Not sure when my fascination with strippers or the art of stripping began, all I know is that as other little girls projected to be the first woman President of the United States, I wanted to be Nomi Malone. As much as I’d like to chalk it up to my wonder years in Oakland, CA, I grew up on a boat in a marina. We weren’t hood, just dirt poor. Later, I attributed the allure of exotic dancing to the steady access to quick money. When I moved to South Phoenix the only two options for underage income was drug dealing or stealing. To be real, I have an honest face. I would end up dead as a drug dealer or in prison as a thief.  But stripping? That’s taking your clothes off for money, I do that daily in the gym for free; I can handle stripping, plus it’s legal.

Have you ever heard of a glamour spell? Well clearly you haven’t watched The Craft (or developed a taste for the occult as I did in junior high). At any rate, ‘a glamour’ is a spell that makes people believe something (or someone) is better than reality. The industries ecdysiasts have transcended the everyday, casting the impression that the truth of their job is not only mysterious but somewhat idealistic.

There are four reasons why exotic dancing appealed to me in particular:

The New Workout Plan

Most strippers have an incredible tight and toned body, not to mention upper body strength from hoisting themselves up countless hours in the day. The key thing about stripper’s bodies is that they are flexible, curvaceous but low in body fat, and feminine. The act of working a pole involves contortion and strength without looking like a circus freak. If your body is how you earn a living, then working out becomes more of a priority than say if you work 10 hours a day behind a desk in a cubicle. There’s no excuse good enough to prevent a workout. Your income depends on how you look when you’re clothes come off. And while everyone covets your admirable physique, asking how they can get a body like yours, you’re plotting the DVD sales to build your empire. Ca-Ching!

Low Lighting, Lots of Makeup

Do you know how harsh office lighting is on imperfections? Magnified under coarse fluorescents you can find the faded chicken pox scar from second grade or the mere hint of crow’s feet. Not so much in the low haze of strip clubs. The crater on your face where the dog bit you as a toddler? GONE! The third degree burns from boiling hot water mishaps? VANISHED! Honestly when you’re flashing pert nipples bordered by darkened areolas, no one calls out supposed blemishes. Plus no one outside the club will see you without the carefully applied clown makeup. The idea is not in the intricacies of the aesthetic, but more the overall attractiveness of the figure.  And by the time you want people to see you without the artifice; you’ll have earned enough money to fix whatever problem area that plagues you. Win-Win.

I Can Be Your Freak

There’s an odd catch-22 with strippers: they sell the idea of sex, yet you wouldn’t call them a hoe because (as a man) you still want to sleep with them. Yet a normal woman, let’s say at the grocery store, who gives off the same vibe of carnal knowledge is most definitely classified as a hoe. A stripper is this erotic mix of seductive and mysterious, because for some reason every man ‘wants’ her but she gets to choose which one gets her attention (usually for superficial reasons that deem his financial appropriateness). Strippers represent a sense of scarcity of freakdom and thus men flock. Fascinating.

All Eyes on Me

Women continually complain that men don’t listen to them. When you’re on that stage, gyrating to a hypnotic beat, every man will hear you. He’ll swallow your words with every sway, gulp them down in the mesmerization of your moves. The practiced pout as your hand snake dives down your body, your face a mirror of ecstasy. Suddenly there’s a clamor for attention. Make sure to use your words, because if you talk too much he’ll start imagining you without a head and eventually ask you what else that mouf do. Carefully choreographed captivation clearly controls the conversation. Bingo, Bango, Bongo!

In my humble opinion, stripping is an honest profession. It’s the perfect imitation of the mating ritual. Admirer (read customer) sees girl who appeals to his basic masculine desires, he proceeds to interact and engage in a social fashion (read gestures her over with money). She allows him to believe he’s in control while venting her well-practiced tricks; these manipulations convince him he’s the only one worthy of her attention. Overcome by the rush of her affections he rewards her generously for her efforts. Maybe not monogamous, but the relationship is mutually beneficial— as long as you know (and maintain) your role.

In what other job can you excel with minimal education, training, and business acumen? Stripping is a good job to build some life skills. You’re an independent contractor after all— market yourself accordingly.

Just Lissen

F. Scott Fitzgerald quipped ‘You dont write because you want to say something, you write because you have something to say.’

Whether on this site or on her personal blog ‘The Soundtrack of My Life’, there are never enough words to capture her essence. Her aim is to exhaust all of the words in the English language, and then invent new ones because writing is her passion. Sometimes funny, sometimes reflective, always honest; it’s a fresh take on common issues.

 

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