What if I just wrote my name here.
What if I posted a picture of my face?
Why won't I?
Yes, yes, the law and whatnot. The fear of being arrested, of having door closed, of my parents. Shame. Those things are real. But they are not the heart of it.
There are so many stories I have fragmented, compartmentalized. They cling together and bend or swing away as needed; perhaps they are embedded in my bones. Perhaps my joints reflex when I am hit with a situation, an interaction, a question, little pieces of my history swing away, into a distance I try to call irrelevant.
Why do I keep my names caged, individualized? Why do I not embrace the entire community that is comprised by my many faces and identities? I hesitate to say that the name on my state identification is the "real" one. The experiences I have had while being called Corey are as real as any others. They have left their marks on my mind, soul, and lord knows, my body. Passports expire, scars do not.
What is the formula to figure out my real name? Is it where I put in the most hours? Is it the name that is the foundation of my bread and butter? Is it the name my family knows me by? Which family? Over the years, letters have been lost from the name my mother gave me at birth. Being trans, people often ask what my "real" name is - and what they mean is that they wish to know the name I was given at birth. It does not matter to them that even my mother now calls me something else. And she does it even when she's referring to me as a baby. It doesn't matter that the change is legal and proper and you won't find any valid documents that reveal it. The question serves no practical purpose. If I am there before you, you know me, I am legible. It is simply a voyeuristic fantasy. A dirty joke. A reduction of my humanity, my journey - one that was wrought with pain - into an amusement. A token of insider gossip. I detest this and if I feel so empowered, I refuse to give it up. I am usually extremely tolerant of personal questions regarding my gender. This is the one I will not answer. Whatever name I have given you upon our introduction, it is my real name. Repeat it back to me.
This does not only happen with folks who know I am trans. It happens in the business all the time. Customers who want to feel special, who want to believe that you will whisk them away to the champagne room and fuck them, and for free at that, want to know your "real" name to feel like they have some edge over all these other sorry customers. Perhaps if there was not so much shame around paying for anything sexual they would do this less. But I am hard pressed to be particularly sorry from a provider's point of view, because in the end it is still I who bears the brunt of the repercussions. When I am on stage and a client who wishes to buy a dance from me asks me for my real name, I lean down close and bat my eyelashes up at them. "Corey iiiiis my real name" I croon sweetly, and to stop their objections in their tracks, I quickly interject "does Corey really sound like a stripper name?" This usually does the trick. I always feel like I am lying through my teeth when I say this. Not because it is a lie - Corey is a real name for a real part of me, but because of the syrupy saccharine background I imply with it in those moments. I think most any other ho would understand the realness behind calling me Corey. These clients though, do not. Perhaps there's the divergence, in the interpretation. A client pictures Corey as a sweet and naughty youngster, enamored with them and loving to strip. They imagine Corey in the grocery store, wearing a crop top and high heels reaching over her head to pluck a loaf of bread from the shelves, revealing perhaps a peek at her g-string. Whoever that Corey is, werq girl. But I am not her. When I talk to other hos, I imagine they get a more accurate picture. Corey in the grocery store in sweats, a little of last night's mascara still on, nursing bruised knees from the 9 hour shift at the club, carefully counting crumpled dollar bills and dividing them quickly between rent, milk, and lipstick.
---
It is true that sometimes I wish to decompartmentalize. All of my names belong to the same address, I am not an island and there are intersectional ways I wish I could conduct the conversation about this work, in particular.
Why don't I?
I suppose I am still looking. Waiting to be surrounded by community that places value in me ahead of my entertainment value. Waiting to build my tribe, find safe keepers of my many stories who will weave them together in a tapestry that will keep me warm and safe, rather than simply on display.
Friday, October 11, 2013
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Strip Club Websites
I want to take a quick break from some of the loftier stuff to just tell a story.
One of the things that made me really nervous about going to work in the club before I actually did it was the website I had seen for the club I was considering. And then, every website I ever saw for every club, everywhere.
They're super intimidating!
Looking at the website for a club, you'd think that all of the dancers who work there are super flawless, porn-star "quality" women who are 5'8 and above with long bleach blonde hair and triple d tits. Let's not even get into that they're usually all white. (This is definitely true for the first club I worked at and is NOT reflective of who works there.)
Imagine my terror, even pre-t, to enter one of these spaces thinking I could work among these women, thinking I stood a chance in a market, of sorts, against them.
Imagine my surprise to enter an actual club and find out that the women who work there are pretty much your everyday people! Buzz kill.
I guess that's the secret I want to let slide right now. Most of the women you see on the website for a club don't actually work there. The people that actually work there are your friends, neighbors, waitresses, day care providers, cousins, girlfriends - anyone. So if you're considering stripping, don't check the club's website gallery and psyche yourself out. Just stop by!
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Extra, Extra: Sex in the Champagne Room, Part 1.
There are a few things I've really been itching to talk about lately. I want to commit to doing them soon so I can get them off my mind. They are:
1) Sex in the champagne room is bad for business.
2) The hierarchy of strippers as earners on the basis of "beauty" and age.
2A) Subsequently: self esteem, beauty and power in the club.
2B) The Economical Ugly and the Economical Pretty: pressure, sexism, power and negotiating.
3) Inherent differences between stripping and other sex work, and changes that occur when they overlap, both economic and environmental.
4) Why I don't drink on the job.
It seems a little stupid, but I really have to break it down, because I keep trying to write on topics 1-3 as one post, and all I get is a really complicated, confusing mess of academic sounding douchebaggery. So I'm just going to level with you and tackle one piece at a time in a series of posts.
So, sex in the champagne room. I know I've posted before about specifically not having sex in the champagne room, but just because I don't do it doesn't mean it doesn't happen. It does, with some frequency in fact. And that makes me sad.
