Mon documentaire : The Heart of a Dominatrix

From the outside, making a documentary may seem deceptively simple.

You choose a subject, follow real life as it unfolds, press «record» and that's it.

If only it worked that way.

In reality, filmmaking requires stamina, curiosity, emotional openness... and an impressive amount of unglamorous problem-solving. It's not so much a question of seeking spectacular moments as of staying in place long enough for something authentic to emerge.

When I first presented my project to PlayboyTV Europe, the idea wasn't to make a film about my own life. I wanted to adapt a concept from my book: interview dominatrix women to find out why they do what they do. Playboy loved the idea, on one condition: I had to start with a film about myself.

That was the first real obstacle. I'm proud of what I've built, but putting myself in the spotlight didn't come naturally. I'm a community builder at heart; what motivates me is connecting people. So, how do you make a film about yourself without going into a huge ego trip (I'll save that for the dungeon), while still honoring the community that means so much to me?

Fortunately, I wasn't really short of material.

Between festivals, workshops, conferences, the Kinky Saloon and France FemDom, there was a lot to talk about. I rewrote my pitch and came up with a 26-minute film. My Playboy contact, Laura, laughed when she read it.

«It's not a 26-minute documentary,» she said. I want double that."

Sorry... what?

Suddenly, I found myself making a one-hour film. And even that proved insufficient.

Beyond my own work and public appearances, I wanted to include other voices in the film. Conversations with the likes of Rachel Rampage, Midori, Peter Cage, Alexandra Balance, Lady Vyra and Amaury allowed us to delve deeper into topics close to my heart: education, power exchange, community support and event organization.

This is where I'd like to take a break and talk about the technical side of making a feature film, or rather any film with a story and several people on screen. As viewers, we often forget all the work that goes into what we're watching. We enjoy an hour or two of entertainment without seeing the work that made it possible. But, as with being a professional dominatrix, most of the work is invisible.

For every minute that appears in the final cut, there are hours, sometimes days, of effort that you never see: research, planning, travel, technical problems, emotional management, funding stress, hard drive failures and backups of backups of backups.

And then there's the editing. This is where the documentary really takes shape. Every decision counts: who speaks, who doesn't, what context is offered, what silences are allowed. Editing is not just a question of narrative, it's also an ethical responsibility.

I couldn't have done any of this without my life and business partner, Jay. He's an experienced director and editor, but more importantly, he understands my vision and believes in my work. He has a rare talent for showing just enough of what goes on behind the scenes while preserving a certain mystery. He captured moments when I didn't even realize he was filming, which added unexpected depth. He also delved into the archives to find images that illustrated points close to my heart, but which I'd completely forgotten to explain once the lights were up. And striking this delicate balance, making the film accessible to a lambda audience while offering something new to experienced kinksters, was no mean feat.

Officially, we shot for 14 days. Unofficially? Much, much longer. Beyond the filming, Jay spent weeks glued to his computer, fixing bugs and shaping the story. I too spent weeks in front of mine, writing and rewriting scripts to get my message across, drafting contracts, negotiating terms and managing consent forms. It turns out that producing a film involves an impressive amount of paperwork.

In the end, the result is a 57-minute film about community, connection and the soul of BDSM. Yes, I'm at the center of the story, but I was able to stay true to what matters most to me: sharing my passion for bringing people together.

Here's the part people don't often talk about: if you really pay attention, the process transforms you. Spending months listening attentively to others reshapes your relationship to a subject. You learn patience. You learn restraint. You learn how much you still have to learn.

And that's exactly why I keep launching these crazy projects. They force me to keep learning: new techniques, new processes and, just as importantly, new things about myself. This documentary is not an end. It's a new beginning. And I still have a lot to share with you.