The naked truth in a clothed world.

There is nothing worse than the morning after a full shift of stripping. Especially the morning after an exceptionally bad night. After a good night, the smell of the dollar bills spilling out of the bag you so carefully flung by your bed before you crashed for the night acts as a painkiller, making you high. After a bad night, the only consolation you have is knowing that it could be worse- you could work at McDonald’s. The only consolation is knowing you got a good workout, and most times, not even that is worth it. After a long, tough, busy night the most important thing to do before you go to bed is take off your eye makeup. Even if you’re too tired to get undressed, too tired to unload your bag and throw your dirty clothes in the basket, too tired to eat breakfast and rehydrate, too tired to close the blinds so the sun doesn’t wake you up when it rises in an hour, too tired to set your alarm for 1 PM so you don’t waste your day—TAKE OFF YOUR MAKEUP! False eyelashes, mascara, layers of eyeliner, shadows upon shadows of eyeshadow, powder and faded red lipstick are not a happy thing to wake up to. If you sleep in stage makeup, YOU WILL wake up looking like a character from the Rocky Horror picture show. Guaranteed.

I forgot to do this last night. My night was horrible. I hate Friday nights, I will never work one again- EVER. In my entire dancing career… I will never work a Friday. Saturdays are fantastic, but Fridays are horrific. It all started with the manager making pokey-index finger motions at me to “dance” while I was on the back stage with no customers tipping or even looking. I don’t dance for free, and I most certainly do not get naked for free. It’s called integrity. Blame it on my feminist mindset, but I most certainly was not going to let a MAN force me to get naked for free. Hell no. After I got off stage this resulted in a 15 minute “discussion session” on the politics of dancing, gender theory and why Scorpios are the worst star sign (he is a scorpio). I got 3 dances from a regular, a really nice older man who has a lot of good stories and drowns me in flattery. He smells nice too, that’s very important when you’re sitting on their lap. I got another dance from an out-of-towner that was nervous and stiff as a board. The only stage set where I made any money was my last one, when everyone had filtered in from the Beer Festival, drunk into oblivion and the place was swarming- of course, 30 minutes before closing. I don’t remember what song was playing, so it couldn’t have been the music that made me dance well. I think I dance the best when I like the music. I made 60 dollars on my last stage set, a third of my total earnings for the night. With what I had to put up with from the managers, the non-tipping customers, and the frustration of having a packed club that wasn’t buying dances nor was I able to hustle, I am disappointed I only made 180 dollars. That’s around 35 dollars an hour, but I’m used to making at least twice that, with a lot less frustration and dissonance.

A bad night of dancing is the worst hangover you will ever have. When you wake up, everything hurts, you can’t even pinpoint what hurts because EVERYTHING hurts. The first few steps on the cold concrete floor are shocking, and looking into the mirror is even worse. Smeared, raccoon eyes, pale puffy blotchy skin and bags under the eyes in not glamorous nor confidence inducing. A bad night of dancing leaves you virtually incompetent the next day. I only left the house to go grocery shopping with my ones, of which the grocery clerk predictably smiled sympathetically at.

It cracks me up. Being in the strip club environment, I can’t help but laugh when I get offstage sometimes, high on the smell of money and other girl’s cheap body spray, that the entire concept of exotic dancing is hilarious. Think about it- We dance naked for money. We’re all born naked. We’re all naked underneath our clothes. We put on a facade of makeup, blended with a fog machine and surrounded by mirrors, we spin around a pole and men throw money with dead president’s portraits at us. Hilarious. I am dancing because I want to see the world. In order to SEE the world, in this world, you must have assets– cash. So I bare my assets, and fool men into thinking that I think the world of them, when all I want to do is jump on a jetplane to India and run through forests with elephants and little children barefoot. I’ll get there someday, but for now I’m spinning around a pole and laughing, stomping my 8inch stilettos and writhing my naked body all over George Washington, Abraham Lincoln and the occasional visit from Ben Franklin.

Women sell themselves short everyday. They sell sex permissively and indirectly in a way that only perpetuates the patriarchy. I see it every day on my way to work. I’m sitting on the bus, enjoying the commute with my headphones sealing out the world, and a woman steps on the bus. Every seat is filled, but a man stands up and lets her sit in his place. This reinforces two things; one being the stereotype that women are weak and can not even stand up for a 10 minute bus ride, and two being male superiority. Simple things like sitting on buses, opening doors, carrying things, walking on the outside of the sidewalk, stepping down from high places, etc are all physical feats that ANY able-bodied healthy human can do perfectly fine on their own. Women- by allowing men to do these things FOR you, you are selling yourself short. Men especially like to do these things for women if they have attractive faces, shapely bodies and feminine clothing. Some women play into this tremendously to get by, batting eyelashes, flipping hair, giggling incessantly… it’s all part of the game, but it’s really nothing more than a business transaction. The woman “sells” her sexuality, the man “sells” his service, and such is the oddity of humanity.

If you’re going to sell your sexuality, at least sell it for a sum that brings you towards a goal. Selling yourself to have a man open a door for you or give up a seat is selling yourself short. If you’re going to sell it, sell it well.

My proposal is that exotic dancing is the most empowering and intelligent thing a woman can do for herself.