From the Verdigris House to the Rear Palace: Sex workers’ perspective on The Apothecary Diaries

Spoilers for season 1 of The Apothecary Diaries

There were many reasons I was automatically hooked on The Apothecary Diaries: a capable young woman for a  protagonist. Mysteries that don’t feel predictable or overdone. Crisp, colorful animation. A cast of majority female characters with their own moral complexities and a variety of roles to play. As a sex worker, however, my favorite aspect of The Apothecary Diaries is the nuanced depiction of sex work. From the Verdigris House women to the royal concubines, the series treats the characters engaged in sex work with care, subverting many of the harmful tropes and expectations that other popular media from around the world often fall into. 

The Apothecary Diaries is incredibly popular in Japan and internationally, becoming the most-streamed anime on ABEMA, an Asia-based streaming service, in Winter 2025. In February, the light novel and manga adaptation surpassed 40 million copies printed worldwide. It’s one of a small number of anime in recent years, including Ooku: the Inner Chambers and Raven of the Inner Palace, that prominently feature sex working characters.

Despite the hype and overall positive reception of The Apothecary Diaries, real life attitudes towards sex workers are still shrouded in stigma. The Global Network of Sex Work Projects reports that sex workers still face criminalization on a global scale, leading to an increased risk of experiencing violence, discrimination, decreased access to health services, and other human rights violations. In Japan, sex workers rights’ groups such as SWASH, work tirelessly to improve the lives of sex workers through education, community outreach and events, lectures, and the publications of resources and studies.

Sex worker tropes in entertainment

Put plainly, sex worker representation in film and television often perpetuates stereotypes that dehumanize sex workers in real life. Raquel Savage, a sex worker, therapist and Co-founder of the Equitable Care Certification (ECC), which provides a comprehensive certification for mental health professionals, workshops, and mental health resources for sex workers, says she typically finds sex work in entertainment fall into two major categories: The first, he explains, is the “the ‘[Law and Order] SVU’ version of sex work.” In these scenarios, sex workers are shown having little autonomy, violently and routinely painted as victims of clients and pimps, or even victims of circumstance, entering the sex industry due to drug use or trauma for example. I spoke with Savage in the process of writing this article.

This also encapsulates the “dead hooker” trope that persists in the comedy genre. A recent example of this is the 2017 film Rough Night, which centers around a group of women who accidentally kill a male stripper at a bachelorette party, and then spend the majority of the movie trying to dispose of his body. It is revealed later in the movie that the man is not actually a sex worker, but not before solidifying the trope that sex workers’ lives are easily expendable.  

Oppositely, but just as harmful, Savage says it’s not uncommon for sex work to be portrayed as “totally glamorous.” On this end of the spectrum, characters are treated as depthless figures, with extravagant working conditions and access to endless money. Memoirs of a Geisha exemplifies this archetype, as the film focuses on cinematic aesthetics and creating a faux lavish lifestyle over character development.

To push back against the normalization of these tropes, Savage, along with Mel Trujillo, the Co-founder and Chief Operations Officer of the ECC, and the rest of their team developed The Red Light Rules, a four question assessment based on the Bechdel test. Created in 1985 by American cartoonist Alison Bechdel, the Bechdel test became a popular way to measure misogyny in fiction.

The Red Light Rules more specifically evaluates how sex workers are portrayed in film, examining elements such as a character’s agency and the depth of their storyline. The test developed consist of four questions, including:

“Does the film show an understanding of choice, circumstance, or coercion?
Does the [sex worker] interact with another person in a positive manner, unrelated to [sex work]?
Does the [sex worker] have a storyline, hobby or interest outside of [sex work]?
Does the film have a happy and/or non-traumatic ending for the [sex worker]?”

The Equitable Care Certification has an ongoing series that reviews and scores popular movies based on The Red Light Rules, including newer films like Anora and classics like Moulin Rouge. 

The Apothecary Diaries scores very well through the lens of The Red Light Rules. Not only does the series manage to largely avoid reinforcing stigmatizing sex worker tropes, but it delivers a picture of sex work that is arguably one of the best I’ve seen in anime and English-language fiction as a whole. 