In a club where as a general rule (and I don't mean a written rule as in the law, I mean a rule as in what actually tends to happen) the entertainers don't offer "extras" in the champagne room, everybody's prices level out. They mostly hover around a common number with some girls being more or less expensive depending on a few factors I'll get into later.
Stripping is supposed to be an entertainment that does not include any actual sex acts (between the customers and entertainers - shower shows and girl/girl shows set aside, for my purposes here). Still, the striptease is obviously erotic and sexual in nature. And considering that there is sex work of all kinds, it's not hard to understand how lines get blurred. But when an entertainer in a club starts offering extras in the champagne room with her dances, things get complicated and fucked up (no pun intended) for everybody. This is because, to simplify the situation, entertainers who don't do extras can't compete with one who does in the same club. No customer is going to choose to pay $300 for an hour in the champagne room that leaves him with blue balls over an hour in the champagne room, for the same price, that includes a bj. (In fact, many customers will pay for the whole hour, go in just for the bj, and leave - as having achieved a sexual favor puts them atop the ladder of gratification, by which I mean return for their money, so they instantly have bragging rights.) Even if they want to, they won't, because capitalist tendencies have been so engrained in them that they'll feel practically guilted into taking the best "deal" or whatever gets them the "most" product for their money. It also implies a hierarchy of sexuality in which acts that include touching are superior to those centered around watching, which isn't kind to the folks who actually prefer watching. And that's a problem. It means the other entertainers have to come up with a competitive edge. And generally speaking, their most obvious options are to either lower their rates or start giving head too, because other competitive edges they may have had have probably already been played out in the establishing of the previous equilibrium.
If it's just one entertainer, the consequences are somewhat mitigated, for a time, until the customers start catching wind. Once they know that some girls will provide extras with their services, they gain more power in the negotiations. It's shitty to be an entertainer faced with a customer who's telling you that they'll take their $300 and go spend 20 minutes with Sapphire unless you have something more to offer than the standard fare you've been serving. And it seems unfair, because it's not your job to provide extras, it is the deal than an hour long dance is $300, and now that's not going to happen.
It's like a customer in a restaurant demanding the server go change the oil in his car while his eggs are cooking. As that server, you want to be like, "What the fuck is your problem? I'm not your servant. My job here is to bring you eggs, and that's it dickhead. Don't forget, 15%."
But you can't do that. Number one, you work in a service position, so being rude to the customers is a one way ticket to unemployment. You can't be particularly sensitive about how demanding they are in the taking of you services, because you know they could go easily sit in someone else's section, and then you'd have no business at all. And you can't even demand a tip because technically, they're not obligated to give you one. And you know that being demanding about it isn't going to bump you from 15 to 20%. So what do you do? You take their bullshit with a smile and you weigh your options. But these days, who really has the option to tell a customer with cash to get the hell out?
It's unfortunate. If every entertainer in a club committed to a "no extras" policy and actually stuck with it, they'd all be making about $300 an hour simply by doing the job they're supposed to be there for. I'm not saying that nobody actually wants to provide sex services or that it in itself is wrong or inherently problematic. I'm saying that it's not what stripping is, and it's not what many people become strippers to do. And if none of them did, none of them would have to. That doesn't happen though, because there's not much in the way of motivation for strippers to unify. In most cases they're independent contractors who are owed nothing by their clubs or by other dancers. It's every entertainer for herself (not to say there aren't boy strippers and sex workers too, but that's just not the environment I'm talking about here because I haven't experienced it). There are already enough factors at play that give some entertainers an edge (which is where that tricky little word "about" comes in, because it's actually a big deal) with either most general customers of specific subsets of customers, that they have no or little control over, so it's not surprising that a) people would only perform work in ways that served their own best interests and b) customers would take advantage of the competitiveness that abounds. Why shouldn't they? Pretty much everything about the social standards and dynamics inside and outside of the club tell them that it's okay, it's not personal, it's just capitalism. But frankly, that's just stupid. There are so many different historical processes that come into play here. But I think they're for the next post. This is getting a little lengthy.
So, to sum it up: sex in the champagne room happens. It makes it really hard for entertainers who don't want it to keep doing the work they do want to do. It's not nice to bring it into the strip club. It's kind of like cheating at the game. But cheating is to be expected in a game you can't win any other way.
1) Sex in the champagne room is bad for business.
2) The hierarchy of strippers as earners on the basis of "beauty" and age.
2A) Subsequently: self esteem, beauty and power in the club.
2B) The Economical Ugly and the Economical Pretty: pressure, sexism, power and negotiating.
3) Inherent differences between stripping and other sex work, and changes that occur when they overlap, both economic and environmental.
4) Why I don't drink on the job.
It seems a little stupid, but I really have to break it down, because I keep trying to write on topics 1-3 as one post, and all I get is a really complicated, confusing mess of academic sounding douchebaggery. So I'm just going to level with you and tackle one piece at a time in a series of posts.
So, sex in the champagne room. I know I've posted before about specifically not having sex in the champagne room, but just because I don't do it doesn't mean it doesn't happen. It does, with some frequency in fact. And that makes me sad.
In a club where as a general rule (and I don't mean a written rule as in the law, I mean a rule as in what actually tends to happen) the entertainers don't offer "extras" in the champagne room, everybody's prices level out. They mostly hover around a common number with some girls being more or less expensive depending on a few factors I'll get into later.
