August Aemes

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August Aemes
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in centimeters - 168 cm
in meters - 1.68 m
in feet inches - 5’ 6”
in kilograms - 55 kg
in pounds - 121 lbs
Father - Not Known
Mother - Not Known
Brother - James Grabowkski
Sister - Not Known

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The Sobering Lessons Behind the Death of Porn Star August Ames
Jon Ronson’s new podcast explores the death of Canadian August Ames, who died by suicide amid a cyberbullying campaign against her.
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This article originally appeared on VICE Canada .
In December 2017 August Ames died by suicide at age 23. Her death came just 48 hours after being lambasted for a problematic tweet. In the months that followed those close to her blamed internet bullying and cancel culture for the performer’s death. The onslaught of hateful comments toward Ames was simply too much to handle. Public shaming had pushed her mental health to its limits. The story attracted the attention of journalist Jon Ronson, who explores the circumstances surrounding her death in his latest podcast The Last Days of August .
Ames—real name Mercedes Grabowski—was born in Antigonish, Nova Scotia, to a military family. Her childhood was tumultuous as her parents’ divorce caused strain with her family. The actress told her father she had been repeatedly molested by a male member of her extended household. He accused her of lying. Ames was sent to live in a group foster home. She was later diagnosed as bipolar, and suffered from depressive episodes.
At 19, Ames made an effort to escape the childhood trouble of her small town for a supposed life of adventure. She filled out a model submission form for the adult industry. Within weeks Ames was flown to California to begin working in porn.
Over the next four years August Ames would appear in over 270 pornographic films, shooting with major companies, and being nominated for multiple awards including female performer of the year . Her clips racked up over 460 million views on Pornhub alone.
But in the winter of 2017 Ames career took a sharp turn. She refused to shoot with a male performer because he had previously done gay work. She posted about her decision on Twitter. The tweet was met with a barrage of criticisms. Some users called her homophobic and close-minded. One tweet suggested she eat a cyanide pill. Ames’ defense of her comment—she shouldn’t have to sleep with anyone she doesn’t want to sleep with—only caused more friction.
Two days after her post Ames was dead by suicide. Her last tweet was the words “ fuck y’all .”
In his bestselling book So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed , Jon Ronson examined the effect that internet bullying and mob mentality can have on people’s lives. The book followed individuals like Justine Sacco . In 2013, Sacco became the No. 1 Twitter trend worldwide after posting a racist joke. This happened despite the fact that, at the time, she only had 170 followers. Sacco lost her job because of the tweet. Her social media was bombarded with thousands of awful comments, including threats of violence and rape. Ronson followed up with Sacco after the incident, acknowledging the terribleness of the comment while also asking bigger questions: was the appropriate response to a horrid post a mob of concentrated online shaming? What does that kind of shaming do to a person's mental health?
Ronson contacted Ames’ husband Kevin Moore—a producer 20 years her senior that she had met and married shortly after debuting in the industry—to speak about the internet bullying surrounding his wife's death. Moore was adamant that the Twitter pile-on had killed Ames. Initially Ronson assumed this was another story about the impact of online shaming, but after digging into the situation he quickly realized the events leading up to the porn star’s death were more complicated. People within the porn industry distrusted Moore. Some speculated that he killed his wife. Roughly six weeks before her death, Ames filmed a scene in which her Russian co-star was particularly violent, bringing up unwanted memories from her past.
While the situation has all the trappings of a Serial -esque mystery, in an interview with VICE Ronson was honest about his intentions for The Last Days of August . It’s not a murder mystery. The podcast paints a picture of the everyday struggles sex workers face, and shows the humanity behind people the world often dismisses.
“When I was doing my show The Butterfly Effect [Ronson’s podcast examining how the rise of free streaming porn changed the industry] I asked someone if she knew the names of the porn performers she watched. She said she never learned the names. She compared it to killing a deer. When you kill a deer, you don’t name it, because then you can’t eat it,” Ronson said. “That quote stayed with me when I thought about August. Why were people only comfortable with porn performers behind a screen? And what does that do to the performers themselves?”
Throughout The Last Days of August Ronson points out that there are porn people who have healthy lives and enjoy their work. They like the attention and money it brings them. But in 2018 the industry saw a pattern of overdoses and suicides that pointed towards larger problems with addiction and mental health issues. The stigmatization towards sex work further alienates performers and can cause issues finding practitioners who offer sex-friendly mental health support. While people are happy to use porn on the regular, thinking too hard about the lives of the performers isn’t something they’re willing to do.
Ronson believes that hypocrisy can be deadly. He hopes his work can contribute to changing the narrative. “People don’t want to think about their own habits. They’re quick to judge people within the industry,” he said. “But porn is a huge and important part of people’s lives. The fact that people are uncomfortable with that makes it all the more important to tell these stories.”