Historical depictions of sex work in entertainment

The anime, which premiered in 2024, is based on the 2011 manga series and light novel of the same name written by Natsu Hyūga. Maomao’s narrative takes place in the fictional Country of Li, which appears to be loosely inspired by historical China—specifically the Tang and Ming Dynasties—based on factors such as the traditional medicine Maomao practices, clothing style, architecture, and social hierarchy. While it’s not set in a literal period of history, we can still consider The Apothecary Diaries through the lens of historical fiction, as it’s clearly drawing on those tropes and elements. 

Historical fiction frequently fumbles the storylines sex workers, relying on the overplayed tropes mentioned by Savage that either romanticize the suffering of sex workers or romanticize an idealized version of the work. Western media in particular has a track record of eroticizing Asian sex workers, flattening their experiences to appeal to the white male gaze (cough cough, Memoirs of a Geisha again). 

Game of Thrones is a popular and egregious example of how depictions of sex work in historical-inspired fiction can easily devolve into the full-on dehumanization of sex workers. Like The Apothecary Diaries, Game of Thrones is set in a fictional world; in this case, one inspired by the Roman Empire and 15th Century England. 

That said, unlike the former, Game of Thrones relies heavily on torture and sexual violence against sex workers as a form of trauma porn. The Think Tank for Inclusion and Equity, a writers’ collective aiming to improve intersectional storytelling in media, defines trauma porn as “art or media that exploits the pain, suffering, and brutalization of marginalized people for the sake of entertainment.” Ros and Daisy, two of three named sex workers in the show, endure horrific on-screen abuse at the hands of Joffrey, and Ros is later murdered on screen by the sadistic royal. There is no attempt to depict their experiences with historical nuance. Rather, these graphic scenes serve no purpose but to shock viewers, propelling the narrative that Ros and other sex working characters deserved to be stripped of dignity. 

By contrast, The Apothecary Diaries demonstrates that sex work can written into historical fiction, or fiction that draws on history to build its sense of realism, without glorifying violence or denying sex workers their humanity. Though not  intended to be a deep dive into sex work during historical China, the series still treats this topic with care.

“[The] Apothecary Diaries does a fairly good job of representing sex work in its historical context. This depiction is very nuanced,” says Lita Spikes, a stripper who has been in the industry for a decade. “Verdigris House gives us a glimpse of what a higher-end courtesan was expected to do, which was to entertain and provide sexual services.”

Socioeconomic status shapes how sex workers in the anime are treated

Research has shown that societal attitudes towards sex workers vary based on the kind of labor being performed. Sex workers who live in poverty or who specifically do street-based work are at the bottom of this harmful hierarchical structure, perceived as having less agency than those engaged in virtual services like camming. 

This hierarchy within sex work is present across cultures and periods of time. The Apothecary Diaries does an excellent job of navigating the disparities in treatment and perception of sex workers, with Maomao routinely addressing how differently women are treated. “Maomao has spoken on how not everybody has the same luxury as Verdigris House in the red light district,” Spikes notes, adding that this “reflects how [some] women in this time period were either kidnapped and trafficked into sex work, or born into it.”

“Sex work has always existed,” affirms Mel Trujillo, the Co-founder and Chief Operations Officer of the ECC. “Plenty of people from varying backgrounds enter it for a variety of reasons.”

The Apothecary Diaries demonstrates how diverse the experiences of sex workers can be as it explores the lives of not just the Verdigris House women, but also the royal concubines. Savage says that Maomao’s remark proclaiming that the rear palace, where the concubines live, and the brothel are not all different stood out to him. Though the concubines are also expected to provide sexual labor, because this work is solely for the emperor, they are held in higher esteem than sex workers in the pleasure district. 

“Your socioeconomic status informs your capacity to work, and the thing that equalizes your work options is the level of exploitation by proxy of capitalism,” Savage says. Maomao, and the narrative of the series more broadly, clearly understands this, and uses it as a baseline to explore the many varied characters at the heart of its mysteries and social drama.

The Verdigris House women as complex characters

Beyond the overarching depiction of sex work in The Apothecary Diaries, the sex working characters that Hyūga’s created are multi-dimensional and shown having agency, particularly the Three Princesses of the Verdigris House: Pairin, Meimei, and Joka. 

These characters are not reduced to their work, earnings, or appearance. For example, Pairin is a talented dancer and considered the best in the region. Meimei writes poetry, and later learns how to skillfully play the strategy-based board game Go. Joka plays what resembles an erhu, a traditional Chinese stringed instrument. 

