Review: Magic Mike

Sorry for the radio silence! I spent the past week back home in Western Washington to be there for my family's annual car show. ^_^


While I was there I spent some time with my old friend & founder of my sometimes burlesque troupe, Miss Danger Sunshine of The Jezebel Rebels Cabaret. 

Myself, with Danger Sunshine, & Betty Aurora of the Jezebel Rebels. Photo by RJB Photo.

Naturally, we decided the only proper thing to do as professionals in the industry was to load up our purses with Jameson and go see Magic Mike. Overall, it was an entertaining, well-done movie. It did exactly what it set out to do. It was definitely visually pleasing, a lack of Ryan Gossling was perhaps the only problem there. And there are already so many reviews picking it apart. What I'd like to do is point out some of the sometimes painfully realistic bits of real stripper life in this flick. Realities for most on-stage sex workers in America, that I really enjoyed seeing on the big screen. I want to point out the accuracies.

Photo by Glen Wilson via flickr.

Dallas (Mathew McConaughey) has a wonderfully cheesy quote at the beginning of the movie while addressing the audience. "Fact is, the law says you cannot touch! [smiles] But I think I see a lotta lawbreakers up in this house tonight..." It is a fact that in most cities, in most states, the law says you cannot touch us & we cannot touch you. It's also a fact that almost every dancer, male or female, is expected to & does break this rule every time we go to work and some of us have or will encounter legal consequences for this. In many areas any touch, at all, no matter how innocent, opens us up to legal risk. Remember this the next time you are shocked by the price of a lapdance. We never know when a dance might cost us a lot more than they ever cost you.

I love that "the Kid" just gets thrown off the deep end. His first stage show is his first attempt at stripping. This is the reality for most strippers. We didn't take a class. No one coached us on what to do. Chances are someone called our name out over the mic and shoved us on stage with a smile, looking to see if we sank or could swim. And most of us looked nervous and ridiculous, but the audience didn't care. We walked away with a fistful of dollars, and never looked back.


One of my favorite shots of the whole movie? Straightening out bills. Seriously. Hours of my life.


At one point, one of the dancers throws his back out on stage while dancing with a customer and has to hobble backstage. Injuries are an all too common reality of dancing. Though I'd like to point out that most of the time, we just keep dancing & you have no idea. I've dislocated my knee mid-lapdance & kept going for two songs. True story bro.


I really liked that they included Mike trying to get a bank loan and getting declined even with his large cash payment. Because we deal exclusively in cash, dancers encounter these problems all the time. While there are obviously benefits to having all your money off the radar, anything requiring proof of income becomes a real challenge. It can be really, really hard to ever transition to another profitable job or business, or to rent or buy property, and the like.


Another thing I'd like to point out? The dancers weren't tragic figures with daddy or abuse issues, pariahs for selling themselves, or any of that.  They were just dancers providing sexually charged entertainment, making money. And that's exactly what dancers are. What I wouldn't give to see female strippers portrayed this way, to not be seen as just a desperate mess with no self-respect. They, and we, just have fun and make money. 


Also, notice that while the Kid can't seem to handle the attention and the money with grace and moderation, Magic Mike has his shit together. He works other jobs, he takes care of his house, he saves lots of his money, he has plans for his future when dancing no longer works for him, and while he indulges in drugs and alcohol he's not out of control. For every dancer who is a hot mess, there is another who is just doing their job and enjoying their life. In fact, there's two or three. The hot mess is the minority. 

Danger & I, being hot messes via Jameson & ginger ale.

There was one thing about this movie, that made me unbearably angry. I almost teared up, being halfway through our whiskey. Throughout the movie, the 100% female audiece was vocally supportive of our scantily clad protagonists. Until one scene where Mike (Channing Tatum), frustrated & emotional is pleading with his love interest, "Am I 'Magic Mike' right now, talking to you? I am not my lifestyle."


The audience laughed. 


SO much fury. For me, yes, I love my job. I *choose* to be so wrapped up in it. For the majority of dancers, it's just another job. It just pays the bills. It has as much to do with who they are as a person as being a customer service rep, or an insurance broker, or a travel agent. Just like most of you in other professions, who we are at work is not who we are when we get home, when we're with our friends, when we are with our significant others. It's a job. Mathew McConaughey is not Dallas off set, or the god's hand killer, or any other of his characters. And Channing Tatum is not Magic Mike off camera. Grow up, people.


Anyway, that's what I thought about the film. Did you see it? What did you think? 


Interested in learning more about The Jezebel Rebels Cabaret? Check out their Facebook page here. 

