Ladyboys in Thailand, Trans Rights, and the Fight for Legal Recognition

 

Fine art photographer Elizabeth Waterman discusses her analog strike film portraits that challenge stereotypes surrounding sex work and transgender identity—primarily through her work with Thailand’s kathoey, commonly known as ladyboys. Waterman discusses the barriers faced by transgender women in Thailand, including the inability to legally change their gender and limited job opportunities that often push them into nightlife or sex work. Her advocacy centers on the Gender Recognition Act, a prospective bill held up in the Thai parliament. Through her book Moneygame Thailand and an upcoming TV doc-follow Moneygame: Ladyboys of Pattaya , she hopes to raise international awareness and foster meaningful legal reform.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: So today, we’re here with Elizabeth Waterman. She’s a Los Angeles-based fine art photographer known for her analog film-based work that challenges societal narratives surrounding sex work, subcultures, and female empowerment.

Born in Taos, New Mexico, she earned a BA in Fine Art from the University of Southern California before immersing herself in documenting the lives of adult entertainers and performers. Waterman’s striking portraits capture the raw humanity of dancers, transgender sex workers, and artists, emphasizing their strength and dignity while shedding light on the often-unseen realities behind the scenes. 

Her internationally exhibited images explore the intersections of art, identity, and representation, offering rare, humanizing perspectives that powerfully transcend stereotypes. Thank you for joining me today. I know your photography carries a humanitarian and advocacy element—especially in the Ladyboys project—so that might be of personal significance to you as well.

To begin with, not everyone is familiar with the term ladyboy, and many don’t have a humanizing or accurate image of who they are. So, how would you define the term, and what does the lived reality look like—apart from the stereotype?

Elizabeth Waterman: In Thailand, ladyboys are the common English term used to refer to kathoey, a Thai cultural identity referring to transgender women or effeminate male-presenting individuals. While not all Thai transgender women identify as kathoey, and the term can have nuanced meanings, it is widely used in both Thai society and internationally.

Jacobsen: In terms of stereotypes, what are the common misconceptions people have about kathoey, and what realities help debunk those myths?

Waterman: It’s an important point. In Thailand, ladyboys can be marginalized and are sometimes subject to stereotypes—portrayed as overly flamboyant, deceitful, or associated with nightlife and sex work. These portrayals overlook the complexity of their identities and lives. There’s a general lack of understanding about their social roles, professional diversity, and legal status.

Jacobsen: A natural follow-up would be: how does public acceptance shift once people gain a better understanding?

Waterman: Well, I began visiting Thailand about two years ago to photograph nightlife entertainers. Many of them were ladyboys—transgender women working in various nightlife roles such as cabaret performers, escorts, go-go dancers, and massage therapists. Through spending time with them, I was able to see the full spectrum of their humanity and experiences—not just what people typically associate with them. My goal was to create portraits that convey their dignity, resilience, and individuality.

As I got to know the ladyboys, I learned more about their lives, and I became aware of the fact that transgender women in Thailand—including ladyboys—do not have the legal right to change their gender. If someone is assigned male at birth, that designation remains on their birth certificate for life. They cannot change it to female.

As a result, their employment opportunities are severely limited. Many corporate or public-facing jobs require individuals to present and dress according to the gender on their official documents. As a result, many ladyboys are effectively pushed into nightlife work—cabarets, go-go dancing, escort work—not necessarily by choice but because other paths are institutionally blocked.

You have ladyboys  of all ages who might want to pursue careers in medicine, journalism, education—anything really—but they often end up in the entertainment or sex industries because those are the spaces where their gender identity is more accepted, or at least tolerated.

Right now is a critical time, there exists a significant opportunity for change. A bill called the Gender Recognition Act was  introduced in the Thai parliament in early 2024. If passed, it would allow transgender individuals, including ladyboys, to change their gender markers legally. This would open pathways for broader employment, reduce discrimination, and improve legal protections.

You may or may not be aware, but it’s an essential time for LGBTQ+ rights in Thailand. In 2024, Thailand’s parliament approved a bill legalizing same-sex marriage—a historic achievement that made international headlines. However, this Gender Recognition Act has not received nearly the same level of attention. I’m a big advocate for its passage.