The Last Days of August doesn’t offer listeners a definitive answer for why Ames committed suicide. Throughout its seven episodes it points towards all of the different ways the performer was mistreated by her peers, her loved ones, and the industry as a whole. The tragedy of the show isn’t just the fact the Ames took her own life, but how desperate she was to escape negative situations and please people who ultimately let her down. The backdrop of extreme circumstances is used to tell the very human story of a person trying and failing to create a better life for themselves. With so many shows in the current podcast landscape dependant on the sensational nature of true crime, it is a welcome—if sobering—listen.
Correction, November 11, 2019: An earlier version of this story stated that August Ames' husband Kevin Moore contacted Jon Ronson. In fact, Ronson contacted Moore.
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On Tuesday, December 5, 2017, porn star August Ames took her own life after an onslaught on online bullying earlier that day. I wanted to make a video in tribute to her but decide instead to share with you the story of the struggles she went through online before her death.
It was later revealed that August Ames left a suicide note before taking her own life in a public park. According to The Blast , the Ventura County Medical Examiner revealed that the note was discovered in Ames’ car.
In the note, addressed to her family and friends, the 23-year old allegedly apologized for killing herself, but did not mention anything about the online backlash and betrayal she had been receiving after refusing to perform with a male performer who had done gay porn.
Ames, who had struggled with mental health issues, died of asphyxiation in the early hours of December 6 after hanging herself. Her body was found at 3:45 A.M. California time, in a public park 20 minutes from her home in Camarillo.
August Ames was married to porn director Kevin Moore who works for Evil Angel. He is understandably devastated by this loss later talked about that horrific night.
That day, she and I discussed the things happening on Twitter and the individuals involved. Mercedes decided that evening to go the gym to alleviate some of the stress. She then disappeared. Fifteen minutes north of us, the fires in Santa Paula started. The winds gusted to 50 miles per hour. When I couldn’t get in touch with her, I became very worried. I went to the gym and she wasn’t there. Then the power went out in our area.
With no power, spotty cell service, and wind that made it difficult to walk or drive, I began looking for her. I called the police. I called hospitals. But with the fires and the power outage, help wasn’t coming. I cannot describe the dread I felt standing outside, in complete darkness in a wind so powerful it could push me over. I spent the night driving around trying to find her and having no idea where she could be.
The next day, the coroners contacted me. My world and her family’s world were instantly shattered.
Mercedes was magnetic. She had a kindness in her that I had never experienced before. I once had a shingles infection in my cornea that caused an erosion. I had to sit in a dark room wearing these crazy sunglasses. I was in incredible pain and couldn’t do anything. Moreso, I was horrible to be around. For those several weeks, she took care of me like no one ever. There was no one like her. No one who transformed my life in such a positive way. She made me a better person.
The night that she disappeared has played on repeat in my mind thousands of times. What could have I done different? Guilt dominates my thoughts everyday. I hate life without her. It is a cruel existence devoid of color.
This August Ames website is copyright 2016 - 2018.

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Talking with Jon Ronson and Lina Misitzis about The Last Days of August
One of the stranger things about living in the age of social media has nothing to with living at all; one of the stranger things about living in the age of social media is dying in the age of social media. Whereas, in the past, a person's last words might be heard only by those closest to them, or maybe by nobody at all, now, a person's last words—or, at least, their last posted words—can be read by everyone who follows them, and stay suspended in the amber of the internet forever, there for people to like and share, reply to and screenshot.
The last words of adult film star August Ames—at least, the last words of hers on social media—were: "fuck y'all."
Ames wrote those words on the night of December 4th; she was found, dead by suicide, the next day. And, similarly to the way in which the last words of famous people from Marie Antoinette to Winston Churchill have been analyzed again and again since their deaths, so, too, were Ames's—along with the circumstances of her death.
The lead-up to that last tweet was a day of Twitter-shaming, brought on by an allegedly homophobic tweet by Ames, in which she said she'd walked off a film set after finding out that her male partner for the day had also acted in gay porn. Ames indicated that she'd refused to have sex with him for her own safety, which led many people to accuse her of participating in the stigmatization of gay men as being more prone to having sexually transmitted diseases. Though Ames insisted she wasn't homophobic, the Twitter hysteria accelerated, and she appeared to log off after tweeting, "fuck y'all."
In the days that followed her suicide, Ames's husband, Kevin Moore, who also works in the porn industry, doubled-down on the rhetoric that social media bullying was what led to Ames' death. But there were, particularly within the industry, dissenters to this narrative, and many who questioned its seeming simplicity. Was this really just a case of social media shaming triggering a dire response? Was her husband—20 years older than Ames, and rumored to be very controlling—hiding something? Had something negative happened to August when she was filming one day? Or was there something else going on altogether?
These are the questions that launch The Last Days of August, a long-form podcast on Audible (rather than being broken up into episodes, there are chapters; the whole listening experience is under four hours), which is hosted by Jon Ronson and produced by Lina Misitzis. As Ronson—who has written extensively about social media bullying, notably with his book So You've Been Publicly Shamed —recently told me: "There was something about August's story that made me want to do it from the beginning, when I thought this was a shaming story."