Head First

That bad mood I was fighting? I turned it into a profitable night.

It was slow. It was quite possibly *the* slowest Friday night that I've ever seen in a strip club. Ever. The dj claimed to have seen worse, but then elaborated that it was the first week this club was ever open, and they weren't even fully staffed yet. With two girls and only one customer all night, he shut it down six hours early and gave up.

By the end of the night, me and one other lovely lady dominated the dance board. Granted, it was still a very sad little dance board overall for a Friday night with about 15 girls. Most clubs have dance counters to keep track of how many dances each dancer does during their shift. I take notice when I'm among the top earners on the board (in reality can be a whole other ball game, but that's another story) on any given shift. Over the short time I've been dancing, this has traditionally been a rare occurrence.

In Seattle where I danced for two years, I typically put lower numbers on the dance board, towards the middle of the girls or lower.. Lately the trend has been changing. My stock has been going up. I've been learning, and, well, I've changed.

A few things set me apart and allowed me to succeed on Friday.


1. A good attitude.


2. Patience.


3. Luck.

When a night that's expected to be busy, and fun, and profitable, is dead instead, girls get cranky. Girls get very cranky. Very quickly. And it's just an awful vibe. It's contagious. Next thing you know you have a whole cluster of girls sitting in the corner drinking thinly disguised cocktails (full nude clubs are dry in Seattle & Los Angeles) giving the room an overwhelming amount of bitchface while talking mad shit about the girls they don't like, or in a pinch, the girls who are doing okay that night anyway. I've passed an awful lot of nights at work sitting in a corner just radiating hate through out the room. I like to keep to myself when cranky though, not be a hater. I like to make a real effort to be nice to everybody I work with. The more people on your side, the better, no matter what. But I digress.

The point is, I'd just written about the importance of being positive at work, and, I practiced what I preached. I took breaks to psych myself up when I needed to, focused on other things, and went out on the work floor with a smile, looking like I was having a good time. Guys have a very hard time suspending disbelief to get into the fantasy that a stripper wants to rip their clothes off when the girl doesn't even look like she wants to be in the room. They want to feel like just being around you is a fucking party they're going to take you home from.

It worked. I stood out. There wasn't much to work with, but I kept trying and I sold a very respectable number of dances. I have a number where I'm okay, a number where I'm happy, and a number when I feel I've reached serious stripper money. I turned this into a very happy night. But I only got that far because I was still out on the floor, ready to work, at ten minutes till close.

My club closes very, very late. Past last call at the bars. This night girls started giving up and leaving early. When the last half hour rolled around, almost everyone was on their way out. By ten till I was pretty much alone, and took it upon myself to make one last round to ask people waiting on their friends if they wanted dances, and boom, one customer jumps up and says hell yes. He buys a block of five songs. SCORE. Even better? He tips me 70%. There will always be nights that the last hour is completely useless. The last two hours even.  But, you pay a house fee, for a full shift, so, why not make the most of it? Girls with better bodies, with better hustle, girls almost ten years younger than me, left with no dances on the board. A good attitude, patience, and luck. The next time I'm the one at the bottom, I have to remember nights like this.

Luck got me my money. But only because I put myself in a position to be open to it. You can't get lucky if you're not around when it hits.

For example. The next day. I very nearly didn't go in to work. When I was running later than I had planned, I was even more inclined to skip. But I decided to stick with my plan. It's silly to not go in on a Saturday night. It was the best shift I've *EVER* had. In terms of the experience, and the payoff.

We'll talk about that experience another time though. ^_^ I'm still basking....

("money" photo courtesy of 401k 2012 @ http://www.flickr.com/photos/68751915@N05/6869768383/ & "Good Luck" photo courtesy of Artotem @ http://www.flickr.com/photos/artotemsco/4696646765/)

Ready For Those Flashing Lights

This is me. I've come a long way, baby. If you knew me before becoming a stripper and didn't see me till now, you wouldn't recognize me. Hell, if you saw me three months ago, you might not recognize me now. But that's a different story.

The first time I ever went to a strip club, I was freshly 18. The red lights mercifully masked how much I blushed. I gushed awkwardly to my friends about the dancers' amazing shoes and how could they possibly stand, let alone dance in them. I saw bootie popping for the first time and my head nearly exploded.

The second time, I was in college. An obnoxiously charming man, soon to become my boyfriend for a few years, bought me my first lap dance while our friends squirmed uncomfortably in their seats. It was amazing. I was and am pretty much all about men, but the sensuality was undeniably overpowering and enjoyable. I understood why men paid for dances even though they never (I thought) got to have sex with the girls. It was something else. I never forgot the way she moved, how she slid over me, and I would spend years sometimes trying to imitate her in mirrors when no one was around.

