When We Glorify Pimps, We Betray Survivors
In recent years, public outrage over Jeffrey Epstein and other high-profile sex traffickers has been swift and loud—and rightly so. People from all backgrounds have condemned the men who exploited vulnerable girls and women for profit, power, and prestige. We have heard, time and again, that exploitation is unacceptable and that survivors deserve justice, safety, and support.
And yet, at the very same time, celebrities, entertainers, and influencers are openly celebrating a former Chicago pimp, Bishop Don Juan—someone who has long been public and unapologetic about his pimping past. He is welcomed at star-studded events, embraced at the Players Ball and similar gatherings, and treated as a cultural icon rather than what he represents: a man who built his reputation and wealth by profiting off the exploitation of marginalized women.
This contradiction should trouble us deeply.
As co-founders of Ernestine’s Daughter, a survivor-led program serving trafficked and exploited women and girls in Chicago, we see the devastating consequences of prostitution and pimping every single day. We work with women whose bodies have been broken, whose minds carry deep trauma, and whose lives have been shaped by violence, coercion, and exploitation. There is nothing glamorous about what they endured. There is nothing entertaining about their pain.
Yet our culture continues to romanticize pimps—especially so-called “reformed” ones—who make pimping their brand. They are portrayed as charismatic hustlers, clever businessmen, or folk heroes who “came up” in the streets. Rarely are they held to account for the harm they caused, or asked to meaningfully reckon with the lives left in their wake.
If we are truly serious about opposing trafficking and sexual exploitation, we cannot keep making exceptions for men whose exploitation fits neatly into pop culture narratives.
The hypocrisy is especially stark given a recent moment that still weighs heavily on us. Bishop Don Juan recently lost his leg due to a medical condition. Celebrities and fans rallied around him, showing public support and solidarity. Meanwhile, at Ernestine’s Daughter, we were unable to secure long-term housing for an amputee survivor who came to our drop-in center seeking help. A woman whose disability was compounded by the trauma of exploitation was left without a safe place to go, not because she lacked courage or will, but because resources for survivors are painfully scarce.
What does it say about our values when exploiters are celebrated, while victims struggle to survive?
This is not about denying anyone medical care, compassion, or the possibility of personal change. People can grow, and redemption should be possible. But redemption requires accountability, humility, and a clear rejection of the harm one caused—not the continued monetization or glorification of it. When former pimps are elevated precisely because of their pimping past, when their notoriety is treated as cultural capital, the message is unmistakable: exploitation pays.
For survivors, that message is retraumatizing. It tells them that the men who profited from their suffering are worthy of applause, while their own lives and suffering are meaningless. It tells them that society is more comfortable laughing, partying, and celebrating exploiters than investing in housing, healthcare, and healing for the exploited.
Rappers, comedians, and celebrities who participate in this glorification may not intend harm, but intent does not erase impact. Celebrating pimp culture reinforces the same systems that allow trafficking and sexual exploitation to thrive. It normalizes violence against women and girls, particularly those who are poor, Black, marginalized, or system-involved. And it undermines the very outrage people claim to feel when exploitation looks more like Epstein island than the Players Ball.
We cannot have it both ways. We cannot condemn traffickers in one breath and celebrate them in another, simply because they are entertaining or charismatic.
If we are serious about justice, we must choose survivors over spectacle. We must stop rewarding men who built their lives on exploitation and start investing in the women and girls who are still trying to rebuild theirs.
Anything less is not just hypocrisy. It is a betrayal.
Brenda Myers Powell and Brenda Stewart are survivors of sex trafficking and co-founders of Ernestine’s Daughter, a survivor-led organization serving survivors of prostitution and trafficking in Chicago, Illinois.