Stripping is supposed to be an entertainment that does not include any actual sex acts (between the customers and entertainers - shower shows and girl/girl shows set aside, for my purposes here). Still, the striptease is obviously erotic and sexual in nature. And considering that there is sex work of all kinds, it's not hard to understand how lines get blurred. But when an entertainer in a club starts offering extras in the champagne room with her dances, things get complicated and fucked up (no pun intended) for everybody. This is because, to simplify the situation, entertainers who don't do extras can't compete with one who does in the same club. No customer is going to choose to pay $300 for an hour in the champagne room that leaves him with blue balls over an hour in the champagne room, for the same price, that includes a bj. (In fact, many customers will pay for the whole hour, go in just for the bj, and leave - as having achieved a sexual favor puts them atop the ladder of gratification, by which I mean return for their money, so they instantly have bragging rights.) Even if they want to, they won't, because capitalist tendencies have been so engrained in them that they'll feel practically guilted into taking the best "deal" or whatever gets them the "most" product for their money. It also implies a hierarchy of sexuality in which acts that include touching are superior to those centered around watching, which isn't kind to the folks who actually prefer watching. And that's a problem. It means the other entertainers have to come up with a competitive edge. And generally speaking, their most obvious options are to either lower their rates or start giving head too, because other competitive edges they may have had have probably already been played out in the establishing of the previous equilibrium.
If it's just one entertainer, the consequences are somewhat mitigated, for a time, until the customers start catching wind. Once they know that some girls will provide extras with their services, they gain more power in the negotiations. It's shitty to be an entertainer faced with a customer who's telling you that they'll take their $300 and go spend 20 minutes with Sapphire unless you have something more to offer than the standard fare you've been serving. And it seems unfair, because it's not your job to provide extras, it is the deal than an hour long dance is $300, and now that's not going to happen.
It's like a customer in a restaurant demanding the server go change the oil in his car while his eggs are cooking. As that server, you want to be like, "What the fuck is your problem? I'm not your servant. My job here is to bring you eggs, and that's it dickhead. Don't forget, 15%."
But you can't do that. Number one, you work in a service position, so being rude to the customers is a one way ticket to unemployment. You can't be particularly sensitive about how demanding they are in the taking of you services, because you know they could go easily sit in someone else's section, and then you'd have no business at all. And you can't even demand a tip because technically, they're not obligated to give you one. And you know that being demanding about it isn't going to bump you from 15 to 20%. So what do you do? You take their bullshit with a smile and you weigh your options. But these days, who really has the option to tell a customer with cash to get the hell out?
It's unfortunate. If every entertainer in a club committed to a "no extras" policy and actually stuck with it, they'd all be making about $300 an hour simply by doing the job they're supposed to be there for. I'm not saying that nobody actually wants to provide sex services or that it in itself is wrong or inherently problematic. I'm saying that it's not what stripping is, and it's not what many people become strippers to do. And if none of them did, none of them would have to. That doesn't happen though, because there's not much in the way of motivation for strippers to unify. In most cases they're independent contractors who are owed nothing by their clubs or by other dancers. It's every entertainer for herself (not to say there aren't boy strippers and sex workers too, but that's just not the environment I'm talking about here because I haven't experienced it). There are already enough factors at play that give some entertainers an edge (which is where that tricky little word "about" comes in, because it's actually a big deal) with either most general customers of specific subsets of customers, that they have no or little control over, so it's not surprising that a) people would only perform work in ways that served their own best interests and b) customers would take advantage of the competitiveness that abounds. Why shouldn't they? Pretty much everything about the social standards and dynamics inside and outside of the club tell them that it's okay, it's not personal, it's just capitalism. But frankly, that's just stupid. There are so many different historical processes that come into play here. But I think they're for the next post. This is getting a little lengthy.
So, to sum it up: sex in the champagne room happens. It makes it really hard for entertainers who don't want it to keep doing the work they do want to do. It's not nice to bring it into the strip club. It's kind of like cheating at the game. But cheating is to be expected in a game you can't win any other way.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Naked Integrity
Sex work of all kinds is controversial in feminist communities. As you know, I don't identify as a woman, but I do identify as a feminist, so I often find myself wondering whether it is ethical for me to strip.
I don't identify as a woman. Given that, do I have the right to make a profit from objectifying a female body? A woman's identity? When I work, I am not honest about who I am. I have not and never intended to tell anyone I worked with or anyone I danced for (aside from Boyfriend) how I identify. That's why I shave my face so closely before I go to work. I'm not Corey the FtM stripper while I'm actually stripping. While I'm actually stripping I'm Corey, the cute, somewhat shy, short-haired stripper girl. So in essence, what I'm representing while I strip is a woman who is okay with the sex industry, at least in terms of stripping, who is often objectified and makes money from that. A woman who has a lot of fun stripping, in fact. However, during the rest of my life, I represent a trans man who does not make a point to vocalize his female bodied experience, let alone advocate my choice to present as a woman in a sex industry space.
That's not to say I never talk about my trans experience. It happens sometimes when I don't pass. It happens often when I'm outed one way or another. And sometimes it even happens by choice. I've had the pleasure of speaking at conferences and workshops and college classes (usually gender/sexuality classes or psych classes) about my personal experience as a trans person and about the logistical/legal complications of simply walking around the world as a trans person (a trans 101 style, if you will). But I do not, generally, talk about my experience as a sex worker, let alone as a trans sex worker. In fact, I believe, publicly, it's happened two times. At one notoriously liberal public policy conference, and once at a conference/training for health care professionals who do HIV/AIDS testing, treatment and care (talking about how they can better serve lgbt communities and ask the right questions about our varied experiences). But that's pretty much it. Some of my friends know, and obviously Boyfriend, but I didn't exactly write home when I started. Am I ashamed? I won't start down that road right now. Do I wish I spoke more about it though? Often, yeah. But again, conversations (about demystifying and making safer and more honest) for another day.
Essentially what I get to wondering is, is it ethical for me to put a female body out there to be objectified and participate in sex work, when I don't live my life as a woman who's willing to advocate, own and represent making that choice? It doesn't seem quite right.
