Shyla & Stormy
I found this on Reddit and was posted last year but tells of one female fans admiration for Shyla
4 months ago
To the goddess of my adolescence
Dear Shyla Stylez,
I wanted to write this letter to tell you why I’m your fan. I’m a 24 year old woman, and I first saw porn on the Internet ten years ago when I was 14. One of the videos was you, and I was glued to the screen. You were the hottest, bawdiest, most taboo vision I’d ever seen. I visited Club Shyla Stylez regularly throughout my adolescence to ogle you, and I deleted my browser history every time.
I was your average American girl struggling to grow up. I was really shy. I figured out masturbation when I was 16. I didn’t so much as hold hands with a guy until I was nearly 20. I wasn’t lesbian, but I loved watching you more than any muscled guy. I saw plenty of other porn stars who were more pretty and flawless, but they were cardboard compared to you.
To me, you were larger than life. You were sizzling blonde American raunch incarnate. You gloried in the sex. I know that porn isn’t supposed to empower women, but you looked so powerful on the camera and it dripped through the screen onto mousy, flat-chested, virgin me. On set, you were like a tigress in her jungle and the men were the props. They could be pounding you from above, yet you were eating them alive. You were the immortal succubus. I thought you’d be doing grandma porn one day.
When I was older, sometimes I’d look in the mirror and wish my breasts were larger, or that my skin was paler, or that my genitals were prettier. I wanted to be sexy, and I thought about why you mesmerized me since puberty. It wasn’t really about your tits. It wasn’t your blonde hair and blue eyes, traits that I as a minority would never embody.
It was because you owned it. No stretch mark, no smudge of makeup, no labia wrinkle dimmed your flame. There were countless girls in porn who were younger, smoother, more doe-eyed and perky, but they weren’t Miss Shyla Stylez. The spell was in your bedroom gaze, your lipsticked grin, your unapologetic lewdness. You looked like you were born for it.
When I started dating and having sex as an adult woman, guys told me I was amazing. Besides being told I had a pretty collarbone, I didn’t get many comments on my body. But I did hear that the way I looked at them was “sexy and soulful.” They told me I was responsive and eager and they loved how I took control.
This culture tells us that female desirability wilts like a flower. Youth is enshrined as beauty. Makeup and heels are powerful. Porn is bad and degrading, but we all close the blinds and watch it anyway.
You were an inspiration as I found my own sexuality, and people can say what they will, but I looked up to you. I had my first orgasm watching you, locked in my dark childhood bedroom with the volume on mute. I studied hard and got a STEM degree like a good girl, but my admiration for you helped me shake hands with my inner bad girl. You never apologized for being you, and I never did either.
I read last month that you died in your sleep at 35. I cried. I wondered if the female power I saw in you was a lie I invented, if the jungle poisoned the tigress, if flaming that bright condemned you to burn out young.
I don’t know why you died, what you struggled with off-screen, or who you really were outside of porn. I know your real name is Amanda Friedland, but I’m writing to Shyla Stylez, because that version of you mattered too. You were an icon for thousands of people, and I’m one of them. You were amazing.