Megan Prescott is no stranger to telling complex stories — but her new podcast Really Good Exposure takes it to another level. The series dives deep into women’s work, autonomy, and the realities often left out of mainstream narratives. Through funny, fearless conversations with strippers, OnlyFans creators, and creatives across industries, Megan is bringing vital, overdue perspectives to the forefront.
What sparked the decision to turn Really Good Exposure from a Fringe show into a full-scale podcast series?
I wanted to make a podcast in the same vein as my solo show because the stage show was fairly specifically about sex work and acting (the parallels within those industries, and the hypocrisy in how we treat different types of workers). But I wanted the podcast to widen the net.
There’s lots of industries – particularly those where the workforce is disproportionately made up of women and/or neurodivergent people- that have issues parallel to those raised in my solo show. Media representations of those industries are usually sensationalised and inaccurate. I wanted to ask the same questions to people in these different industries to highlight just how many problems there are with how we categorise different forms of labour and how we treat workers based on that categorisation.
I want people to listen to the podcast and be activated to learn more about the fight for worker rights and why we absolutely must include non-traditional workers when we talk about worker rights and women’s right to bodily autonomy.
You’ve worked across multiple industries – acting, writing, stripping, bodybuilding. How have these experiences shaped your perspective on women’s labour?
It’s been really interesting to see how differently I’ve been treated based on what industry I’m in. It made the issues with how we categorise different types of labour, and the inherent classism and misogyny within that, very apparent to me. We all use our bodies to make a living in some way, be it with our physical labour or our mental labour; everything involves your body. But I found that when I was doing some types of labour I was given more respect than others.
When I was in sex scenes on national TV as a teenager, when I did my Edinburgh solo show, and when I was onstage in a tiny Swarovski-emblazoned bikini as a bodybuilder, I was praised – given awards! Yet, when I started speaking openly about having worked as a stripper and starting an Only Fans page, the reception was very different, despite me being in similar states of undress for all of these.
I can’t help but think that the reason we seem to have this collective distaste for sex work is not because we don’t like the idea of selling sexuality – mainstream industries have been doing this for as long as they have existed – but that we don’t like women being the main benefactors of their sexual labour. I had never made a living wage as a creative freelancer, let alone been able to put any money aside for my future. With sex work, I’ve been able to rent my own flat, pay for three rounds of egg freezing, fund an Edinburgh show, produce a podcast series, and not have to live in terror, wondering if I’ll ever get work again. There will always be sex work. and I think that’s frustrating to people who believe women shouldn’t have bodily autonomy or financial freedom.
Many of your guests come from worlds that are misrepresented in mainstream media. What kind of stories did you feel urgently needed to be heard?
I think authentic stories about people who do non-traditional forms of labour need to be heard. But most importantly, those stories need to be told by people with lived experience in those industries. The creative freelance world, sex work and neurodivergence often intersect and I really don’t think we have enough stories written about people who fit into these worlds and neurotypes. For some reason, we can’t fathom the idea of letting sex workers tell their own stories, just like whenever we see neurodivergent characters in mainstream media they’re rarely written or played by neurodivergent people. We’re cutting our nose off to spite our faces here; neurodivergent people and people doing non-traditional forms of labour have so many interesting stories to tell, the powers that be just need to pass the mic and let us tell those stories ourselves!
There’s an unapologetic honesty in the podcast. Was there ever a moment you felt nervous about how much of yourself you were putting out there?
I am an over-sharing autistic ADHD-er who was simulating sex on national tv as a teenager…so I don’t really get nervous anymore about putting myself out there! I do however get nervous about being mis-quoted, or misunderstood (something that I also struggle with as a neurodivergent person). But I’ve been having things written about me since I was 16 – I’ve learned to live with people saying incorrect things about me. I’ve made my peace with the fact that my heart is in the right place and if I’m ever mis-quoted or misunderstood I’m not afraid to clarify what my intent was and, if needed, take accountability and commit to do any learning I need to do to better understand a situation.
You’re shining a light on the hidden costs of being a creative woman. What do you wish more people understood about the economic realities behind the scenes?
The economic realities of being a creative freelancer, particularly in London right now, are that, depressingly, if you don’t have the financial means to support yourself for potentially months (or, honestly, years) without being paid a living wage for your work, it’s just not sustainable. It was like this before covid, but the pandemic meant that creative freelance careers became absolutely impossible if you didn’t come from privilege. If you don’t have the luxury of financial support from parents or partners, or the ability to live with them for free, I really don’t know how you could make it as a creative freelancer now.
