It’s 2016. We are in a light-filled Airbnb in Sydney’s inner-city suburb of Redfern on Gadigal Land. It’s midwinter, about five degrees, and I have visible goose bumps up and down my legs.

I run my fingers through my long pink hair extensions, hold in my stomach, point my toes and look over my shoulder at Jasmine. I’m excited about finally shooting for SuicideGirls, which has long been a dream of mine. After having my piercings removed from the cover of Penthouse, my armpit hair edited out of Picture magazine, and my labia airbrushed in People magazine, I’m excited to shoot for a site that claims to celebrate alternative beauty.

My broken bleached hair couldn’t take much more peroxide, and I take the opportunity to go back to my rainbow roots. Interested to hear how others navigate the world? Head to our Life section.

It feels good to be shooting with another SuicideGirl. This is my third out of four shoots in four days. In one shoot, I won’t see the pictures until they go online and have no say over the editing process.

In this one, Jas will send me proofs so I can select my favourite 40 to 60 among them for a complete set. Working with a fellow model feels collaborative since we both have an interest in the set selling so that we can recoup our costs. I trust her to use flattering angles to get shots that she herself would want as a model.

The poses are familiar to me from glamour modelling. Some are replicas of mainstream magazine poses: on my knees, arching my back, resting my index finger on my bottom lip, pulling my bra strap over my shoulder. But the positions are slightly less brash – there are fewer doggy-style and open-leg shots and more peripheral shots of body parts: feet, hands, faces.

The poses are more subtle, sleepy, modest. I turn my shoulder forward to protrude my collarbone. I bring my hand lightly up to my neck.

I look at the camera seductively and then stare off into the distance. It’s what we call in mainstream magazine work ‘shy nude’. It is a similar repertoire to what I perform for [independent media company] Feck’s alt-erotica site I Shot Myself, which also prides itself on its alleged distance from mainstream porn.

The same way I learnt to perform ‘sex eyes’ and bold, dynamic poses from stripping, I learn to perform a doe-eyed, girl-next-door sex-kitten for these purportedly amateur sites. The pose is less ‘overt porn star’ but definitely borrows from and utilises pornographic conventions, even if I am pretending not to be a professional. We run through a standard formula that we know constitutes a sellable set – in fact, we bring up a set from one of the most popular SuicideGirls and adapt each pose.

The model guidelines are prescriptive and titled ‘How to look good in photos, without (looking like you are) really trying’. They provide instructions on facial expressions (parted lips, smiling eyes, three-quarter profiles, tilted chins and no duck face), posing (keep it “classy”, avoiding spread shots and positions that exaggerate rolls), hair (washed and lightly styled, no wigs), makeup (thin black eyeliner on the top lid only) and wardrobe (cotton tanks, tall socks, denim shorts and sundresses). The guidelines include photo examples of what not to do: no stripper heels or stripper attire, including neon fishnets, metallic, sparkles or “anything crotchless”.

Damn. The specificity reminds me of Australian amateur site Abby Winters, whose CEO had a pet hate for belly rings. Their guidelines instructed models to cover hair regrowth and not to shoot if we had pimples, scratches or mosquito bites, in order that we appear “healthy”.

When shooting for Feck, I was told to stop wearing frills, to “tone down the eye makeup” and “maybe don’t talk about politics.” Similar instructions were given to me in a shoot for Hustler magazine: “The model shouldn’t look too tacky, like a stripper, but like a woman with mainstream tastes.” I had become suspicious of “redefined beauty” and “being yourself” as code for a specific class-based aesthetic, positioned against the mainstream but, in reality, equally conventionalised. I am conscious of my age. My body has changed a lot in the past few years since retiring from pole instructing and as a result of recent IVF treatments.

Jas tells me that, at 29, she is one of the older SuicideGirls in Australia, who are mostly between 18 and 22. I laugh and say, “I’m 33” and joke that we are both veterans. I am competing with thousands of other ‘Suicide Hopefuls’ all 10 to 15 years my junior and hoping that theirs will be selected as set of the day (SOTD).

When our set is edited, it goes into a four-month queue, after which it is posted in ‘Member Review’, where site members can comment and ‘like’ it. Each day the company chooses a SOTD, which means the girl moves from being a ‘Suicide Hopeful’ to an official ‘SuicideGirl’ and receives a $500 prize. Jas tells me that a new set goes live into Member Review every two hours, so my chance of actually becoming a Suicide