On the other hand, it's my body. It belongs to me, and I get to do with it what I choose. As a trans person, as a person who was assigned and socialized female, I have often found myself facing limited, complex and loaded options. Whatever I felt I needed to do, or wanted to do, to be able to operate within the framework the world gave me, should be okay, shouldn't it? But I'm a man. Would a man in any other circumstances have the right to choose to make a profit in this way? I guess a man in other circumstances would probably be making the decision over someone else's body. So again, where does this leave me?
It's not like I made a point to say to every man I danced for, "I'm a woman." People just made that assumption and I just went with it. Am I responsible for that? It would not have been safe for me to say otherwise, but I did make the choice to enter into that unsafe space. (Of course, if I had my druthers, all spaces would be safe.) And I did shave off all my body hair (or wax - ouch), apply fake eyelashes and wear tall heels. I guess that's not really "just going with it." Whether I like it or agree with it or not, these are things I know to be gendered. But what if I disagree with the gendering? What if those were things I enjoyed even though I don't identify as a woman? What if I enjoyed drag? Does that make me responsible for other people's assumptions? What about when I'm knowingly playing into (and profiting off of) them? What about the integrity of the service I'm providing? In large part, there is an element of dishonesty to stripping in the fantasy aspect. So does it matter if I'm taking the "fantasy" of it one step further? Should I be considering notions of consent when I'm having homoerotic interactions (not that they're erotic for me - they're not really, but what I mean is I'm a dude engaging with these other dudes in a sexy way) with these men who think they're simply and directly engaging with a woman? They didn't ask for a lap dance from a dude, it's not part of the "contract". But does it matter that I'm not exactly what I'm selling? Or maybe I am. What I'm selling in fantasy, not reality, anyway. Furthermore, whatever they or I interpret my body to mean or represent doesn't change what it is. I have a pussy. And a pretty decent set of tits. That's just the truth. That's part of the transaction that can't be fabricated or misrepresented or even represented in the first place. It's just something that is and is consistent in all the moments of my life. And it's in large part molded by testosterone. So idk. Maybe I'm just queering up the mainstream strip club with my stealthy, FtM, queer, T-oozing self and my dude-ly FAAB bod? Idk.
I do have to say, a lot of, if not queerness, interestingness happens. For example, when I went back to the club after having been on T for almost a year, I was absolutely terrified that guys wouldn't be interested in me anymore, that I wouldn't fit within the realm of mainstream femme desirability - or worse - that they'd figure me out. But not only did nobody figure me out, they liked me more. Constantly guys were commenting on how they loved my deep, raspy voice. My super toned arms (which I had worried would seem too bulky), and often my short hair. I don't want to get graphic here, but I will say that testosterone changed my body in many ways that had me very worried about getting naked in people's faces, but consistently, to my surprise, men loved my body. (If you know a bit about trans* stuff, you probably know what I'm getting at here. If not, maybe one day when I'm feeling a little less shy I'll do post all about my awesome... *ahem* "equipment".) Anyway.
Part of me sort of feels like saying fuck it. I don't owe anybody anything and I get to do what I want with my own body and my life. That's my business. But another part of me has to ask, what are the implications of that? I own the body, but who is forced to own the consequences of what I do with it? Women. (And by consequences here I am not talking about any potential harm that may come to me in the line of work - I mean socially - I mean the ideas and perspectives the men who come to my club leave with and carry with them)
I don't identify as a woman. Given that, do I have the right to make a profit from objectifying a female body? A woman's identity? When I work, I am not honest about who I am. I have not and never intended to tell anyone I worked with or anyone I danced for (aside from Boyfriend) how I identify. That's why I shave my face so closely before I go to work. I'm not Corey the FtM stripper while I'm actually stripping. While I'm actually stripping I'm Corey, the cute, somewhat shy, short-haired stripper girl. So in essence, what I'm representing while I strip is a woman who is okay with the sex industry, at least in terms of stripping, who is often objectified and makes money from that. A woman who has a lot of fun stripping, in fact. However, during the rest of my life, I represent a trans man who does not make a point to vocalize his female bodied experience, let alone advocate my choice to present as a woman in a sex industry space.
That's not to say I never talk about my trans experience. It happens sometimes when I don't pass. It happens often when I'm outed one way or another. And sometimes it even happens by choice. I've had the pleasure of speaking at conferences and workshops and college classes (usually gender/sexuality classes or psych classes) about my personal experience as a trans person and about the logistical/legal complications of simply walking around the world as a trans person (a trans 101 style, if you will). But I do not, generally, talk about my experience as a sex worker, let alone as a trans sex worker. In fact, I believe, publicly, it's happened two times. At one notoriously liberal public policy conference, and once at a conference/training for health care professionals who do HIV/AIDS testing, treatment and care (talking about how they can better serve lgbt communities and ask the right questions about our varied experiences). But that's pretty much it. Some of my friends know, and obviously Boyfriend, but I didn't exactly write home when I started. Am I ashamed? I won't start down that road right now. Do I wish I spoke more about it though? Often, yeah. But again, conversations (about demystifying and making safer and more honest) for another day.
Essentially what I get to wondering is, is it ethical for me to put a female body out there to be objectified and participate in sex work, when I don't live my life as a woman who's willing to advocate, own and represent making that choice? It doesn't seem quite right.
On the other hand, it's my body. It belongs to me, and I get to do with it what I choose. As a trans person, as a person who was assigned and socialized female, I have often found myself facing limited, complex and loaded options. Whatever I felt I needed to do, or wanted to do, to be able to operate within the framework the world gave me, should be okay, shouldn't it? But I'm a man. Would a man in any other circumstances have the right to choose to make a profit in this way? I guess a man in other circumstances would probably be making the decision over someone else's body. So again, where does this leave me?
