Kokomo City, review
Kokomo City
UK release: 4 August 2023
Director: D Smith
Starring: Daniella Carter, Koko Da Doll, Liyah Mitchell, Dominique Silver
Review by Sarah Edwards
Many cis people know little about the lived experiences of trans women, let alone those who are sex workers. Kokomo City (2023) pulls that curtain back to highlight the lives of four Black trans sex workers in America.
Danielle is whip-smart, with a disarming sense of humour that should not distract from her sharp, cutting commentary on transness and the tensions between trans women and cis women. Dominique, alluring and aware of it, brings a thoughtfulness to discussions of passing and what it means to be a woman. In Georgia, Koko is no-nonsense whereas Liyah is all fun and games. Koko’s difficult past keeps her guarded, uninterested in men beyond what their wallets can offer her.
Kokomo City feels less like watching a set of interviews than sitting around at a sleepover or running errands with a friend. The b-roll is goofy and camp, aware of the awkwardness and humour in discussing sex work. In one sex scene, a man is dressed up as a superhero. In another instance, the music might sound familiar to any fan of internet drama videos or iMovie’s basic sound library. Though it dives into more serious topics, nothing here takes itself too seriously.
These women are open about the fact that many of their clients are the type of men you’d never expect. There are plenty of men who conform to traditional ideas of masculinity and heterosexuality that find themselves attracted to trans women or interested in being penetrated by a woman.
This is a conflict the film takes its time exploring. These men aren’t able to reconcile their true desires with the image of themselves they project out into the world. On some levels, it feels absurd that any man would have an issue acknowledging his attraction to women who are this beautiful. But as with any journey of self-acceptance, there’s a deep divide between what makes sense in theory and the messiness of putting it into practice.
For this film, Smith interviews several men attracted to trans women at varying levels of acceptance. X is candid about the damage his openness about his sexuality has done to his relationship with his family. LØ is a particularly peculiar character in Kokomo City. While he’s willing to admit his attraction to a trans woman, he still struggles with what it means for him that she has a penis. Despite talking to her nearly every day, yet cannot work up the courage to meet her in person.
While it may be true that what anyone wants in the bedroom is their own business, what is personal and what is political cannot be separated here. Hiding these desires act as a choice to uphold a rigid, narrowly-defined view of masculinity and heterosexuality, which rejects trans women as objects of desire. In a world, which can treat trans women as less than human, fetishises and marginalises them, acknowledging that they are sexually desirable or worthy of love is powerful. The secrecy and shame carried by the men who seek them out also can be directly dangerous to these sex workers. When they lash out, these women often bear the brunt of that violence.
These women know they offer something to their clients that other women cannot. It is clear, however, that any power in the bedroom does not translate to agency outside of it. Koko is candid about becoming a sex worker because she needed to put a roof over her family’s head and could not rely on anyone else to support her once she came out.
The money and fantasy of control can be enticing, but at its core, the work is unsustainable. It is heartbreaking to watch Koko talk about the friends she’s lost and hear her desperation to get out of the industry before anything worse happens. Following her tragic death in April of this year, the point is more like a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Trans sex workers deserve respect. They deserve to have more of their stories told. What Smith captures of these women - their joy, beauty, and vulnerability - is remarkable.