Pussy Talks Back

Reposted here from over on the Facebook - only about a year since my last post which, I cannot help but notice, is about the exact same thing. Because we sure haven't made much progress over the last 13 months, have we?

•••

Since apparently I have to articulate this *yet again* ... here's the thing:

Most of the shows in which I am involved in any capacity balance out at 90 - 100% female-identifying performers. The audience is at least 50% female (generally more these days I am delighted to say).

That means that for every given show, almost all of the performers and much of the audience has to think of the following things when leaving home for a Night Of Sexy Fun:

Who is at the show? Is there security? Is that "security" trustworthy or will they abuse their position? If a dude grabs me in the public restroom (which is often the only one available to performers as well), is anyone at the venue or in the show going to do anything about it or am I on my own? Will they even believe me that it happened? Will I be groped on the go-go platform after the show? If I am, will that person be removed from the venue by anyone in charge or do I just have to 'laugh it off'? Can I walk to the bar simply to get a glass of water or a drink during the show without for example a male patron attempting to insert his fingers into my vagina on the venue floor?* CAN I TRUST THE MALE PERFORMER(S) IN THE SHOW TO NOT HARASS, ATTACK OR MOLEST ME BEFORE, DURING OR AFTER THE SHOW? What time am I traveling home afterwards? Will I be alone? If I am alone, what am I wearing? What route do I have to take to minimize the possibility of harassment and attack? Should I literally double my public-transportation travel time just to take the slightly 'safer' route home? Should I spend a third of my night's pay on a cab or car service that still puts me entirely at the mercy of a driver that I do not know? And on and on and on. 

So. When a male host - the only fully-clothed person in the show with a microphone and therefore a voice and therefore all the perceived authority (well - even more authority than that already bestowed upon them by The World and Privilege) makes dick jokes onstage, talks about his dick onstage, tells the audience to get their dicks out, physically takes his own dick out onstage, or in any way makes the show about his own dick - he is reinforcing EVERY SINGLE ACT OF VIOLENCE, AGGRESSION AND MICRO-AGGRESSION EXPERIENCED ALL DAY, EVERY DAY BY MORE THAN HALF OF THE AUDIENCE AND ALL / ALMOST ALL OF THE CAST. 

Even if offstage he professes to be a full-on feminist ally.

This is not an "old-school vaudeville joke." It is not in-character riffing. It is not edgy, hilarious, or attention-grabbing hosting. It is a reinforcement and an acceptance of, and a further permission for the constant abuse that yes, all women learn to be prepared to receive from strangers, from co-workers, from patrons, from bosses, from partners EVERY minute of EVERY day.
And it is fucking exhausting. 

I refuse. As a producer, as a performer, as an audience member: I refuse. I deny that permission. My money, my time and my talent will not reinforce that dynamic. I may have to consider nightly that I "should" wear long pants home in the 95-degree heat after the show so the mere sight of my knees doesn't "provoke attack", but in my small corner of our small corner of the world I refuse to continue to support the Dick Joke Model of strip-show hosting. It's 20goddamned17. We're done. Whether we're personally into dick or not - we're bored and frankly disgusted by having to navigate your goddamned dick here, now, on our stages, after constantly being required to step over and around and to celebrate and compliment and adore every single other one thrust in our direction at every other moment of the day or night. 

So do better. Now. 

I don't want to have to write this goddamned thing one more fucking time. 

* Yes, this has absolutely happened.

Time To Put Your Glitter Where Your Mouth Is

--> If there’s one thing a 10^th anniversary inspires, it’s decadent* introspection. Having only recently celebrated my own Aluminum Anniversary in the ecdysiastical arts, I’ve been just full of Terribly Important And Insightful Musings That Are Definitely Worthy To Be Shared And You Know You Want To Hear Them, Too. But then I realized no one but me is really interested in my old-man rantings about Back when I started performing! You kids have it so easy! I once had to sell a kidney for a bag of rhinestones! - and, frankly, even I’m not so very interested myself that I can’t be easily distracted by a Love Boat rerun or a Tumblr full of bunnies or strippers or bunnies and strippers holy crap someone find me that Tumblr now. Move it along Margaret, it’s a new day, time marches on, innovate or die. So okay … except for one thing which hasn’t changed - and which, frankly, I’m just tired of hearing over and over and over again.