But he and Misitzis had another connection to Ames' story, the two last worked together on another Audible podcast, The Butterfly Effect , which traced the effects free online porn has had on the adult film industry. This experience allowed Ronson and Misitzis access to the world of August Ames and her peers, a place understandably populated by those who are highly skeptical of the kind of journalists whose interests lie mainly in the lurid and sensational. Ronson said, "I couldn't ignore the fact that I was the only person who had spent a lot of time in the porn world but also have done a lot of work with public shaming. I felt like I was too close to it to not do it."
What Ronson and Misitzis soon uncovered was that this wasn't a story just about public shaming—but that there also wasn't the kind of cinematic twist that so many people expect from podcasts; there was no uncovered murder here. Instead, what they uncovered was tragic in its mundanity, and its relatability; Ames' story was one that involved mental health issues, a childhood experience with sexual abuse, a confrontation with a coworker in which she felt compromised. It's a story that has no neat ending, no heroes or villains, and is all the more important, then, as a reminder of the myriad burdens so many people carry around within themselves, until they just can't anymore.
Below, I speak with Ronson and Misitzis about the podcast, what their experience was in telling it, and how it turned out to have its very own Me Too moment.
The interesting thing about public-shaming in the social media sphere is that, often, people participate in that sort of pile-on because they don't necessarily think of someone on Twitter as a real person—to them, it's just an avatar. I think that's really analogous to how a lot of people view sex workers, and specifically people in the porn industry. They know that they're human, but they don't always see them that way, and so they can abandon codes of civility more easily.
Lina Misitzis: I think that there's this etiquette in place around how we treat various people… and it seems like sex workers are excluded from that etiquette, and it's really heartbreaking.
Which is why I think The Last Days of August feels so different, because it's a nuanced and respectful portrait of a sex worker, but it doesn't hold back on any of the difficult parts of her life or industry, while never treating her like anything other than the complicated person she is. But that kind of nuance is almost always missing in social media, as it is in our perceptions of public figures.
Jon Ronson: And most people, most humans, have nuance, [but] social media is basically a platform for... constantly pulling somebody out to make them a hero or a villain. And there are magnificent heroes and villains... but most people aren't. Most people are a mix, most of them are in the middle. And if you're in the middle, well, everybody deserves a nuanced portrait. And yet, for some reason, social media views nuance as weakness. And I know that sounds sort of grim, but it's really true. If, on Twitter, something happens and somebody posts something that goes viral, if you say, "Wait, can we wait until more facts come in so we can make a decision based on all the facts?" you'll get a reply like, "We don't have to wait, we know what this person is like." It's horrible.
A lot of what you're dealing with here is the ethics of how to treat other people, and that also works within the construct of how you produced and put together this narrative. One thing I liked that you did was avoid making this into some sort of salacious cliffhanger; you let the listeners know pretty quickly that this was not a murder story. Why did you make that narrative choice?
LM: I'm gonna answer, in part, by citing you, Jon. Jon and I knew that this was a compelling story that deserved to be told slowly. It was basically a conversation that we had from the start. Jon would wake up at, like, two in the morning, and I would wake up a few hours later, and Jon would have emailed me in the middle of the night basically to say we have to make sure we don't falsely accuse anyone of murder who isn't a murderer.
JR: I was so worried about it because it was all on me, and probably one of the biggest responsibilities of my life to get it right. And while the story is August's—we have to tell her story—afterward, our story is everybody else's, and that's most definitely Kevin. So, ethically, internally, nothing gets harder than that.
LM: In this project, and also in the last thing we did together, The Butterfly Effect, we've ended up now doing these two stories where there aren't really any bad guys. There are certainly people with flaws, but there really isn't an antagonist, and so our duty in representing all of these stories is really finding out the motivations of every person. And an example of that having really worked is, just the other day, I got a text message from someone in the porn industry. He's not in the series, but had just heard the show and wanted me to know that he was still so angry with how nice we were being. And I didn't have to do this, but I wrote back and I said, "At the end of this experience, I stand by the reporting, and I'm not an apologist for any specific person in the series, but I also don't feel like any specific person in the series has done anything that is deserving of the anger that you're throwing at me right now." And I really stand by that. And I think it's really treating the stories as being comprised of humans that results in that outcome.
JR: Yeah, absolutely. Humans are a mess. I always say, "I'm a messy human," we all are. We all accumulate baggage, we all make mistakes, we're all a bit of a mess. We do smart things, we do stupid things. And I hope more than anything that people get that from this show. Except for the stories that August told about her childhood [abuse], this show isn't about a villain. It's about complicated, messy humans, which we all are. And I really hope people leave this story with compassion for Kevin, even if it'll be hard. And I personally feel a lot of compassion for Kevin.
What's so interesting to me is that so many people can say what you just said, and acknowledge that life is messy and that there are no easy answers, there are no good or bad guys. And yet, there are certain subjects that automatically bring out the most reductive type of moralizing in us. And those subjects usually are very closely intertwined with feelings of shame. And sex, and therefore sex workers, definitely bring that out in many people. But so do other issues that
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