These are beautiful, resilient women. I’m currently working on a photo book called Moneygame Thailand, which features portraits of many ladyboys I’ve met and worked with. I’m also developing a TV docu-follow show focused on their lives and experiences. More than anything, I want to bring international attention to this bill. It has been stalled in Thai parliament, and global awareness could help get it moving again.

Jacobsen: A lot of legal and policy changes tend to come on the heels of broader social shifts. What, in your view, was happening in Thai culture that enabled a bill like this to be proposed in the first place?

Waterman: It followed the momentum of the same-sex marriage bill. That took a long time to pass. In its wake, the Gender Recognition Act emerged as a logical next step in expanding rights for the LGBTQ+ community in Thailand. But so far, it has not succeeded. It’s struggling to gain the same level of support or attention.

Jacobsen: Are there other explicit laws that restrict equal rights for ladyboys beyond the lack of legal gender recognition?

Waterman: This law specifically deals with legal gender identity, yes. But broader rights issues exist. For example, if a ladyboy is arrested, she must be placed in a men’s prison, where she may face harassment or abuse. That’s a serious and often overlooked consequence of legal non-recognition.

Then there’s the issue of mandatory military service. In Thailand, all males are required to register for conscription. Kathoey must attend these check-ins and try to obtain an exemption. It’s a stressful and often humiliating process. They have to travel long distances, sometimes missing work, and navigate a bureaucratic system that doesn’t acknowledge their gender identity.

In that sense, it’s almost the reverse of the situation in the United States—where transgender individuals sometimes fight for the right to serve openly in the military. In Thailand, ladyboys often struggle to avoid conscription altogether.

Jacobsen: That’s a strange asymmetry—or maybe an inverse symmetry is more accurate.

Waterman: Yes, exactly. It’s quite different.

Jacobsen: When you were doing your photographic work within these communities, how did you approach it in a way that captured the reality of their lives while still humanizing them—and without reinforcing the very stereotypes you were trying to challenge?

Waterman: Well, with my subjects, I always try to get to know them personally and build relationships over time. I’ve traveled to Thailand four times now, photographing some of the same individuals on each of my visits. I’ve also been privileged to  peek into  their personal lives—photographing them at home, learning about their hobbies, meeting their families. I’ve spent time with them outside of work, not just in the clubs where they perform. That’s important—seeing them as full human beings rather than just their roles in nightlife.

I also try not to focus my lens too heavily on the granular details of their jobs or on the sex work itself. Instead, I approach the work holistically—capturing who they are as people, their friendships, their families, their goals, and their dreams. I conduct extensive interviews with each subject, which gives me deeper insight.

To help build trust and improve communication, I’ve also been learning to speak Thai. It’s been a small but important project—probably about three years of lessons, once a week. So, maybe not 800 hours, but I’m working on it. I’m at a basic Thai level at the moment. It’s a difficult language, but the effort has helped enormously.

Jacobsen: When you’re conducting in-depth interviews, observing how people interact, and creating humanizing photographic work, you’re essentially building comprehensive case studies on each person. So, within that, what have you noticed in terms of commonalities with mainstream Thai culture, and what are some idiosyncrasies that distinguish the ladyboy experience?

Waterman: You mean commonalities between all ladyboys and then between ladyboys and the general population?

Jacobsen: Everyone is a cross-section of everyday life—everyone pays bills, sleeps, eats, and so on. Therefore, there is a baseline of shared human experience. But what are some of the deeper cultural commonalities and the more distinctive realities faced by ladyboys in Thailand?

Waterman: One of the most defining experiences for ladyboys is their limited access to employment. That’s the biggest commonality among them. At the same time, they may be culturally visible—Thailand is often thought of as relatively tolerant—but there are still significant limitations. They’re often funnelled into nightlife jobs. Some may find work at cosmetics counters in department stores, but the options are narrow. That shared economic constraint defines much of their lives.

Jacobsen: That answers it. Economics is central in nearly every society. As far as I know, there’s no socialist utopia out there—so when income is restricted, that has ripple effects. How does this financial limitation affect ladyboys’ access to education, healthcare, travel, and other necessities like dental care, housing, or even food?

To give an example, in some places, people with limited income and disabilities often end up living with others out of necessity. They rely more on social capital than on financial capital. Is that true for ladyboys, too, especially those working in nightlife, dancing, or sex work?