Art-strippers come and go but the complaining does not. Because we like to complain. We like to proclaim, and be clever, and point out the problems with “the community,” and tell each other how shows should be run and how performers should perform, and how festivals and competitions should be organized and crowns and titles should be awarded, and how producers and audiences and musicians and costumers and DJs and bartenders should behave and just exactly who should be allowed to do what; and sometimes a larger percentage of “the community” is in agreement over these shoulds, and more often they are not, but time and again over the last ten years I have read and I have heard (and I too have proclaimed) what should be done and what should be changed and that is followed almost immediately by a chorus of voices singing out:

“But a gig's a gig.”

“And I need the work.”

And this, right here, this is the crucial moment where the pause needs to happen and everybody but everybody needs to stop talking and get off the internet and put down the phone and go off alone onto a mountaintop or into a quiet locked room and really, really think. Because unlike the Muggle world in which jobs provide things like food and shelter but require a high degree of not-punching-that-asshole-district-supervisor-in-the-face, our Jellicle job is low on income and security but high on the not-having-to-put-up-with-civilian-bullshit-like-that-and-also-we-can-wear-boas-to-work scale. In exchange for never really making a living getting naked, we do actually have more freedom in certain areas; and therefore:

If you honestly and truly believe that a performance situation is wrong, professionally or morally (the facilities are inadequate, the pay is too low, you are being asked to compromise your personal or artistic beliefs), then do not take the gig. That’s it. Don’t take it. **

If you believe that the situation is acceptable if certain conditions are met, then propose those changes. If they are made, great; if not, do not take the gig.

If you are willing to take the gig as it is, if you’re comfortable with the reality and morality of the situation, then take the gig. And shut up. ***

I’m tired of hearing about how shitty this gig is, how awful that show is, how this one pays almost nothing and that one is a horrible degrading experience and this venue doesn’t have a stage and that venue doesn’t have a bathroom and this producer owes me money, didn’t say anything when the bar owner grabbed my ass, let a dozen photographers into the dressing room, did nothing to promote the show - from performers who keep taking these same gigs, again and again and again. (What’s that thing that Albert Einstein probably never said? “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”) If you want the situation to change, your behaviour towards it must change; if you don’t require it to change, if you can accept it even with its imperfections, then complaining about it serves no purpose and just takes away from bunny-stripper-Tumblr time.

To be sure, this doesn’t address the monetary aspect of the situation and all I can say is, personally I have not yet been faced with the ethical/financial dilemma of “Do I turn down that Republican Party Fundraiser gig on moral grounds even though it pays $100,000 and a unicorn?” And I daresay that until a major political upheaval occurs, most of us will never find ourselves in anything even approaching this situation.

However: I have turned down private gigs that paid half a month’s rent but required ten months of work; well-paying day-trip gigs with a producer I was totally skeeved out about spending six hours in a car with; regular gigs in venues so inappropriate as performance spaces that I want to claw my own pasties off in frustration, or locations so difficult to get to that they require three hours of subway travel, or so dangerous that I literally fear for my safety coming home. I have stopped working with producers that have accepted massive pay cuts from venues, or don’t oversee or curate their shows, or do nothing to protect their performers from sexual harassment by venue management or audience members; and in contrast I have supported the decision of a producer who cancelled a long-running, decently-paying regular gig when an audience yelled racial slurs at a performer and the venue management simply shrugged it off. After ten years, I’ve even stopped taking gigs that are just kind of a pain in the ass, simply because I’m too old and tired and I don’t want to complain all the time.