The series also subverts the tired trope that sex workers neglect their relationships, especially when in a caretaking role. “All of the women at Verdigris House treat Maomao like a little sister, which gives us a glimpse of their personalities outside of work,” Spikes explains. 

Maomao not only refers to the Verdigris House women as her big sisters, but she calls the Madam “Granny,” affirming the familial role she played in Maomao’s upbringing. Their relationship is contentious at times; as the manager of the Verdigris House, the Madam is seen on several occasions making decisions based on what’s best for the reputation and financial prosperity of the brothel, rather than the wellbeing of the courtesans and Maomao. Even so, the Madam and Maomao clearly care deeply for each other. In many respects, it feels like the archetypal dynamic between a quarrelsome motherly figure and her strong willed adult daughter that many viewers can relate to, including myself.

Savage appreciates the anime’s depictions of sex workers at the Verdigris House, but he wished there were more conversations between the women that didn’t center around the work or men.   

Additionally, a storyline that fell short for Savage was the romance between Pairin and Lihaku, a military official in the Outer Court. She laughs, saying she found the moment that Maomao ordered Lihaku to strip down to determine if he was “hot and hung enough to even be worthy” of her adoptive sister Pairin to be a clever reversal of gender roles. It is also worth pointing out that Lihaku never expresses judgement or disdain towards Pairin for being a sex worker. 

However, Savage was disappointed by the implication that Lihaku may not have to buy out Pairin’s Verdigris House contract. This underpins the very real, predominantly male fantasy that a sex worker will fall in love with a client who will then whisk them away from the industry. The plot of Pretty Woman is a perfect example of how this trope plays out in film. While sex workers can and do develop meaningful connections with patrons, that doesn’t translate to receiving free services. Sex work is real work, and should be seen like any other type of labor. 

Thankfully, at this point in the series, Lihaku is still working overtime in order to raise the coins he needs—as he should be.

Fengxian’s Story

A compelling storyline in the first season is that of Fengxian, who is revealed to be Maomao’s biological mother. Fengxian was a high-ranking courtesan at the Verdigris House who is depicted as being intelligent, well-respected by her counterparts, a beautiful singer, and a master at Go. Tragically, Fengxian contracts syphilis from a patron that later progresses to late stage neurosyphilis, a disease untreatable during this time period.

As noted above, sex workers are so often reduced to trauma porn and treated as disposable—both in media and real life. I’ve witnessed this culture of disposibility firsthand, especially while coordinating an outreach program throughout the height of the COVID pandemic; public health programs and community organizations completely abandoned street-based workers, de-prioritizing their safety and access to health services and housing even more so than before.

I was curious as to how The Apothecary Diaries would address such a delicate plot. Would Fengxian’s trauma be used as a stepping stone simply to further Maomao’s character development, just as the death and suffering of sex workers is often used as a narrative device in media? 

Though Fengxian’s narrative unfolds over just the course of a few episodes, never is she dehumanized or employed as a plot device. Maomao and the Verdigris House courtesans continue to care for Fengxian as her health declines, rather than throw her onto the streets of the pleasure district. Fengxian’s story is one of sex worker solidarity that doesn’t differ all that much from real life. A core pillar of the sex workers rights movement is community care, and there’s an extensive history of offering mutual aid, outreach, and support to those who need it. 

Community among the sex workers

On a similar note, the sense of community among the Verdigris House women is an important through-line weaved into the series. The strong bonds displayed between the courtesans reflects the unity shared by sex workers in real life. 

“I feel like in a lot of the movies that we have seen and ones that are on our watch list, the sex worker is pretty isolated and they don’t have other sex worker friends, which isn’t really the case for most sex workers that I’ve known,” explains Trujillo. “We are tapped into our communities.” 

“There’s a scene where they’re hanging out in the bath, and being super soft and affectionate with each other. I loved that scene and thought that was really cute and accurate,” adds Savage. 

While not perfect, The Apothecary Diaries’ depiction of sex work is notable. The sex workers in the anime are not reduced to their work: They experience a kaleidoscope of emotions. Their personalities and interpersonal relationships are not one-dimensional. They have hobbies unique to them. Sex work is not presented as a positive or negative, but just as a part of characters’ lives, and one of many nuanced societal facets that Maomao must navigate as she solves the series’ mysteries. 

Ultimately, my hope is that The Apothecary Diaries continues to explore the lives of the courtesans, further developing their storylines. Even in fiction, sex workers deserve to be seen, and seen with care and complexity that reflects reality.