By entering your email address you agree to our Terms of Use and Privacy Policy and consent to receive emails from Time Out about news, events, offers and partner promotions. Thanks for subscribing! Look out for your first newsletter in your inbox soon! My companion and I have just turned off the main thoroughfare of Jordan Road, leaving the hum and glow of the huge neon signs behind.
A few hours ago this area was bustling with hawkers and vegetable vendors; now the prostitutes and their mamasans are in sole possession of the streets. Some can be seen lingering in darkened doorways leading up to dingy one-bed apartments. Others travel in small packs, their hard plastic heels clacking on the pavement as they wobble their way to the crowded KTV bars.
From her posture and uniform, she seems to fit the bill: short skirt, tall boots, puffy jacket, faux-handbag β her arms dramatically akimbo. As we approach, the woman turns to size us up, while we do the same.
Although heavyset, she has oddly long, skinny legs. Recognition finally registers in her eyes, as she drops her bag on the sidewalk and holds both hands to her face, squealing with laughter. I know one. Thai boys. In Hong Kong though, prostitution is believed to stretch back without interruption into prehistoric times.
And whether due to Suzie Wong-style pop culture sagas, the remarkable proliferation of one-woman brothels throughout every district of the SAR, or the notorious sexpat party scene of Wan Chai, female prostitution remains an all too familiar and altogether inescapable part of Hong Kong daily life.