In this fragile art-stripper economy, I have felt the loss (and so has my landlord) of every single one of those turned-down gigs, be they $40 or $400 paychecks. And it’s not to say that I haven’t decided to take plenty of less-than-ideal gigs just to pay the rent, or just because they were incredibly fun. **** But over the years I’ve realized the importance of making actual, conscious, deliberate decisions about gigs – Am I satisfied with the circumstances of this job? Do I feel the money is fair? Is this a producer I’m comfortable working with, and a show I want my name on? Is this gig going to be a fucking great time that I’ll remember forever, and is that alone important enough? – rather than taking every show that’s offered despite my misgivings because, well, a gig’s a gig and I really need the work.

Because despite a decade of changes, two things have remained exactly the same: I always need the work, and there’s always another gig.

* Get it? “Decadent”? Like decade? Word power!

** And hey, if you feel strongly about the situation (and if you Care Enough To Complain, then let’s assume that you do) why not politely and appropriately voice your reasons for turning down the gig? If that producer hears enough times and from enough people “Thank you for the offer but I simply can’t travel three hours and perform four acts in your show for a $30 guarantee,” or “The last time I worked at your venue the host was incredibly offensive and inappropriate; as much as I enjoy your show I can’t work with you again as long as she’s hosting,” then maybe just maybe the pay scale will increase, or the quality of the hosting will improve. But if she never hears otherwise, there’s very little impetus for that producer to up the pay or fire the asshole who thinks “Our next performer is pretty hot for a fat chick!” is a valid hosting schtick.

*** Blowing up FaceTube with blind-item posts about how SOME PRODUCERS in the community really need to learn to VALUE PERFORMERS and RESPECT that what we do takes TIME AND SKILL and REALLY SHOULD LEARN that WE DON’T WORK FOR FREE and THEY’d be NOWHERE without performers!!!!! does not count as shutting up.

**** Not that I’ve yet experienced The Ideal Gig (despite a lot of truly excellent ones). I rather suspect that if I ever do perform in The Perfect Show, I’ll crumble into a pile of dust and glitter as I leave the stage.

You don’t know me but you should totally book me!

--> The general quality of cold-email booking requests doesn't seem to have improved a hell of a lot over the past decade … although the volume of them sure has increased exponentially. I should know: years ago I wrote some of the most truly unforgivable ones myself and since then, in various production capacities, I’ve been receiving them almost daily.

Contemporary primary education barely teaches Look Where You’re Walking, You Idiot; so it’s little wonder that How To Correspond In A Professional Capacity With Strangers has gone almost completely by the wayside. In an effort, then, towards remedy:

How To Write A Cold Email Requesting A Performance Booking That Won’t Make The Recipient Want To Stab You In The Neck

Some Dos & Don’ts and a couple of Do Nots for variety:

• DO include a salutation, preferably one addressed to the specific person who will open the email.

If a complete stranger walked up to you with absolutely no preamble or introduction whatsoever and said “I’m a nurse and I want to work in your hospital,” your reaction might be a blank stare, or maybe some sort of spit-take depending on your proximity to beverages.* And yet about half of the booking emails I have ever received began just like that: “I’m a performer and I want to perform in your show.”

Not “Hi there.” Not “Hello” or “Howdy” or even “Hey.” Just “I want to be booked in your show.”

Take a moment to consider your cold email as that actual, in-person conversation-with-a-stranger. If your very first words make you sound like a self-centered nine-year-old, you’re not starting off on a spectacular note. This is a business email: so sixteen opening paragraphs of Glitterfabulousunicornssparkleglamourkisskisskiss! is a waste of everyone’s time; but taking the zero-point-no-seconds necessary to type “Hello” first goes a long way towards indicating that you’re an actual human being with an interest in other people and an ability to interact in society.

Now consider how spectacularly professional, prepared and totally together you’ll seem if you take only-slightly-more-time, attempt to find out the name of the person booking the show, and address the email to her. This not only implies that you know how to use Google, but demonstrates that you’ve actually researched the show and you understand what it is you’re asking to be hired for, rather than blanket-emailing every show within a 20-mile radius.

