Life doesn’t always unfold in the way we plan. After returning to the UK, broke and defeated, I found myself in an unexpected and challenging role that would ultimately play a pivotal part in rebuilding my career. I became an Eskimo. It was a digital agency with a quirky name that aged badly.

Not the traditional kind, of course—this was a job title that spoke to the responsibilities I took on. As an Eskimo, I managed not just one, but multiple major projects simultaneously. In a way, I had to juggle the complexity of running two distinct ticketing platforms, a role I’d secured against all odds.

To say it wasn’t easy would be an understatement. Managing two ticketing platforms was no small feat. These platforms weren’t just your average ticketing systems—they were large-scale, bustling hubs that required constant attention. They were complex, filled with thousands of transactions, customer inquiries, and constant updates. If anything went wrong, the entire system could implode in a second. The pressure was immense.

One of the most surreal and memorable experiences of my life was befriending Lexi Belle, a top-tier adult star with an enormous fan base. At the time, I had nothing tangible to offer her professionally, so I avoided bringing up business altogether. Instead, when she visited the UK for work, she spent an entire day with me, exploring the hidden gems of London. It was pure, unadulterated fun—an unexpected connection that left a lasting impression on me.

Looking back, Lexi was a missed opportunity in more ways than one. Her support could have propelled Holodex to unimaginable heights. What stings even more is the realisation that she had been part of Holodexxx VR, a project born out of my very own concept. It feels like a strange twist of fate that someone I deeply admire, someone who could have been an ally, ended up immortalised in a version of my idea that was taken from me.

The echo of LA's neon buzz still flickered in my mind when the silence of failure finally set in. I had been living the dream, surrounded by icons, making connections, and building my vision. But dreams come with a cost, and the price was starting to catch up with me.

The money had run out. My pockets were empty, and my bank account was a cruel reminder that nothing lasts forever, especially not when you’re chasing something so ambitious and uncertain. I couldn’t keep the momentum going, and the pressure had finally broken me.

I had to leave. The buzz of LA, the parties, the excitement—it all felt like a world away as I boarded that flight back to the UK. The place I once called home now felt like a far-off memory. I landed back in London with nothing but a suitcase and an overwhelming sense of failure.

Dear Derek

Derek, it truly pains me to reflect on the way things unfolded between us. When I think back to our time together, it’s a confusing mix of emotions. You weren’t always the man who would betray me so deeply—at least, not on the surface. In fact, during the time we worked together, he could be incredibly generous.

One night stands out more than any other. We were at a strip club, and Tori Black, one of the biggest names in the industry, was performing a special show. The air buzzed with excitement, and you, always the big personality in any room, made sure the night would be unforgettable for me. You handed me a stack of dollar bills and, with a grin, told me to go ahead—make it rain.

I remember standing there, throwing the money in a shower of bills, just like something out of the movies. It was surreal, intoxicating even, and for a moment, I felt like I belonged in his world. You seemed larger than life, a mentor of sorts, someone who wanted me to succeed—or so I thought.

As Holodex slowly began to take shape, it was clear the idea had potential—but potential doesn’t always pay the bills. Despite my best efforts, the page views weren’t high enough to generate significant income. Well, people just rarely pay for porn these days, so it was an uphill struggle. It felt like pushing a boulder uphill, and the weight of trying to make it all work was becoming harder to bear.

Amid this frustration, I stumbled upon an idea that seemed like a shortcut to success: PornModelHouse.com. The concept was simple but compelling—a platform showcasing all the behind-the-scenes (BTS) content I’d gathered during my time working with the industry. The material I had was raw, authentic, and intimate in a way that traditional productions could never replicate. I believed it could be a hit.

The day I walked into LA Direct and saw Louis Theroux standing in the spot I usually occupied, I nearly tripped over my own disbelief. There he was, in his unmistakable unassuming manner, quietly observing the chaos that surrounded Derek Hay’s world. Louis was clearly making one of his documentaries, likely delving into the controversial, fascinating lives connected to Derek's agency.

For a split second, my heart raced. This is it, I thought. My chance to tell my side of the story, to explain how I had ended up here, living among the very girls he was likely interviewing, navigating the strange and often surreal world of the adult industry. My story had layers—betrayal, resilience, and that constant, gnawing battle to carve out a space for myself in a world that often felt hostile. Surely, Louis Theroux, of all people, would find it interesting.

