where an interview took place online.
Consent for publication
Not applicable. However, all participants were informed that their anonymised data would be used in published research findings.
