![]() ![]() Getting a guy on the line is a striptease in itself, spiritually. Of course, there is more to creating the fantasy: the craft of the tease, the art of entertaining, and the possession of a certain quality-the “it factor,” a decidedly feminine form of charisma that is often described as indescribable, yet basically comes down to one’s attractiveness transcending physical looks. Styles of dance changed as American mores shifted, but the work has always been the same: For all the mystique and fake names, the job is to undress on a stage with some form of contact with the audience. Lines between vaudeville and burlesque blurred. This was a time when many theaters were situated next to brothels, and the association between the stage and sex work only strengthened as the two began to offer the same types of entertainment. Madame Francisque Hutin was the first solo female ballerina to dance in New York City, shocking audiences as her semi-transparent skirt floated up, revealing her thighs and hips in an era when only prostitutes showed their ankles in public. In Striptease: The Untold History of the Girlie Show, Rachel Shteir traces the origins of the American strip club to 1827, during the Romantic Period, when ballet transformed into an art, performed by women for men. The Talker Builds a Crowd, Tunbridge, Vermont, 1975. That this time, the promise would not escape us. That we could make it at Dream Playhouse, Fantasy World, Mirage Exotic. ![]() After all, we had our own fantasy, too: that of upward mobility, the American Dream. I didn’t entirely disagree with him, but I got the sense that no one much liked hearing that as we fussed over the details of the fantasy. “You’re all just drag queens when it comes down to it,” said the make-up artist appointed to put eyelashes on us for a $20 fee. And yet, the fantasy endures-the idea that this time, almost anything could happen.Ī memory of working the clubs comes back to me: In the harsh overhead lighting of the dressing room, we were all eyeshadow, hair extensions, false lashes, and bottled scent, masking ourselves in the generic idea of feminine beauty. No matter what dreams the clubs promise, what they hold is more or less the same: lap dances, mirrored walls to create the illusion of something bigger, a series of private rooms. These, like the stage names of the girls who work them, are meant to evoke a certain mystique-one that stands out without veering too far from the expectations of the clientele. “I don’t think we have one of those right now,” the manager might trail off in response to your suggestion, his mind working to recollect the various Skylas, Ninas, Nikkis, Bebes, Brookes, and Kikis who had marked their names on dressing room lockers.Īs for the strip clubs themselves, you see the same words come up again and again in different formations: Diamond, Dream, Fantasy, Mirage, Exotic. Rachel Rabbit White explores the strip club's enduring fantasy of social and sexual upward mobility, both on-stage and offĪny girl who has dropped into a gentlemen’s club to make some cash has had to deal with that first order of business: What’s your stripper name? ![]()
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