If you're a prostitute, this is your day: You party, you have customers until four or six in the morning, then you sleep. You wake at noon, watch soaps on TV, take two or three hours to fancy up yourself, and then you start waiting for customers. That's your life. And some days no customers come. There's no party. There's nothing. You sit there and wait. If you're educated you can read books, but in Bangladesh and most other places you watch TV or listen to music or cook.

I've made many documentaries, but prostitution was the hardest in terms of gaining the trust of the people being filmed.

Mostly I take photographs in times of research. Whores' Glory was shot in 30 days, 10 days for each segment, but the research for each part lasted a couple of months.

La Zona is such a closed area, a dangerous, outlaw area. My time in the Zona was a time outside of society, almost out of the real world. And the girls there had such a sense of irony and sarcasm. They were also really interested in my film. They'd be like, "Thank God we live in Mexico, because our kind of prostitution has a heart. We wouldn't want to sit behind a glass cage or be sold by our own mothers. We have free will."

Whenever a man enters the realm of prostitutes he's always regarded as a possible customer. If you enter as a woman, you're regarded as somebody who could be in the same place. Being a man brings the perspective of flirtation.

On one hand, prostitutes don't struggle because it's simply their life. In Mexico and elsewhere, once they get out of these places [brothels] they have a pretty square life. In Bangladesh it's different because they live in the brothel, it's sort of a prison, but still there are two sides. When they think of their religion and their upbringing, they can be very moralistic. They're moralistic about giving blow jobs. On the other hand, they have an everyday life where there's no room for shame.

If you connect with someone just once, that's something. But if you can connect twice, that's something else.