It's not like I made a point to say to every man I danced for, "I'm a woman." People just made that assumption and I just went with it. Am I responsible for that? It would not have been safe for me to say otherwise, but I did make the choice to enter into that unsafe space. (Of course, if I had my druthers, all spaces would be safe.) And I did shave off all my body hair (or wax - ouch), apply fake eyelashes and wear tall heels. I guess that's not really "just going with it." Whether I like it or agree with it or not, these are things I know to be gendered. But what if I disagree with the gendering? What if those were things I enjoyed even though I don't identify as a woman? What if I enjoyed drag? Does that make me responsible for other people's assumptions? What about when I'm knowingly playing into (and profiting off of) them? What about the integrity of the service I'm providing? In large part, there is an element of dishonesty to stripping in the fantasy aspect. So does it matter if I'm taking the "fantasy" of it one step further? Should I be considering notions of consent when I'm having homoerotic interactions (not that they're erotic for me - they're not really, but what I mean is I'm a dude engaging with these other dudes in a sexy way) with these men who think they're simply and directly engaging with a woman? They didn't ask for a lap dance from a dude, it's not part of the "contract". But does it matter that I'm not exactly what I'm selling? Or maybe I am. What I'm selling in fantasy, not reality, anyway. Furthermore, whatever they or I interpret my body to mean or represent doesn't change what it is. I have a pussy. And a pretty decent set of tits. That's just the truth. That's part of the transaction that can't be fabricated or misrepresented or even represented in the first place. It's just something that is and is consistent in all the moments of my life. And it's in large part molded by testosterone. So idk. Maybe I'm just queering up the mainstream strip club with my stealthy, FtM, queer, T-oozing self and my dude-ly FAAB bod? Idk.
I do have to say, a lot of, if not queerness, interestingness happens. For example, when I went back to the club after having been on T for almost a year, I was absolutely terrified that guys wouldn't be interested in me anymore, that I wouldn't fit within the realm of mainstream femme desirability - or worse - that they'd figure me out. But not only did nobody figure me out, they liked me more. Constantly guys were commenting on how they loved my deep, raspy voice. My super toned arms (which I had worried would seem too bulky), and often my short hair. I don't want to get graphic here, but I will say that testosterone changed my body in many ways that had me very worried about getting naked in people's faces, but consistently, to my surprise, men loved my body. (If you know a bit about trans* stuff, you probably know what I'm getting at here. If not, maybe one day when I'm feeling a little less shy I'll do post all about my awesome... *ahem* "equipment".) Anyway.
Part of me sort of feels like saying fuck it. I don't owe anybody anything and I get to do what I want with my own body and my life. That's my business. But another part of me has to ask, what are the implications of that? I own the body, but who is forced to own the consequences of what I do with it? Women. (And by consequences here I am not talking about any potential harm that may come to me in the line of work - I mean socially - I mean the ideas and perspectives the men who come to my club leave with and carry with them)
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
The Choice
Or, how I got started in "the industry".
Prior to my transition, I worked in a restaurant. I worked hard. I served and bussed and did prep and support for other servers (aka "fountain bitch"). I busted my butt to constantly give people what they wanted. To listen to their comments, compliments, complaints, answer questions and watch them eat. I did all of this, usually, in 7 hour shifts or 13 hour shifts. And for the often degrading work, I made a staggering two dollars and sixty-three cents per hour. Perfectly legal - a "server's wage". I lived on tips, but in a restaurant you can't coerce people to tip you. You can't even ask them to, and hell, some days you feel lucky when they don't run out on the bill altogether.
(Know who pays for that? You think about what a server's wage is next time you
think it might be funny to dine and dash. It's probably half a night's tips you're stealing from your poor server.)
I never felt safe to come out at work so I didn't. In fact, if you went in you might notice there were no boys on serving staff. All but one of the managers were men, and the cooks were men as well. But all of the servers were young, attractive girls. We were hired to be looked at and bossed around. And you know what? Surprise! People treated us like crap. And they could. I don't know what it is about service positions but for some reason society has come to consensus that it's okay to be disrespectful and treat people in these positions like objects of your ownership and disdain.
While I worked there, my general manager and the most regular cook both felt somehow entitled to constantly tell me how hey felt about my body. How cute I was, how pretty. The cook told me, verbatim, that I had beautiful breasts and constantly called me "b.b.". He'd drop ice cubes down my shirt and block my path in the service aisle so he could give me the up and down. The 46 year old convicted felon (ahem...cook) also told me I should go work at his favorite strip club. That I had the body for it and I'd make way more money than working at the restaurant. Every single day we worked together, on and on it went. The harassment and catcalls and the "when am I gonna see you at the (club name)?!".
And one day, I guess you could say I snapped. I was in my freshman year of college and still at that restaurant and I couldn't take it. I got dressed and drove to a strip club over the border in the next state (NOT my cook's club-of-choice), was hired on the spot and started working that same night (a story for another post). I was broke ($2.63! I was barely making enough for the gas to get to work), I needed some way to pay to start testosterone (and eventually have top surgery) and I figured why not? People have been oh so cutely encouraging me and objectifying me and ogling me anyway, so why not make more money for it?
But you know what? The club was nothing like that. The men I worked with were nice to me and looked out for my well being. When customers were inappropriate or disrespectful, they got thrown out. I hardly even had to complain because bouncers were already watching my back, and if I was alone in the champagne room, I could walk right out and just say the word. And I still always got tipped. Even customers at the club treated me differently. Since my body was right there and it was okay for them to look, they looked, commented, and moved on. They actually asked me about other things. What I took in school, where I grew up. Maybe they didn't really care, but
neither did I. The point is they made polite conversation without, generally, thinking I belonged to them.
