Before getting into Colorado, it helps to understand where sex work actually stands in the United States, because the reality is far more fragmented than most people think. It is not fully legal anywhere in the country, but there are limited pockets of partial legality or reduced enforcement.
In Nevada, sex work is legal only in certain rural counties that allow licensed brothels, while it remains illegal in Las Vegas and Reno. In New York, including Manhattan, it is still criminalized, although reforms such as repealing the “loitering for the purpose of prostitution” law have reduced some enforcement. Rhode Island had a period from 2003 to 2009 where indoor sex work was effectively decriminalized due to a legal loophole, which was later closed. Across the rest of the country, criminalization remains the dominant model, even if some cities quietly deprioritize enforcement.
So while people often assume there are places in the U.S. where sex work is simply legal, that is not actually the case.
That is what makes what happened in Colorado this year so interesting. Just last month, Nick Hinrichsen introduced SB26-097 (https://leg.colorado.gov/bills/sb26-097) , a bill aimed at decriminalizing consensual adult sex work. What stood out was not just the bill itself, but how it came to be. It did not come from theory or political trend alone. It started with conversations. He spoke with constituents, some of whom were sex workers. He listened, asked questions, and then continued those conversations with advocacy groups and community members. From there, he began reading, researching, and trying to understand the issue more fully. The legislation that followed was shaped by that process, grounded in both lived experience and available data, which is not something you see often in policy discussions like this.
Of course, the bill faced immediate opposition, and that opposition centered around a set of 5 main concerns.
One of the most common claims is that decriminalization would increase human trafficking. However, organizations such as the ACLU and Freedom Network USA point to research showing no clear causal link between decriminalization and increased trafficking. Some studies suggest the opposite, indicating that when workers are not criminalized, they are more likely to report coercion and abuse. Another concern is that prostitution laws are necessary tools for law enforcement, yet research consistently shows that criminalization tends to push activity further underground, making outreach more difficult. In places like New Zealand, decriminalization improved cooperation between workers and police, which in turn increased reporting. Public health arguments follow a similar pattern, with data from Rhode Island showing significant drops in certain STI rates during its decriminalized period, alongside broader research showing improved access to healthcare when legal risk is removed. Concerns about violence also trend in the opposite direction of what is often assumed, with studies linking repressive policing to higher rates of violence, not lower. Even the Nordic model, often presented as a middle ground, has been shown in more recent research to carry many of the same risks, particularly around demand, by limiting communication and pushing interactions further out of sight.
Support for the bill was not abstract. It directly addressed the same five concerns raised in opposition, but through real-world outcomes. On human trafficking, removing criminal penalties makes it easier to report coercion, shifting focus to force and exploitation. On law enforcement, it increases visibility and cooperation instead of pushing activity underground. On public health, access to care improves when people are not avoiding systems out of fear. On violence, the ability to screen, communicate, and report becomes one of the most practical safety tools. And on demand, partial criminalization still limits time and communication, increasing risk rather than reducing it. Taken together, the goal was straightforward: improve safety, strengthen anti-trafficking efforts, support health, and reduce the long-term harm created by criminal records.
At a certain point, you start to realize this is not really about the data. Because no matter how consistent the research becomes, the pushback stays just as strong. Much of the opposition is not rooted in studies or measurable outcomes. It comes from something more personal and more complicated. It is tied to beliefs about morality, discomfort around the intersection of sex and money, and concerns about what this means for communities and culture. Those perspectives carry weight, even when they are not supported by evidence, and they often shape decisions just as much as the data does.
That tension is exactly what played out with this bill. On paper, the opposition won. SB26-097 was postponed, and the legislation did not move forward. But what actually happened is more complicated than that. The same people who introduced the bill ultimately made the decision to pull it, not because the research changed, but because the reality on the ground did. People who were willing to speak up in support of the bill were being called names, labeled as immoral, even “witches,” and threatened with being doxxed. Some faced the possibility of having their identities exposed, their families dragged into it, or their safety put at risk. There were threats of harassment, intimidation, and even violence if they chose to testify. At that point, continuing forward was no longer just about policy. It meant asking those same people to put themselves directly in harm’s way.
So they listened again.
Just like they did in the beginning.
For the first time, legislation like this was introduced because an elected official took the time to listen to the people he represents. Not in theory, not from a distance, but directly. He heard them, tried to build something that reflected their reality, and when moving forward created new risks for them, he adjusted.
That is not nothing.
If anything, that is the part that feels like a win.
Not because the bill passed, but because the process worked the way it is supposed to. People were heard. Their experiences shaped the conversation. And when it mattered most, those same people were protected, even if that meant stepping back instead of pushing forward. A 2023 survey by Data for Progress found that 52 percent of Americans, across political affiliations, support decriminalizing sex work. If that many people are already there and still feel unheard, it has a way of showing up when they vote.
✅ Charlotte (who always is heard at the ballot box )