Waterman: Yes, very much so. Many ladyboys rely on their communities, their chosen families, and their support networks to survive. When you don’t have access to stable income, it’s hard to afford education or medical care—including gender-affirming healthcare, which is expensive. Travel and even basic needs can be a challenge.

So, you often find these informal support systems—people living together, sharing resources, and helping each other through tough times. It’s a kind of grassroots solidarity, and it’s essential for their survival. Many of them are also sending money home to their families, which adds another layer of pressure.

That also affects their routines—many are working on a 16:8 day-night cycle, meaning they’re up through the night and sleep most of the day. Ladyboys rarely pursue higher education, not because of a lack of interest but because they don’t have the time or money. They often live hand-to-mouth, and any extra income typically goes to supporting their families.

Although many would love to study or advance their skills, they often lack the necessary resources. That’s a common thread with sex workers in general: there’s limited upward mobility. Many people stay in the same job for years because it does not pay well or offer a clear path forward.

There is also a deep familial obligation in Thai culture, closely tied to Buddhist values. When someone earns money—especially in working-class or marginalized communities—it’s expected that they send funds back to their families. For ladyboys, this often means supporting parents or siblings. For cisgender women in sex work, it might mean supporting their children or aging parents.

So ladyboys tend to stay in nightlife and entertainment for a long time. Again, it’s a job that’s difficult to exit. And unfortunately, there is a higher incidence of substance abuse. Since they work at night, in clubs or go-go bars, they often have to drink as part of the job—either to entertain customers or to cope with the stress and emotional toll. Over time, this can lead to dependence.

Their schedules are demanding. They usually work from 7 p.m. to 3 a.m., then sleep during the day. Their lives become entirely focused on work and rest, with very little time for anything else. It becomes a cycle—work, drink, sleep—making it even harder to step back and think about long-term goals or changes.

Jacobsen: That answers the question—and also brings up a comparative angle. I’ve talked to some colleagues informally—not as part of an interview—but they’ve brought up different models of sex work. For instance, the Nordic model is often cited as an alternative that aims to reduce harm. That’s the one where sex work itself is decriminalized, but buying sex is criminalized.

What are the current laws and protections in place for ladyboys in Thailand? If any. And what kinds of policy provisions or support systems do you think could help protect them, particularly from negative mental health impacts or abuse?

Because as you’ve noted, many are using substances to cope with very real physical and emotional stressors—whether it’s from long, difficult hours or violent or unstable clients. So what could be done?

Waterman: Many ladyboys working in nightlife  are performing aspects of their jobs outside the protection of the law. For instance, they may be gainfully and legally employed at a go-go bar, but any services they provide outside of that context—like escorting—are not legally protected.

There is no legal recourse if something goes wrong. If a client fails to pay or becomes abusive, there is no legal framework to support or protect them.

Now, while ladyboys working inside clubs might have some basic protections through their employers, if they also provide services independently—say, meeting clients outside the club—then they’re vulnerable. And again, there’s no legal avenue to pursue justice if something goes wrong.

Because of this, ladyboys often rely on community-based protection. Their community becomes their safety net. For example, in places like Pattaya City—one of the hubs of Thailand’s sex tourism—you might see freelance escorts lined up along the beach path. There might be one ladyboy acting as a kind of watchdog, looking out for the group and making sure no one is harassed. Sometimes, they move in groups of 10 or more to help protect one another.

So, in the absence of state or institutional support, ladyboys depend heavily on one another. It’s a grassroots system of mutual care and security.

Jacobsen: If legal protections were put in place—say, if sex work were decriminalized or regulated—do you think that would improve conditions? Or would the transient nature of the clientele in sex tourism make enforcement difficult?

Waterman: That’s a complex question. You’re right that sex tourism involves a highly transient client base—people are there and then gone. That makes accountability difficult. And we’re also talking about a broader system that doesn’t just affect ladyboys but also cisgender women working in the industry. Therefore, it’s a massive and nuanced issue that would require significant legal and cultural shifts to address meaningfully.