The trade off here is when you get a shitty customer at the club, even though they're probably only minutes away from being tossed out, during the time they're there, they're A LOT shittier. They say the kind of fucked up things only alcohol and no home training can loosen your lips for, and sometimes they get grabby. It's fucked. But wrong as it is, it at least seems to make some sort of sense. And at least it's called out. And kicked out. Who'd have thought my work environment would be so much better, safer even, in a strip club than a family-oriented restaurant?
I'm not saying every club is like this. But so far, the ones I've worked in have been. And to be fair, I don't go back somewhere if I don't get the feeling they'll take care of me like that. As a stripper - an "independent contractor" in the eyes of many a state law, I have that ability. So guess what? An hour of my time and work is never going for $2.63 again. Not with the kind of strings that came attached in essentially every work environment I was ever in as a lady-presenting person. (And that's been pretty much the case - jobs as a woman come with this element of unspoken expectation that I'll be nice a certain way, I'll aim to please, I'll accept less pay, and I'll allow people to ogle me and I'll be quiet about it.)
It seemed so odd at first, but now it sort of makes sense to me. In a way, a strip club is a pretty honest place. A more honest place than anywhere else I've worked. (Assuming we're all on board and recognizing the "fantasy" aspect in which I'll entertain you and pretend I care about you but we both have an understanding that we don't actually have a relationship outside of this place and transaction.) I'm here to profit from the fact that you want to look at and lust after my body. Naked. You're here because you want to look at and lust after me naked, which you get the privilege of doing for a price. There are rules. You don't get to touch me. You don't get to be disrespectful. We're very up front about all of these things. I had customers who came to the to-go window at the restaurant time and time again because they wanted to look down my shirt when I leaned over. And I gave them that "privilege" because I didn't have much of a choice. And there was no room for dialogue about it because nobody was acknowledging it as the reality. I didn't have the opportunity to state whether or not I was willing to participate in this transaction - your better tips for a few less of my buttons buttoned up. And that's fucked. That's what made me not want to do it. Do I actually have a problem with unbuttoning a few buttons and getting a few dollars for turning you on? Not at all, if I get to choose to participate in that. Maybe it's even fun for me. But I want the chance to say, I'm choosing to do this (as opposed to something else - because this "choice" is of course only within the context of the fact that I don't have a choice about participating in labor/capitalism in some way if I want to live), and I get to set the boundaries, and you're not just pushing or coercing or tricking me into it in some sleazy backhanded way.
So that's how I got into it the first time around. When Boyfriend and I got together, I wasn't anymore, but I went back, as you already know, to pay for his top surgery. But round two, when I was already on testosterone, is a story for another post.
Prior to my transition, I worked in a restaurant. I worked hard. I served and bussed and did prep and support for other servers (aka "fountain bitch"). I busted my butt to constantly give people what they wanted. To listen to their comments, compliments, complaints, answer questions and watch them eat. I did all of this, usually, in 7 hour shifts or 13 hour shifts. And for the often degrading work, I made a staggering two dollars and sixty-three cents per hour. Perfectly legal - a "server's wage". I lived on tips, but in a restaurant you can't coerce people to tip you. You can't even ask them to, and hell, some days you feel lucky when they don't run out on the bill altogether.
(Know who pays for that? You think about what a server's wage is next time you
think it might be funny to dine and dash. It's probably half a night's tips you're stealing from your poor server.)
I never felt safe to come out at work so I didn't. In fact, if you went in you might notice there were no boys on serving staff. All but one of the managers were men, and the cooks were men as well. But all of the servers were young, attractive girls. We were hired to be looked at and bossed around. And you know what? Surprise! People treated us like crap. And they could. I don't know what it is about service positions but for some reason society has come to consensus that it's okay to be disrespectful and treat people in these positions like objects of your ownership and disdain.
While I worked there, my general manager and the most regular cook both felt somehow entitled to constantly tell me how hey felt about my body. How cute I was, how pretty. The cook told me, verbatim, that I had beautiful breasts and constantly called me "b.b.". He'd drop ice cubes down my shirt and block my path in the service aisle so he could give me the up and down. The 46 year old convicted felon (ahem...cook) also told me I should go work at his favorite strip club. That I had the body for it and I'd make way more money than working at the restaurant. Every single day we worked together, on and on it went. The harassment and catcalls and the "when am I gonna see you at the (club name)?!".
And one day, I guess you could say I snapped. I was in my freshman year of college and still at that restaurant and I couldn't take it. I got dressed and drove to a strip club over the border in the next state (NOT my cook's club-of-choice), was hired on the spot and started working that same night (a story for another post). I was broke ($2.63! I was barely making enough for the gas to get to work), I needed some way to pay to start testosterone (and eventually have top surgery) and I figured why not? People have been oh so cutely encouraging me and objectifying me and ogling me anyway, so why not make more money for it?
But you know what? The club was nothing like that. The men I worked with were nice to me and looked out for my well being. When customers were inappropriate or disrespectful, they got thrown out. I hardly even had to complain because bouncers were already watching my back, and if I was alone in the champagne room, I could walk right out and just say the word. And I still always got tipped. Even customers at the club treated me differently. Since my body was right there and it was okay for them to look, they looked, commented, and moved on. They actually asked me about other things. What I took in school, where I grew up. Maybe they didn't really care, but
neither did I. The point is they made polite conversation without, generally, thinking I belonged to them.
The trade off here is when you get a shitty customer at the club, even though they're probably only minutes away from being tossed out, during the time they're there, they're A LOT shittier. They say the kind of fucked up things only alcohol and no home training can loosen your lips for, and sometimes they get grabby. It's fucked. But wrong as it is, it at least seems to make some sort of sense. And at least it's called out. And kicked out. Who'd have thought my work environment would be so much better, safer even, in a strip club than a family-oriented restaurant?
