If someone had told me I was on the cusp of writing another book four months after giving birth to my first child, I would have considered it a cruel joke. I was a sleep-deprived, breast-feeding automaton, and my life was very far removed from what it had been. As a journalist living in Istanbul and Athens, I had covered terrorist attacks, smuggling rings and a military coup attempt. I had written two books on modern Turkey and its Ottoman legacy, travelling across the Balkans and the Levant, unencumbered by children or even the thought of children. That was my world, and my writing inspiration – not the small, cosy and utterly unfamiliar postnatal world that I now found myself in.
Yet to my surprise, I found my brain had not entirely atrophied as a result of becoming a mother. I became interested – fascinated, in fact – by ethical questions relating to the maternal body that I had never considered before. As I researched how to donate my surplus milk to a local hospital, I discovered the online world of commercial breast milk sales, and began to look into how money is made from the bodies of fertile and lactating women. I posed as a seller of my own breast milk, discovering a surprising range of customers. I thought about why we expect more altruism of women than we do of men, and how that altruism can be exploited.
“I thrived on the novelty of the subject matter, and its complexities.”
After the birth of my second child just over a year later, I broadened my research into other aspects of the maternal body: “VIP” egg donors, IVF marketing and surrogacy. Gradually, I built up a list of sources that could not be more different from my old contact list in Istanbul: embryologists, milk bank technicians, fetish experts and surrogates. I was now in a female rather than a male-dominated world. I thrived on the novelty of the subject matter, and its complexities – the darker side of the fertility industry, the wildly different cultural attitudes to commodifying women’s bodies across the globe, and the black markets cropping up in countries without explicit laws and regulations.
At every turn, I tried to examine how I felt about these morally complicated subjects – as objectively but also as honestly as possible. Sometimes, I found my rational and my emotional responses in conflict. I hope the book raises the same nuances for my readers – whether they have a stake in parenthood or not.
— Alev Scott
About the book
26 Feb 2026
A thought-provoking deep dive into the global fertility industry and the commodification of the maternal body
Should surrogacy be a paid service, an altruistic act – or even legal at all?
Is it right that you can pay more for ‘VIP’ egg donors – and to view their photos?
How much, if anything, should breastmilk cost – and who should be allowed to buy it?
The global fertility industry is rapidly growing, hugely profitable and morally complex. This an industry where one person’s biological bad luck can be another person’s financial gain. From egg freezing to black-market breastmilk, the maternal body has never been more commodified, yet the ethical, emotional and economic implications are rarely considered.
Through a combination of undercover reporting and detailed first-hand accounts – including a surrogate of 12 children, an international embryo courier and a man who buys breastmilk for his IBS – Alev Scott exposes how the IVF, surrogacy and milk industries operate around the world and who is profiting. In doing so, she considers the blurred line between exploitation and empowerment. Who should make money from the maternal body: only the women themselves, anyone or no one?
Timely, thought-provoking and compelling, Cash Cow is an unmissable investigation into how desire, desperation and commerce intersect, and the impact the fertility industry has on individuals.