But the one thing I want to emphasize right now is the Gender Recognition Act—because that’s a concrete piece of legislation that’s already in parliament. It has been approved by public consensus and supported by the major political parties, and it’s now awaiting full passage by parliament. It’s been sitting there for a couple of years now, so there’s real potential for it to pass soon.

If enacted, it would allow transgender individuals—including ladyboys—to change their gender marker legally. That could open up access to a whole range of rights and protections. It’s a major step forward.

As for addressing sex work itself—that’s a much bigger legal and cultural issue, and again, not one that impacts ladyboys alone. It affects all sex workers, including cisgender women, so it’s a separate conversation.

But yes, in terms of improving the lives of ladyboys, especially those working in sex work, the Gender Recognition Act could be transformational. It would provide access to better employment opportunities, healthcare, and legal protections.

Jacobsen: How would you compare the legal status and rights of ladyboys in Thailand to transgender women elsewhere—say, in the United States?

Waterman: Well, in some respects, transgender rights in the U.S. are more advanced. For example, trans people can legally change their gender markers on official documents. That’s still not the case in Thailand.

However, the U.S. has also experienced significant regression, particularly during the Trump administration. There were rollbacks on trans protections in healthcare, education, and the military. Therefore, while there may be more legal options in the U.S., the prevailing political climate has created its own set of challenges.

Trans rights vary significantly around the world. I’m not deeply schooled in the nuances of every country’s legal framework, but one major difference between the U.S. and Thailand is this: in the U.S., transgender people can legally change their gender marker. They might also have access to gender-affirming surgeries through health insurance—though that’s not always guaranteed, of course.

In Thailand, there’s no legal avenue to change your gender on official documents, and any public insurance does not typically cover gender-affirming procedures. From a legal and institutional standpoint, Thailand is significantly more restrictive.

Also, although discrimination still exists in the U.S., trans individuals should be able to pursue employment in any field. That’s at least the legal principle, even if it’s not always upheld in practice. In Thailand, it’s very different. In most conventional jobs—what you might call “straight jobs”—you’re expected to dress and present as the gender listed on your birth certificate. That disqualifies many ladyboys from pursuing those positions.

Jacobsen: Are suicide rates, self-harm, or depression high among ladyboys? Do we have data?

Waterman: I don’t have concrete statistics on that, so I wouldn’t want to speculate irresponsibly. However, I can share the emotional patterns and themes that emerged during my in-depth interviews. Many ladyboys express hope. A lot of them have a clear goal: to save enough money to leave the nightlife or sex industry and find a more stable life. That dream of exit—of eventually moving on—is very common.

At the same time, these goals often feel far-fetched or far away to the ladyboys themselves—they experience a real sense that there are no clear pathways to achieve that dream. The barriers feel enormous. However, there is also a strong current of resilience. Many speak warmly about their friendships with other ladyboys. These relationships are a major source of emotional strength. That shared bond is powerful.

There’s another layer, too. Stereotypically—and with some truth—ladyboys are known for being fun, playful, and even a bit aggressive in their energy. There’s a rowdy, extroverted culture in some of these communities, particularly among those working in nightlife. They joke with each other and with customers. That kind of boldness is often associated more with masculinity, not femininity, which creates a social dynamic that’s hard to classify.

Jacobsen: So it’s a mix of masculine and feminine energies—culturally coded ones, at least. Do you think that personality style—being playful and assertive—is connected in part to biology? Higher testosterone levels, for instance?

Waterman: Yes, I do. I’ve always thought that’s part of it. Some ladyboys probably do have more testosterone in their systems than cisgender women, and that might contribute to that particular energy—more assertiveness, more playfulness, and that bold presence you see in nightlife spaces.

Jacobsen: Let’s pivot slightly to governance. When a new administration comes into power in Thailand—say a different executive government—does that shift the direction of judicial decisions or affect whether certain bills get passed into law? Or are these different branches more independent from one another?

Waterman: I don’t know that I can speak with authority on the entire structure, but the Thai political system is complex. It’s not always clear how independent the branches are. But I can point you toward some useful resources.

There are two key individuals involved in the Gender Recognition Act:

1. Kittinun Daramadhaj, aka “Danny,” the lawyer and activist who drafted the bill. He’s a personal contact of mine and is extremely dedicated to advancing the bill.
2. Tunyawaj Kamolwongwat, the Member of the House of Representatives of Thailand  who helped to pass Thailand’s Equal Marriage Law and then officially brought the Gender Recognition Act bill forth to Thai Parliament in 2024.

