Why has OnlyFans suddenly taken over our TV screens?

As the women of Turned On: Dirty Sexy Money introduce themselves, the numbers come quick.

$800,000 a month. $10,000 a week. $3 million a year from only working two days a week.

Within the first two minutes of the new reality series exhibiting the top one per cent of OnlyFans creators, the audience have heard figures that would take an average Aussie decades to earn.

Clad in sequin-lined dresses, a skintight cat costume and micro bikinis, the young women laugh about the strangeness of their job — a rite of passage in any workplace, right?

Only they’re not debating who will change the printer toner or sniffing out the fish in the microwave culprit. Rather, they’re fielding a range of bizarre requests, from role-playing to painting themselves blue.

Launched in 2016, OnlyFans is now predominately known for its pornographic content, with more than 4.6 million creators and over 377 million registered users. It came into its own over the pandemic, as creators sought to make much-needed funds in the safety of their own homes.

The Stan series offers a glimpse into the glamorous Cartier bracelet-wearing and multimillion-dollar-mansion-purchasing world of some of its top earners — a Real Housewives-esque format selling the dream that you can have it all. That is, if you’re young, attractive and willing to bare it all on the internet.

And this “dream” has found a new home — prime time. Turned On joins a wave of television that has made the platform a central plot device, from gripping dramas to outright controversy.

In the third season of HBO’s high-budget Euphoria, Cassie (played by Sydney Sweeney) reinvents herself as an OnlyFans creator to elevate her already luxurious life — crawling on the ground in a puppy costume before graduating into content that actual sex workers have argued wouldn’t be permitted on the platform.

Her portrayal is provocative, graphic and for many: deeply problematic. Critics have said its themes perpetuate the stereotype that sex workers will do anything, for anyone, for enough money.

In contrast, Margo’s Got Money Troubles on Apple TV Plus — based on the novel by Rufi Thorpe — takes a more considered approach.

Elle Fanning’s Margo turns to the platform after struggling to make money to support her young son, building her following through anonymous social media accounts before she’s doxxed and judged by her family.

It’s messy and hard-won, but ultimately she makes a decent living.

Maximum Pleasure Guaranteed, also on Apple, hooks viewers through a different lens — when main character Paula (Tatiana Maslany) engages cam boy Trevor before things take a sharp and violent turn.

OnlyFans has also found its way into the hallways of Abbott Elementary and the trading floors of Industry.

Sex on screen is nothing new, it’s been a compelling storytelling device for decades. OnlyFans simply offers a new-age vehicle to serve it up.

And on the much smaller screen, social media has produced its own stars too.

Blue-eyed Kayla Jade recently released her memoir Call Girl Confidential through Simon & Schuster, whereas Anna Paul — who documents her global travels and waterside home to her seven million followers — launched skincare label Paullie Skin to a six-figure waitlist.

But their audiences didn’t arrive overnight, rather their wealth and notoriety was built from years of content, carefully cultivating fans and creating viral moments that most creators won’t have the dedication, or perhaps luck, to replicate.

And despite the high-flying world and riches that many of the creators and characters portray on screens, the reality for most is very different.

The average creator reportedly earns $131 a month, meaning the gap between the fantasy sold on screen and the bank accounts of most creators is vast. For every Cassie making it big, or Anna Paul building an empire, there are millions around the world chasing similar numbers that are barely even covering their bills.

It’s something Gracie Canaan, an OnlyFans creator and co-host of OnlyFantasy, an Audible podcast that explores the platform alongside journalist Leon Neyfakh, wants audiences to be aware of.

Canaan told The New York Times that she hopes young viewers, especially young women, won’t confuse some of these shows with reality.

“I’m wary of any media,” she said, “that shows it as a risk-free, get-out-of-jail-free card and an overnight success.”

While it’s a reality that makes for less compelling television, for the vast majority of creators logging on each day, it’s the only season they’re starring in.