I'm not saying every club is like this. But so far, the ones I've worked in have been. And to be fair, I don't go back somewhere if I don't get the feeling they'll take care of me like that. As a stripper - an "independent contractor" in the eyes of many a state law, I have that ability. So guess what? An hour of my time and work is never going for $2.63 again. Not with the kind of strings that came attached in essentially every work environment I was ever in as a lady-presenting person. (And that's been pretty much the case - jobs as a woman come with this element of unspoken expectation that I'll be nice a certain way, I'll aim to please, I'll accept less pay, and I'll allow people to ogle me and I'll be quiet about it.)
It seemed so odd at first, but now it sort of makes sense to me. In a way, a strip club is a pretty honest place. A more honest place than anywhere else I've worked. (Assuming we're all on board and recognizing the "fantasy" aspect in which I'll entertain you and pretend I care about you but we both have an understanding that we don't actually have a relationship outside of this place and transaction.) I'm here to profit from the fact that you want to look at and lust after my body. Naked. You're here because you want to look at and lust after me naked, which you get the privilege of doing for a price. There are rules. You don't get to touch me. You don't get to be disrespectful. We're very up front about all of these things. I had customers who came to the to-go window at the restaurant time and time again because they wanted to look down my shirt when I leaned over. And I gave them that "privilege" because I didn't have much of a choice. And there was no room for dialogue about it because nobody was acknowledging it as the reality. I didn't have the opportunity to state whether or not I was willing to participate in this transaction - your better tips for a few less of my buttons buttoned up. And that's fucked. That's what made me not want to do it. Do I actually have a problem with unbuttoning a few buttons and getting a few dollars for turning you on? Not at all, if I get to choose to participate in that. Maybe it's even fun for me. But I want the chance to say, I'm choosing to do this (as opposed to something else - because this "choice" is of course only within the context of the fact that I don't have a choice about participating in labor/capitalism in some way if I want to live), and I get to set the boundaries, and you're not just pushing or coercing or tricking me into it in some sleazy backhanded way.
So that's how I got into it the first time around. When Boyfriend and I got together, I wasn't anymore, but I went back, as you already know, to pay for his top surgery. But round two, when I was already on testosterone, is a story for another post.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Etiquette and "Tunes To Get Naked To"
I wanted to post just quickly to share two things:
The first is an article on lap dance etiquette for men that I actually found to be quite good. Please read it. I'll post more on strip club etiquette (both for patrons and new dancers) another time.
The second, to create a somewhat irregular trend, is another list! This time, it's
My 5 Favorite Songs to Striptease To
I evaluate strip club songs based on three criteria, which I consider to be the essential elements of an excellent strip tease song:
Speed:
too fast = 1
nice and slow = 10
Length:
so long my legs are going to shrivel up and fall off = 1
short and sweet = 10
Bass:
what? cowbell? = 1
can feel it from outside = 10
So, that said,
Number 5 is: A Tie! I Get Crazy/Drop It Low Girl by Nicki Minaj and Ester Dean, featuring Chris Brown, respectively.
S:6
L:8
B:6
This song is fun, lighthearted, and still has some killer beats to move to. And if Nicki isn't one hell of an icon to get into your fierce-stripper-lady mode, I don't know who is.
4. I Get It In by Omarion, featuring Lil Wayne and remixed featuring Gucci Mane
S:7
L:8
B:9
Again with the killer beats. Let's face it, it's a pretty sexy song. What's really great about it though is that it takes a moment to SLOW DOWN every so often. On my first night ever in a club, another dancer gave me what I still consider the best stripping advice I've ever gotten (possibly contested only by: don't drink on the job) and that was this: GO SLOW. Stripping is less about dancing than it is about looking sexy and moving gracefully. She told me to start off, just try to move through a series of flattering poses gracefully and as slowly as humanly possible. It's sexier, and if you don't have a whole lot of moves under your g-string, it eats up a lot of the time on your set so you don't end up hugging the pole and wiggling your butt for an entire 20 minutes. You're also a lot less likely to get carried away and fall, which is the fastest way to ruin a night. Finally, it's SHORT. There are few things more obnoxious than having to drag an act out to an 8 minute song. There's just no way to keep it entertaining that long. Dancers and customers need the change of pace.
3. Down On Me by Jeremih, featuring 50 Cent (or is it the other way around?)
S:6
L:6
B:8
Parts of this song are a little faster than I might recommend for a brand new dancer, but then again, it's basically describing a strip club experience, so how appropriate right?
2. Closer by Nine Inch Nails
S:9
L:4
B:8
There isn't much to explain about this song. It's hot and it's slow. Really slow. Yet somehow it still keeps intensity throughout. You want that. However, this is what I call a "black leather boots" song, and as they tend to be, it's a little on the longer side. It's a little out of genre for some dancers as well, and you'll probably only catch it on a rock set where sometimes you'll get a whole different "genre" of stripper.
1. Little Freak by Usher, featuring Nicki Minaj
S:9
L:5
B:9
If ever there were a perfect song to strip to, this is it. It's slow, it's hot, Nicki is on it, and it's about letting out your wild side - perfect to get you in the mindset for "dancing". Maybe it's not super short, but it's good enough to make up for that.
The first is an article on lap dance etiquette for men that I actually found to be quite good. Please read it. I'll post more on strip club etiquette (both for patrons and new dancers) another time.