• Even though this is a copy-and-paste email that you’re blanket-emailing to every show within a 20-mile radius – and we all know it is, so don’t let’s pretend otherwise – DO obsessively check a dozen times that you’ve changed all necessary names and titles.

Even if the email opens with the immaculately-researched “Dear Ms. Canasta,  I’m writing to ask about a possible booking for Sweet & Nasty,” ** if three paragraphs later it says “Thanks so much, Emil, for considering me for the Whoops-A-Doggie Revue***,” it’s going right in the trash folder.

• DO mention personal connections; DO NOT imply recommendations without permission.

If Sarah Stripper explicitly says to you “Oh, sure, tell Petunia Producer that I recommended you for her show,” then by all means write to Petunia Producer, “I worked with Sarah Stripper recently and she suggested I drop you a line to ask about performing in the Petunia Producer Follies.”*** In contrast, “I worked with Sarah Stripper recently, she’s awesome. I’d like to be booked for your show” is disingenuous at best, transparent at worst.

• DO be friendly. DON’T be juvenile.

The Dickensian days of “Dear Sir or Madam, I am writing to enquire as to the opportunities for ecdysiastical employment within the framework of your productionary endeavours” are dead and gone. But if you’re old enough to strip you’re old enough to know that OMGPON1EZ!!! is not an acceptable closing to a business letter.

• DO be specific in your request - and DO remember that it’s a request, NOT a demand.

Are you looking for a booking in a particular production, or do you just want to work with that producer any time she might have a spot open? Are you only going to be in her town on certain days? Do you have a ‘special skill’ (fire, aerial) that her venue is perfect for? Then say that. “I’m a new performer and I’d like to introduce myself to you” is fine in person but what the hell is a producer supposed to do with that email beyond “Um, okay … nice to meet you”?

Let’s talk for a minute here about language and tone of voice. It is important in life to know what you want … but perhaps “want” is not always the word to use when trying to achieve it. Simpering and saccharine airheadedness are completely unnecessary and equally offputting, but consider: 

“I’d like to work with you” VS “I want to be in your show” 

“I’m writing about potential bookings” VS “I’m writing because I want to be booked” 

“I have an act that might fit in well with your theme” VS “My act will be great in your show”

Read it out loud before you hit send. Does this sound like a polite, friendly, professional and reasonable conversation, or a crystal-smashing, tantrum-throwing, me-me-me screaming diva fit? I’ve gotten a few doozies that sounded positively psychotic … which definitely affected how quickly I didn’t rush to never reply.

• DO your research. Know the show you’re asking to be booked for.

Currently, I cast one production. It is a reading series. Granted, the degree of nudity that is an integral part of this ongoing production**** means that many of the performers have some striptease experience as well; but the show itself is, simply, a reading series. We read, naked, out loud. That is all.

About half of the booking emails I receive – even the ones that get the name of the show right – do not say a single word about “reading.” They say “strip” or they say “dance;” they include extensive and detailed descriptions of burlesque routines and striptease numbers – many with video links – but nowhere do they say “and I’d also love to read naked out loud in your show.”

I assume when I receive these emails that the senders either lack the ability to use Google, or do not in fact know how to read.

• DO send links; DO NOT send attachments.

Seriously. It’s 2014. How does everyone not know this by now?

• DO briefly describe your style, aesthetic, or special skills; DO NOT send a cutesy fake character bio, a fourteen-page-long history of every non-performance job you’ve ever had, or a string of meaningless hyperbole.

Yes: “I perform classic striptease to a wide variety of contemporary music, often incorporating into my acts my 15 years of en pointe training.”

No no no dear god no: “Found in a box under a pool table in Las Vegas, I was raised by rock n’ roll werewolves who taught me my love of the open road and the secrets of magical transformation that make my performances a mind-blowing spectacle of dark beauty that have transfixed the world - and beyond! After a thousand and one nights dancing my tales before the desert courts of the foreign sands, I strapped my surfboard to my rocketship and made my way here to Springfield, where my unique blend of Dita Von Teese and Bettie Page is taking the burlesque scene by storm.”

