What if cities were built for pleasure? Not the polite, scented-candle kind — but the real, messy, sensual kind. What if our walls, streets, and windows didn’t just hold our bodies, but invited them to explore, connect, and even fuck a little more freely?
Architect, researcher, and all-around spatial detective Anna Torres wants us to imagine a city where this all comes together.
I invited Anna onto Radio Pleasure Society to talk about something most people never consider: the relationship between architecture and sexuality. And once we started talking, I couldn’t stop picturing a city that pulses (literally) with erotic potential.
Anna isn’t your average architect. She’s the founder of Studio Anna Torres and co-founder of Team Hot Space, a queer-feminist collective of designers who build pleasure spaces — playful, body-safe, sex-positive environments that make it easier for people to connect on their own terms.
Their creations include “The Erotic Nest,” a sensually-lit, cuddle-friendly alternative to the darkroom — soft, slow, and intentionally designed for intimacy rather than anonymity. Think plush textures, low lighting, and a space that whispers, take your time.
“We wanted to design a space that welcomes everyone — not just cis men,” Anna explained. “A place where people can explore touch, consent, and connection without pressure. Somewhere you can cuddle, whisper, or fuck — all at your own pace.”
Anna’s fascination with sex and space started in Amsterdam’s Red Light District — that infamous, neon-lit maze where sex, commerce, and tourism have danced together for centuries.
Her research project, Project XXX, asked a deceptively simple question:
What if, instead of closing sex work spaces, we built more — and built them better?
Through her collaborations with local sex workers, Anna discovered what the city often ignores: the workers themselves are the experts in spatial design. They know what safety feels like. They know how a curtain should fall, how a window should open, how light hits the body just right at midnight.
Her designs propose new possibilities: window work that’s sensual rather than sterile, camming studios that are beautifully lit, community rooms for sex workers to gather and rest — and green, lush spaces that feel as much about care as they are about commerce.
“Sex work spaces shouldn’t just survive,” Anna said. “They should thrive. They should feel alive, inclusive, and dignified — not hidden away like a secret.”
Anna calls herself a spatial detective, using what she describes as “soft research and hard research.”
Soft research means talking, walking, and feeling — collecting stories, emotions, and sensory details from those who inhabit the city’s sexual underbelly. Hard research digs into data, policy, and history — tracing how zoning, morality, and urban planning quietly shape who gets to express desire and who doesn’t.
Her findings? Half of Amsterdam’s red-light windows have been shut down in recent years, and the queer spaces that once gave the neighborhood its kink-positive flavor are disappearing fast. “The Red Light District used to be the leather capital of Europe,” Anna reminded me. “Now it’s turning into a theme park.”
While talking about space, we started talking about bodies — how design literally changes the way we move, flirt, and fuck.
Anna’s team recently brought their Erotic Nest to Whole Festival, a queer utopia in a forest outside Berlin, where 10,000 queers gather to dance, touch, and shed their clothes — and shame.
“Everyone was naked,” she said, laughing. “But it wasn’t sexual. It was free.”
It made her realize that spaces can either repress or liberate the body. When designed with care, they give us agency — over how we want to be seen, touched, or left alone.
Imagine if cities offered that same freedom: public saunas where consent culture thrives, body-positive community centers, soft-lit playrooms instead of sterile hotel rooms.
Anna isn’t nostalgic for a lost past — she’s designing a more hopeful future. One where sex work is seen as part of the city’s cultural fabric, and where pleasure isn’t something to hide but something to design for.
If she had her way? There’d be a queer fairyland of a sex club — all velvet corners, greenery, and fluid, shifting spaces. “A place that changes with the people who use it,” she says. “Where you can dance, fuck, play, rest, or just exist.”
That’s the question that lingers. What if we built spaces that encouraged sensuality, safety, and curiosity instead of fear and shame? What if the next generation of architects saw the erotic not as taboo, but as a core part of being human?
Because when cities make room for desire, they don’t just get sexier — they get kinder.
And if you ever see a neon sign that says “Designed by Anna Torres”?
Go inside. You might just find the future of pleasure.