Blue attempts to break the world record for the most sexual partners in one day and proposes staging herself as a human “petting zoo” for the public’s molestation. No matter how obscene an act might be or whatever physical and emotional risks, stigma and even death threats from the public it invites, Blue speaks about it with breezy confidence and cynical pragmatism, rarely framing any of this as a consequential ‘edge’ she would be uncomfortable traversing.
As we watch the documentary, it becomes very clear that Blue’s view of the nebulous ‘edge’ is probably different to most of ours and certainly does not fit the same template as big-wave surfers, mountain climbers and other established edgeworkers. How Blue conceives of and takes risks is bound up with her work as a content creator and her branding.
The gambles she makes are not purely about personal sensation-seeking; they are strategic moves in a competitive, volatile industry where risk and controversy are basic conditions for success. It is only when Bonnie Blue is de-platformed from OnlyFans that she seems to show concern and distress, and that she seems to acknowledge a traumatic edge she never thought she would cross.
Channel 4’s documentary neatly shows how, for Blue, the edge was never a body being in danger or a woman performing under societal and ethical pressures, rather it was always the threat of a business model going kaput. For Blue, the real cliff-edge emerges only when she realises that she risks losing access to her livelihood which acts as a cold reminder that in today’s dog-eat-dog attention economy, survival depends less on avoiding danger than on visibility and economic viability.
While the specifics of Bonnie Blue’s experiences are hardly representative for most of us, they reveal a deeper and richer story, inviting us to rethink how risk is not a universal concept, but rather a subjective, relative phenomenon that differ from person to person. In many cases, the types of risk we choose to take and how we feel about them are not necessarily determined by the desire for excitement, thrill or extreme sensations – as with the conventional idea of ‘edgeworkers’ – but are a result of how life unfolds. Economic pressures, social struggles, and personal difficulties can put us on the edge.
Take, for example, students who turn to selling drugs as a financial last resort in the face of rising tuitions fees, the crushing weight of living expenses and mounting pressures to ‘get ahead’ and secure financial independence.
For them, the choice to take risks is not born from a craving for excitement and adrenaline but is bound up in survival. Similarly, the incising numbers of young people who experience “hidden homelessness” does not come from a desire to embrace a culture of nomadic lifestyle, freedom and excitement, but it is rather a result of the ongoing housing crisis, increased rent and the lack of available, affordable houses.
By accounting for the diverse social, personal and contextual factors that influence people’s lives, we can gain a richer understanding of the phenomenon of risk-taking and withhold judgement that it is a result of personal, moral failing. It is only by turning our attention to less romantic realities of risk-taking that we can start to understand that for many, ‘being on the edge’ is relative and sometimes not a matter of pure choice – but rather a response to the circumstances they find themselves in.
This more nuanced perspective helps us rethink our definitions and expectations of what risk-taking means and how it might shift and unfold across people’s lives, while helping us reflect on why we celebrate and cheer the risk-taking exploits of the stuntman, the career poker player and the actors of Jackass, yet we moralise the sex worker.
Irina Obeada is a PhD candidate at the Department of Marketing at Lancaster University Management School.James Cronin is a professor in marketing and consumer culture studies at Lancaster University.Maria Piacentini is professor of consumer research at Lancaster University Management School.
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