• DO NOT include a page-long description of every act you do. Don’t include a one sentence description of every act you do.  Don’t describe all the acts you do.

If you’re looking to get a specific act booked in a specific show a brief description is in order. (“I have a John Hancock-lap-dancing-the-Constitution act that I think would be a great fit in your Founding Fathers show.”)  Otherwise, a concise explanation of your unique style (see above) and a link to your videos page is enough. If a producer wants more information about specific acts, she’ll ask for it.

• DO be honest about your experience - or lack of it.

Any producer with ten minutes’ experience of her own knows instantly when a new or less-seasoned strippeur is stretching the limits of credulity with a padded-out performance resumé: presenting every single performance with a particular show as a separate item, for example, or listing workshops or class recitals as ‘bookings.’ The honesty of “I’ve performed here in Springfield in the Stripper University Graduate Showcase at Café Fabulous, with Bras Be Damned! at The Music Box, and several times with Petunia Producer’s Follies” is perfectly legitimate; “I have many performance credits throughout Springfield and beyond, including: Café Fabulous (November 2013); Petunia Producer’s Follies (November 2013), The Music Box (December 2013), Petunia Producer’s Follies (December 2013), Bras Be Damned! (December 2013) and Petunia Producer’s Follies (January 2014)” is frankly insulting.

Two more things:

“Interstate” is not the same as “international.”

And if you lie about your performance experience, you will be found out. I once got a booking email from a complete and total stranger who had my own show listed on her resumé.

• DO be reasonable, professional and polite.

Polite, reasonable professionals do not write in cold emails things like:

• “I want to be booked for a weekly spot in your show.”
• “Our fifteen-person troupe will be in town, can you book our group number and also have us all do solos?”
• “So what’s the deal to be in your show?”
• “Can you teach me an act I can do in your next show?”
• “I guess we haven’t met but it’s still weird that you haven’t booked me yet.”
• “I’ve never been to your show but I really like the vibe of your photos! I want to perform with you!”
• “I’m going be taking a class soon so I’d like to arrange now to be in your show after that.”

And yet I’ve actually gotten all of these, and many many more.

Not to harsh your fabulous showgirl mellow, but you’re writing to a stranger, asking for a job. Just because that job involves boobs and feathers doesn’t mean you can’t be professional and fabulous at the same time.

(This, by the way, is quite fantastic and well worth a quick read.)

* If, for instance, it were me, said proximity would likely be close; said beverages would be whiskey, neat; and – because I think they’re really funny - the probability of spit-takes would be damn near 100%.

** Defunct. Dead. Buried. (Seriously. We had a funeral and everything.) Please do not ask to be booked for Sweet & Nasty, as I actually will book you but you will be the only one in the show and I will be the only one in the audience and that’s gonna get creepy but quick.

*** Hands off the name, bitches, I thought of it first.

**** i.e., High.

MEMO: Pls call to resched. your appt w/Human Resources Dept.

--> 2013 Year-End Performance Review: Self-Evaluation

(With thanks to the several naff business-form-online sites that provided inspiration and/or wording.)

This Self Evaluation form is an opportunity for you to provide input into your Performance Review Process.* The form assists you in focusing on specific aspects of your job performance, including your unique strengths, talent and development focus for the future.

The good news is that as an independent performer or producer (or kitten, or costumer, or whatever the hell you are) you will not be required to show up to some dreary fluorescent-lit corporate hell-hole at 7 a.m. so an MBA fifteen years your junior can mouth businessspeak at you off of a checklist while you try desperately not to swear or say “boobs.” Rather, your personal Performance Review Process can be conducted naked in your living room with a bottle of wine in one hand and a different bottle of wine in the other - what’s important is that you take a moment for a little quiet professional and artistic reflection, as the year draws to a close (why not).