The third time, I was quite drunk. Very, very drunk. In Vegas. With girlfriends. I remember buying the birthday girl a lap dance from the biggest, scariest man in the place, and trying to get one poor girl to come off her stage and dance with us girls since we were tipping and the lame men there were not. I think she did. The rest is a blur.

The fourth time I went into a strip club, I came out with a job. I called the number I saw on the Craigslist ad looking for dancers, and was told it was okay to come in that afternoon to audition. My lack of experience was fine, just wear nice under wear and bring high heels. I drove past the small, windowless building to park around back. Not because I was afraid of someone recognizing my car, but because I was afraid of anyone seeing me pep talking myself. I popped a Zanax, and went over what I'd learned scouring the internet for how to do this.

I would move slow. Even slower than I thought I should, because everyone says the number one mistake girls make is moving too fast, too jerky. I would pick a slow song, to help me out. I would remember to move my hips, and to show off my ass, no matter how unworthy of attention I think it might be. I would be sure to walk sensually, not high-stepping like a show pony (something I would later learn is typical of unexperienced dancers and the thing most likely to elicit embarrassed laughter from the dancers watching you audition).

Because of licensing laws in Seattle, I didn't take any clothes off. But I did saunter cautiously from one pole to the other, where I would glide my hips from side to side before doing one turn around the pole, for the duration of "Paparazzi" by Lady Gaga.

The song seemed to last forever... I remember a constant chorus of "slow down" in my brain, and a vague sense of excitement. I was really doing this. I was going to work in a strip club. I knew it not because I was confident I'd be hired, but I knew right then that I was going to do what it takes to get this job and be good at it. The small taste of what being on that stage could be had me bewitched already. The other girls had watched with arms crossed and eyes narrowed, but they hadn't laughed. The two men in the audience had watched, but didn't tip, which I'd later learned was standard. It could've gone a lot worse. When I stepped off the stage, I was shaking. My heart was pounding. I had watched myself in the abundant mirrors, and felt confident that I had managed to not look like an idiot.

I wanted to go again.

After a quick conversation with the pretty woman that owned the club, I was hired. She liked the idea of having a more punk, rocker looking girl on the staff (my hair was purple, black, and lavender at the time), and gave me a schedule and instructions on how to get my license. She assured me I'd learn how to dance as I go. If I got licensed in the morning, I could work that night. And I did. I spent my last $250 getting that silly piece of paper calling me an "entertainer" and I've been working as a stripper for my main occupation & hobby ever since. That was about two and a half years ago.

Before I started dancing, I didn't know I was pretty enough to do this job. I didn't know that I could be the biggest fish in a pond full of gorgeous girls. I didn't know I could dance, I didn't know I could seduce, or charm. I didn't know I could walk up to complete strangers and start up conversations. I certainly didn't know I could be more comfortable being naked in a crowded room than I feel in my pajamas at home.

I didn't know a lot of things. Before I sat down and started writing this post, I had no fucking clue how I'd start off this blog. But here we go. And now, I finally got this blog set up so I can share some of the things I keep learning and doing. I want to tell you how my first night at work went, why I love my job, and how I move around in 8" heels. I want to explain to you why I love my job, what I think about other types of sex work, how I'm a feminist, how I decided I wanted to dance, and why my customers deserve some respect (unless they earn otherwise). I want to tell you about what makes my job hard, about the days I come home crying, about my injuries, about the people who have insulted me because of my job, and why I still wouldn't trade it for any 9-5 I know of. I also want to tell you things that might help you in life outside of stripping, like how to wear multiple pairs of false lashes, how to give your significant other a lap dance, how to buy a stripper pole for your home, and why your husbands and boyfriends come to see me (and if you should be worried or upset about it if they do).

Got a question you think I should answer? A topic you'd like to see me post about? Hit me up: asktheshowgirl@gmail.com If you want to find out what club I'm working at or hire me for a private engagement, I'm afraid that's not an option at this time.

Want to put a few bills in my virtual g-string? There's a link to my Amazon Wishlist in the lefthand column, anything I receive that's wearable I'll post pictures of to share the wealth.

Please forgive me a little awkwardness, as I decided it was more important to get started posting then to spend tons of time getting it to look perfect. If you have a suggestion on making the blog better, again, hit me up:  asktheshowgirl@gmail.com

So, yeah. Hi. I'm Dixie. Need some company, sugar?

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