When you’re hungry to make your dream a reality, sometimes the road ahead involves choices that aren’t always comfortable. I had come to LA to make Holodex work, and when Derek extended the offer to work with his roster of girls, I knew this was the break I needed. At the time, it felt like a dream—access to the industry's best talent, to people whose names I had only seen on the covers of magazines. These were the stars of the adult entertainment world.

But, of course, it wasn’t without its compromises.

Derek's deal came with conditions—nothing overly shady at first glance, but enough to make you question what was happening beneath the surface. One of those conditions was that I would live in his porn model house. Looking back, I knew it wasn’t exactly a glamorous decision—it felt a bit like selling out. But in that moment, it seemed like the only way forward.

After we launched Holodex, the site gained traction faster than I’d ever anticipated. By the time we rolled out the second version, it was clear we were onto something special. This wasn’t just a functional update; it was a reinvention. The design, for its time, was nothing short of groundbreaking.

The interface was over-engineered in the best way possible—every detail meticulously thought out, every feature carefully crafted. Navigating the site felt like an experience in itself, as if the platform was alive and responsive to the user’s needs. It wasn’t just practical; it was playful, intuitive, and endlessly rewarding.

Holodex stood out in a sea of generic, cookie-cutter designs. It was unique—dare I say, the most unique website interface ever designed. The kind of digital space where every click, every interaction, brought joy, and yet, it retained a level of sophistication that commanded respect.

There are moments in life where you reach a crossroads, where you have to choose between staying comfortable or risking everything for something greater. For me, the decision was clear. I had poured everything I had into Holodex, but the rejection from the investor made one thing abundantly clear: If I wanted this to work, I had to take massive action.

So, I sold everything. Every piece of furniture, every unnecessary possession—it all went. My life, my work, my dreams... they all fit into a single suitcase. I didn’t just sell my things—I sold my past. I was about to step into a new chapter, one that required complete focus and total commitment.

I boarded a plane to LA with nothing but a suitcase and an idea. The city of dreams. The city where the big players were, where everything felt possible. I knew this was where I had to be. The adult industry’s heart was here, and if Holodex was ever going to thrive, it had to be in the middle of the action.

Rejection can be a gut punch, especially when it comes from someone who holds the power to make your dreams a reality. But for me, that conversation with the investor didn’t knock me down—it sparked something deeper within me.

He was right, in a way. Holodex VR was way ahead of its time. The technology wasn’t there yet, and the market wasn’t ready to embrace it. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to happen. It just meant that I had to wait, grow, and work harder to get there.

Instead of letting his dismissal crush me, I internalised it as a challenge. If the world wasn’t ready for what I had to offer, then it was up to me to build a world that was. If people couldn’t see the potential now, that didn’t mean I should quit—it meant I had to make them see it later.

As I poured my heart into Holodex, the vision grew larger than life. It wasn’t just about creating a website anymore—it was about reimagining the way people experienced adult content. Around that time, I had an idea that felt revolutionary: Holodex VR.

The concept was simple yet groundbreaking. With virtual reality starting to gain traction, I envisioned an immersive platform where users could step into a digital space and interact with performers in ways never before possible. It was bold, ambitious, and so far ahead of its time that even I had trouble wrapping my head around it completely.

There was an investor working in the same building as my office. I’d seen him around—sharp suit, confident demeanour, the kind of person who looked like he could make things happen. One day, I decided to take a chance. I approached him with my idea, pitching Holodex VR as passionately as I could, laying out the vision and potential.

By the time Holodex started taking shape as more than just an idea, it had already become an obsession. I could see its potential so clearly—the innovation it could bring, the impact it could have. But not everyone in my life shared that vision.

At the time, I was married. My wife wasn’t exactly thrilled about my new venture. I can’t blame her entirely—Holodex wasn’t your typical project. It was unconventional, ambitious, and, in her eyes, risky. What started as frustration over the time I spent on it quickly grew into something bigger, a wedge driving itself between us.

Eventually, it all came to a head. One night, she gave me an ultimatum: Holodex or me.

It was devastating. How do you even begin to choose between something that feels like your purpose and someone you love? To be put in that position felt unfair, like I was being asked to cut out a piece of my soul.