[Brianna is a 5ft 7 girl from a small rural town in Tennessee in the US. She worked at Slutland for five years and through her time at the site, earned almost £2m. Now retired and living fairly off-grid with her partner, she was happy to forgo the retainer and talk abut the whole process of working at Slutland. She has plenty of stories from her experience but first I'll go over the arduous process she went through to gain the job.]
Brianna was perfect. Or at least, she thought she was. It wasn't some egotistical boast, she legitimately had no physical flaws growing up. Her skin was naturally soft and acne free. Her boobs were large and even and her hourglass figure was timeless. She was muscular but not overly so. Her voice was gorgeous. Her sweat smelled like cinnamon. Everyone in the area's idea of an actual 10/10. And so, as she got older and she and her friends started hearing rumours about this unconventional but very lucrative job available to women with exactly her features, the prospect of being set-for-life made applying a no-brainer.
Slutland hires its girls in a series of yearly trials held in over a thousand centres around the world. Competition is fierce. Round zero is essentially just getting through the door. Seventy five per cent of the girls who show up are turned away then and there. I've interviewed Slutland girls from a variety of backgrounds and body types. There is no typical Slutland girl. But somehow, in that initial few second assessment, the forewoman makes a decision and culls three quarters of all applicants without even speaking to them. But still they line up each year getting judged on their appearance over and over again. Most know they're unlikely to ever make it to the actual site. But there are other benefits to the interviews that aren't solely restricted to a job at the end. Girls who get past round one get £20,000.
Brianna's nearest centre was in Nashville. She and three other friends drove there. Her friends had opted for a more slutty look. Crop tops, miniskirts and, in retrospect, too much makeup. Brianna went for a more natural, drab look. She modelled the exact outfit she wore to me during the interview. Black jeans that gripped her bum, a blue figure-hugging blouse and black doc marten boots. They joined a queue that must have had over a thousand girls in it, mostly in their early twenties but with a variety of ages. Some in the queue were barely wearing more than g-strings.
As they neared the entrance the figure of the forewoman came into view. She wore a similar skirt to other high-level PERSLU employees (that Brianna would eventually meet) but with a much more formal shirt on top. She gave off the aura of a bitchy but high-achieving manager at a finance firm. She would spend four or five seconds sizing up each girl and then gesture either towards the door or away from it like an executioner choosing who lived and who died. And most girls were dying. Each of Brianna's three friends were turned away in front of her.