I’ll send you Facebook links for both of them.

And for context, the People’s Party is the political party supporting the bill. It’s a progressive, socially democratic party advocating for reforms in several areas, including LGBTQ+ rights.

Jacobsen: So if this bill is coming out under a progressive party like the People’s Party, you could make the case that their political leadership—relative to Thailand’s general political climate—helps explain its emergence. It’s a correlation, of course, not necessarily causation, but it does hold up.

Waterman: Yes, I became more of a journalist through working on this project. My background and training are in fine art photography, but as I started to connect more deeply with ladyboys and people like Danny, who drafted the Gender Recognition Act, I began learning about the legal aspects. That’s when I became invested in understanding the policy implications.

Jacobsen: That’s all fascinating. And the photos are excellent, too.

Waterman: Thank you. Yes, I’m very proud of them. They’re powerful. They capture these women in a way that’s real and respectful.

Jacobsen: So, what’s the current holdup on the bill?

Waterman: The holdup is in Thai Parliament. For the Gender Recognition Act to pass, it has to clear many hurdles including: public support, party support, and parliamentary approval. The public and the parties are already on board—the delay is with the more conservative members of Parliament.

I firmly believe that if there were more international attention on this bill—if it were better publicized—it would move forward. Thailand wants to be seen as progressive. They don’t want to be known for holding back LGBTQ+ rights. The problem is that even many ladyboys in Thailand don’t know about the bill. There is not enough public awareness.

Jacobsen: That tracks with many countries. Most people don’t follow legislation closely unless it’s election season—or until the law has already passed.

Waterman: It’s the same story with marriage equality. Everyone knows about the Equal Marriage Law because it made international news when it passed in 2024, but it had been years in the making. It was  a huge deal when it passedl. It gave the impression that Thailand was incredibly progressive on LGBTQ+ issues. And while it is a step forward, there are still major gaps—like the lack of legal gender recognition for transgender people.

That’s what I want to shine a light on. Through my TV show and photo book, I aim to raise global awareness about this issue. I want the international community to see that while Thailand has made progress, there’s still urgent work to do—especially when it comes to transgender rights.

Jacobsen: Many reforms don’t move forward until the public applies pressure or international attention creates a mirror effect. There’s a lot of performative politics, too—on all sides. However, once a policy is passed and becomes normalized, people usually return to their daily lives.

It’s like marriage equality in the United States. It was controversial for a time, but after it passed, most people realized it had no real impact on their marriages—especially not on straight, cisgender, or religious unions. It became part of the new normal.

Waterman: The same would happen here. If the Gender Recognition Act passes, ladyboys could have real options—working at a bank, attending university, pursuing careers that aren’t limited to escorting, go-go dancing, or offering adult massages. That kind of choice is what’s really at stake.

Jacobsen: Thailand, geographically and conceptually, is somewhat similar to the Philippines for North Americans—we know it’s there, we have vague ideas, but we don’t know much about it. It feels distant and unfamiliar.

Waterman: That’s true. It’s foreign to most. But it’s such an amazing place. I love it. Thailand is the only Southeast Asian country that was never colonized, and this fact is a source of tremendous national pride. Buddhist values are deeply embedded in the culture, and there is so much beauty—culturally, spiritually, and artistically. 

That’s part of why I want to bring more attention to it through my work—not just the adult industry or ladyboys, but the country itself. I love the ladyboys. I want to help improve their lives. This matters to me.

Jacobsen: Thank you for the opportunity and your time, Elizabeth.

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Scott Douglas Jacobsen is the publisher of In-Sight Publishing (ISBN: 978-1-0692343) and Editor-in-Chief of In-Sight: Interviews (ISSN: 2369-6885). He writes for The Good Men Project, International Policy Digest (ISSN: 2332–9416), The Humanist (Print: ISSN 0018-7399; Online: ISSN 2163-3576), Basic Income Earth Network (UK Registered Charity 1177066), A Further Inquiry, and other media. He is a member in good standing of numerous media organizations.

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Image Credit: Elizabeth Waterman.

 

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