The second, to create a somewhat irregular trend, is another list! This time, it's
My 5 Favorite Songs to Striptease To
I evaluate strip club songs based on three criteria, which I consider to be the essential elements of an excellent strip tease song:
Speed:
too fast = 1
nice and slow = 10
Length:
so long my legs are going to shrivel up and fall off = 1
short and sweet = 10
Bass:
what? cowbell? = 1
can feel it from outside = 10
So, that said,
Number 5 is: A Tie! I Get Crazy/Drop It Low Girl by Nicki Minaj and Ester Dean, featuring Chris Brown, respectively.
S:6
L:8
B:6
This song is fun, lighthearted, and still has some killer beats to move to. And if Nicki isn't one hell of an icon to get into your fierce-stripper-lady mode, I don't know who is.
4. I Get It In by Omarion, featuring Lil Wayne and remixed featuring Gucci Mane
S:7
L:8
B:9
Again with the killer beats. Let's face it, it's a pretty sexy song. What's really great about it though is that it takes a moment to SLOW DOWN every so often. On my first night ever in a club, another dancer gave me what I still consider the best stripping advice I've ever gotten (possibly contested only by: don't drink on the job) and that was this: GO SLOW. Stripping is less about dancing than it is about looking sexy and moving gracefully. She told me to start off, just try to move through a series of flattering poses gracefully and as slowly as humanly possible. It's sexier, and if you don't have a whole lot of moves under your g-string, it eats up a lot of the time on your set so you don't end up hugging the pole and wiggling your butt for an entire 20 minutes. You're also a lot less likely to get carried away and fall, which is the fastest way to ruin a night. Finally, it's SHORT. There are few things more obnoxious than having to drag an act out to an 8 minute song. There's just no way to keep it entertaining that long. Dancers and customers need the change of pace.
3. Down On Me by Jeremih, featuring 50 Cent (or is it the other way around?)
S:6
L:6
B:8
Parts of this song are a little faster than I might recommend for a brand new dancer, but then again, it's basically describing a strip club experience, so how appropriate right?
2. Closer by Nine Inch Nails
S:9
L:4
B:8
There isn't much to explain about this song. It's hot and it's slow. Really slow. Yet somehow it still keeps intensity throughout. You want that. However, this is what I call a "black leather boots" song, and as they tend to be, it's a little on the longer side. It's a little out of genre for some dancers as well, and you'll probably only catch it on a rock set where sometimes you'll get a whole different "genre" of stripper.
1. Little Freak by Usher, featuring Nicki Minaj
S:9
L:5
B:9
If ever there were a perfect song to strip to, this is it. It's slow, it's hot, Nicki is on it, and it's about letting out your wild side - perfect to get you in the mindset for "dancing". Maybe it's not super short, but it's good enough to make up for that.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
couch dollars, couch potatoes
The hardest part of dating a stripper is not, in my opinion, the (potential) jealousy over the sexy time or the potential for income disparity between partners. From what I've experienced, the hardest part of dating a stripper is the time. In a serious relationship, especially when you live together, you get used to spending a lot of time together. And when you live together, you get real used to falling asleep together, cuddling, shifting alongside your partner in your sleep... Hell, having dinner together, watching the 11 o'clock news...
The hardest thing about dating a stripper is losing that, as often as your partner works. And from the perspective of a stripper, it's hard as hell to walk away from. How do you find a balance? The money is so good, you can support your family and have a great time together with it, but the time lost is so precious, so easy and nice. And for what? To go somewhere that may be fun but is also full of people spilling their drinks and bitches trying to stab you in the back and guys getting grabby and cigarettes and red bull... Who, at the end of the workday, the work week especially, wants to choose that over a cozy night on the couch with Boyfriend and some chicken wings and no razor burn? It's hard. It's hard not to both depend on the job and the rush and the access it provides and simultaneously resent the separation it creates. I remember how hard it was every time, leaving Boyfriend after a rushed dinner (if we even had time for that), sometimes missing him completely, leaving before he even got home from work. And it was awful. There was definitely a shift or two I missed because we just didn't want to part. Friday nights where we'd barely seen each other all week with work and it's finally our weekend and we've had long days and then I come home to just turn around and leave? I understand that people go their separate ways to work all the time, but considering we were both working full time jobs, that was supposed to be our time. Our dinners and evenings together, and our bedtime together. I knew he had a hard time falling asleep, staying asleep without me in the bed. I felt guilty, which was the strangest sensation knowing that I could simultaneously spoil him. ;) But me getting back at the crack of time to get up, ruining both our sleep cycles. Oy. It wasn't easy.
The hardest thing about dating a stripper is losing that, as often as your partner works. And from the perspective of a stripper, it's hard as hell to walk away from. How do you find a balance? The money is so good, you can support your family and have a great time together with it, but the time lost is so precious, so easy and nice. And for what? To go somewhere that may be fun but is also full of people spilling their drinks and bitches trying to stab you in the back and guys getting grabby and cigarettes and red bull... Who, at the end of the workday, the work week especially, wants to choose that over a cozy night on the couch with Boyfriend and some chicken wings and no razor burn? It's hard. It's hard not to both depend on the job and the rush and the access it provides and simultaneously resent the separation it creates. I remember how hard it was every time, leaving Boyfriend after a rushed dinner (if we even had time for that), sometimes missing him completely, leaving before he even got home from work. And it was awful. There was definitely a shift or two I missed because we just didn't want to part. Friday nights where we'd barely seen each other all week with work and it's finally our weekend and we've had long days and then I come home to just turn around and leave? I understand that people go their separate ways to work all the time, but considering we were both working full time jobs, that was supposed to be our time. Our dinners and evenings together, and our bedtime together. I knew he had a hard time falling asleep, staying asleep without me in the bed. I felt guilty, which was the strangest sensation knowing that I could simultaneously spoil him. ;) But me getting back at the crack of time to get up, ruining both our sleep cycles. Oy. It wasn't easy.
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