This was the case for me before Covid, I was working myself into the ground with minimum wage, zero hour contract jobs for a decade in a desperate attempt to keep my creative career going. But when covid hit, and my boss refused to furlough us for weeks, I decided I’d had enough. I started online sex work and to this day it is the only reason I have been able to maintain my creative career. I am straight, white and cisgender; I can only imagine how much more difficult it is for people who do not fit into those categories to make a living in the creative freelance industry. Luckily, I am able to safely be publicly associated with sex work. But this is a privilege reserved for very few people due to the stigma, and institutional discrimination against sex workers.
Creative freelancing isn’t just a ‘job choice’, it’s often the only sustainable path for neurodivergent people, for most of whom corporate work is completely inaccessible – myself included. Forcing neurodivergent people into inaccessible work is not only discriminatory, but also incredibly short-sighted. We will sorely miss the type of content that is only made possible by creative freelancers, like the guests on my podcast, when it inevitably starts to disappear. But if we ever actually valued creative labour like we should have we wouldn’t be in the position we are now…
In the final episode, you reconnect with Skins co-star Kaya Scodelario. How did it feel to return to that relationship through the lens of womanhood and media representation?
It was very refreshing to look back at our early careers through the lens of the grown business women and mothers that we are today.
There are numerous mainstream tv shows whose main selling point is sexuality, and I don’t necessarily think there’s anything wrong with that. But the contrast in how the public responds to shows such as ‘Skins’ versus the reaction to sex work, like Only Fans, is a blatant example of society’s deep rooted hatred of women who are the primary benefactors of their bodily labour.
I can’t help but wonder if this is actually because we categorically do not like women having bodily autonomy and financial freedom. Kaya and I now have both – We both use our bodies to make a living, the only difference is how society perceives our work. It was great to be able to talk about this with Kaya, over 16 years since we first worked together as teenagers and to reflect on the different paths our careers have taken.
Sex work and content creation remain heavily stigmatised. What shifts would you like to see in how these conversations are framed – particularly by the media?
These conversations need to shift in several ways. Primarily, we need to stop having these privileged debates about the morality of sex work and trying to punish those who do it. If we focussed on decriminalising sex work and making sure sex workers were safe (decriminalisation has been proven to do this), we’d reduce violence against sex workers a whole lot more. if we really don’t like sex work as much as we say, we should be focussing our energy on making sure that people who don’t want to do sex work have viable alternatives. Austerity cuts, such as the recently proposed ones to Personal Independence Payments, are not going to do this. Reducing people’s options never, ever makes them safer. If we really wanted to help people, we wouldn’t be actively creating the perfect conditions for more and more people to see sex work as their only viable option.
Secondly, Public perception of sex work and sex workers needs to change, and we can’t underestimate the power the mainstream media has in determining public perception. The root cause of the violence sex workers face can, in no small part, be attributed to the mainstream media’s refusal to portray them as human beings. But the problem with the mainstream’s representation of sex work is exactly the problem with political debates about sex work. They don’t include enough (or any) sex workers.
Everyone is so busy trying to talk over sex workers, that we don’t listen when they speak. What we end up with is harmful laws being introduced, such as the Nordic Model (which criminalises the purchase but not the sale of sex, and which has been proven to increase violence against sex workers) and the same two-dimensional, unrelatable sex-worker characters being pumped out in the media.
Have you spent much time in Shoreditch’s creative scene, and what advice would you give to women navigating their own creative or unconventional paths here?
I actually haven’t spent much time in the Shoreditch creative scene – I’m very much a homebody and can usually be found in bed by 11pm, so London nightlife is not something I’m particularly well versed in sadly!
My advice for women navigating their own paths would be this: You have a right to demand that your time and energy are valued. Your body and your sexuality are your own; to explore, to keep as private or as public as you feel comfortable with. Being confident as a woman is a radical act against the nonsense we’ve been peddled for centuries about women’s worth. We are so incredibly powerful that people have been trying to control us since time began. We have the power to dictate how we use our bodies and no one should be able to tell us otherwise.
I hope that listening to the podcast also gets people interested in learning more about sex worker rights, and how criminalising sex work is, once again, just people trying to take away our bodily autonomy. I’ve put together a webpage with a collection of research resources if listeners of the podcast want learn about this: https://meganprescott.com/research-resources-1
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Really Good Exposure is available on major podcast platforms from, promising to be essential listening for anyone interested in feminism, the future of work, and the politics of autonomy.
