Singapore is gearing up for a major crackdown on massage parlours and “exempted” beauty salons. These outlets have in recent years increasingly been used as fronts for illegal sex-related activities, and the police has signalled its readiness to implement tighter licensing rules and fresh regulations being drafted by the city-state’s authorities. With the Singapore Police Force (SPF) reviewing the Massage Establishments Act to close loopholes and tighten oversight, the coming months are likely to see significant changes in how massage-related businesses are regulated — an issue that has been simmering for years as authorities try to balance legitimate wellness services with law and order concerns.
At the heart of the matter is the way “vice” operators have, in some parts of the island, slipped through regulatory cracks by labelling themselves as beauty salons (美容院) or hair salons (理髮店) — forms of business that are currently exempt from the strict licensing that applies to traditional massage parlours and spas. Under the current Massage Establishment licence regime, operators must obtain a licence from the police before they can legally provide massage services, with specific requirements about staff training, approved premises, and acceptable practices. Businesses that only provide manicures, pedicures, or haircuts, for example, are technically outside that regime if they don’t offer “massage” as defined by the law.
In recent enforcement operations, however, the boundaries between these categories have blurred. In 2025, plain-clothes police officers raided a cluster of three hair salons in Geylang that were found to be offering unlicensed massage services tucked away at the back of a shop, with beds and dividers set up behind the façade of typical salon equipment. Some of the workers appeared to be permanent residents, and inside those shops, clients were found on massage beds during the raids, illustrating how some operators are exploiting regulatory exemptions.
The strategy of using seemingly innocuous businesses to mask sex work activities isn’t limited to the famous Geylang stretch. In Yishun, another enforcement sweep uncovered two massage parlours and arrested four women accused of providing sexual services disguised as massages, in units located above ordinary neighbourhood shops and close to community facilities such as dental clinics or enrichment centres for children.
These undercover operations, often involving multiple agencies including the SPF, the Central Narcotics Bureau, and the Immigration & Checkpoints Authority, continue to net arrests for a wide range of offences — from unlicensed massage services to drug and immigration violations and touting. A multi-day raid in late 2025 saw 47 people arrested at massage parlours, public entertainment outlets and even a coffee shop, spanning areas from Orchard Road to Toa Payoh and Whampoa.
Officials say the purpose of the licence review is to ensure the regulatory regime remains fit for purpose and to update it for present-day challenges, not just to clamp down on honest operators, but also to disrupt those deliberately seeking to evade oversight. Coordinating Minister for National Security and Home Affairs K. Shanmugam has noted that licences issued have slightly declined over the past three years — from 907 in 2023 to 868 in 2025 — and that the number of incidents detected in licensed establishments has also fallen. Nevertheless, authorities remain aware of “disamenities” caused by errant operators and are intent on stronger regulatory controls.
The messaging from the authorities is clear: regulators are not warning — they’re preparing action. The tightening could take multiple forms, from redefining what constitutes exempted services to imposing new licensing conditions or even subjecting more types of establishments to police oversight. Potential reforms could involve stricter thresholds for training and accreditation, mandated locality controls to avoid inappropriate siting near schools or family areas, or a clearer framework to prevent the migration of vice businesses into innocuous trade categories.
The social context around this enforcement push is also worth noting. Local residents in places like Tanjong Pagar Plaza have long expressed discomfort with the presence of massage outlets near pre-schools and family spaces, leading Members of Parliament to call for a “refresh” of commercial mixes that favour family-friendly services over operations that may attract unwanted activities. Around 10 massage and spa businesses at that plaza have closed in the past months amid police actions and community pressures, with units now being repurposed for services like music schools and blinds outlets.
At the same time, authorities are mindful of distinguishing legitimate wellness businesses from those that violate the law. Many Singaporeans still rely on proper massage and spa services — from traditional tuina (推拿) to therapeutic treatments for muscle tension — as valued aspects of health and relaxation. The challenge for policymakers will be to preserve that legitimate ecosystem while dismantling channels use for sex work.
Spicy Auntie has seen this show before. Different neighbourhoods, same script, same moral panic dressed up as “regulatory review”. Remove, hide, repress: the holy trinity of Singaporean governance whenever sex appears in public view. Not sex itself, of course — Singaporeans are not monks — but sex that refuses to stay invisible, tidy, and conveniently zoned away from good neighbourhoods, good schools, and good people who prefer not to think about what their neighbours might be paying for after dinner.
Let’s be clear. Sex work exists in Singapore because there is demand. Not foreign demand. Not deviant demand. Local demand. Married men, single men, lonely men, bored men, curious men — and sometimes women too. Demand that does not magically evaporate because a massage parlour loses its licence, a spa closes in Tanjong Pagar, or a signboard is taken down in Yishun. Demand that simply relocates, adapts, and learns the next set of loopholes faster than lawmakers can draft amendments.
Yet the state keeps pretending this is a spatial problem. If “vice” is pushed out of sight — away from childcare centres, away from MRT stations, away from respectable coffee shops — then order is restored. The cards are shuffled, the mess swept under a different carpet, and everyone congratulates themselves on a job well done. Except nothing has been solved. Sex work hasn’t disappeared; it has just become more precarious, more hidden, and more dangerous for the workers involved.
Singapore loves euphemisms. “Wellness”. “Health services”. “Personal care”. Everyone knows what many of these places are, and everyone knows the dance of mutual pretending. The authorities pretend not to know until residents complain. Residents pretend shock when the thing they always suspected is suddenly confirmed. And the workers — often migrant women with limited options — absorb the real cost when the crackdown arrives. Licences revoked, income gone, visas questioned, names splashed quietly across enforcement notices.
The hypocrisy is not that Singapore enforces laws. It’s that it refuses to acknowledge reality while benefiting from it. The state collects taxes from entertainment, hospitality, nightlife, and tourism — all sectors lubricated by desire — while insisting that sex itself must remain invisible, unregulated except through punishment, and morally outsourced to “bad areas”. There is no honest conversation about labour, consent, safety, or harm reduction. Only geography and optics.
Spicy Auntie isn’t romantic about sex work. It can be very exploitative, coercive, and brutal. But repression doesn’t protect anyone; it just sharpens the edges. If Singapore truly cared about order, dignity, and public health, it would regulate sex work openly, protect workers explicitly, and stop pretending that moving a “spa” a few blocks away somehow cleanses the city’s conscience.
But that would require honesty. And honesty, Auntie suspects, is far more threatening than a massage table behind a curtain.