To that end, I invite you to use the following form as a starting point; not to share with anyone or the general public (unless you want to), not to obsess over and spend hours crafting essay-answers for (again, unless that’s your jam), but simply to help start the process of taking stock of your past year, professionally and artistically, and looking forward to the next.

And if I did the internet right, you can even print it out. If that kind of thing turns you on.

* Well, actually, no, it is the opportunity for your Performance Review Process. Being as we are in the relatively unique situation of a completely unregulated and non-hierarchical industry where any sort of professional criticism or feedback from peers, employers or consumers of our product (other than the frankly useless "OMG you are the gratest sooooooo pretty! Luv youuuuuuuuu!!!!") is highly likely to be automatically received as persecution, the only actual Performance Review Process in which any of us will participate has got to be self-initiated. 

And honestly attempted, too. Most of us fall to one absurd and unrealistic side or the other of “Well obviously the reason I don’t get booked is because no one can deal with how perfect and amazing I am and they should all go swallow glitter and die,” and “Well obviously the reason I don’t get booked is because I’m worthless and hideous and I should go swallow glitter and die.” Objectivity is difficult to maintain for us sensitive artist-types: I hear a lot of self-deprecating or frankly libelous reasons-why-I-don’t-get-booked (many of them, I am not happy to say, coming out of my own mouth) but very few honest-assessments-of-my-own-skill-level, pragmatic-understanding-of-my-uniqueness-and-marketability, or what-I-have-actually-done-to-get-that-job-beyond-“deserving”-it-and-waiting-for-it-to-come-to-me. 

About six months after I started performing I got a regular Saturday gig, go-go dancing from 1 to 3 a.m. at a venue that also happened to be the home of one of the only regular, highly-regarded burlesque shows in the city. One night I asked the booking manager when he was going to hire me for that show. Without malice, he replied “When you’re good enough.” I’m sure I looked as nonplussed as I felt, because he then explained: “Listen, you’ve been getting better but you’re still really new. Right now I couldn’t put you onstage next to Julie or Amber, but when you’re good enough, I will.”** 

I cannot imagine this conversation taking place today without the immediate indignant FaceTube post that Everyone DESERVES to get booked in EVERY SINGLE SHOW and no producer or booker should think that ANY PERSON is more experienced or skilled or that their particular style is more appropriate for a particular show than ANYONE ELSE and that guy deserves to be KILLED. 

Well okay, then. Until the format exists within a professional context for skilled, thoughtful feedback to be both given and received, *** it is up to us as individuals, and as working artists, to occasionally take stock of our work and our selves - as honestly and as dispassionately as possible, and without straying either into the Swamp of Self-Loathing or the Desert of Divadom. **** Because self-awareness is an invaluable thing: it can help us avoid everything from particularly unflattering styles of underwear to murderous depressive rage every time a show is announced that we’re not in. And most importantly, like a big giant multi-vitamin for the soul, it’s essential for healthy artistic growth.

 •••••

 SELF-EVALUATION FORM 
To be completed without pants.

• What is your job title?
Why do you use this title in particular? What does it say about what you do and about how you do it? 

• Why are you doing this? Why are you doing this? What do you specifically contribute to your artform & profession that is unique or innovative? 

• What are you the most terrified to do, artistically speaking?

Have you ever done it?

• What is your greatest strength?
What do you do to capitalize on this strength?

• What is your greatest weakness?
What do you do to minimize the negative effects of this weakness?

• What single accomplishment, event or product from this past year are you most pleased with or proud of?

• What single event, action or product from this past year are you least pleased with or embarrassed by?

• What skill or talent would you like to add to your resumé?

Could you realistically learn or acquire this skill? If so, are you willing to expend the time and/or money that that would require?

• In the past year how (if at all) were you Part Of The Problem?
How were you Part Of The Solution?

• What is a single, achievable goal for the upcoming year?
What specific actions can you take to achieve this goal?

• What is one magic-wish, fairy-tale, genie-in-a-bottle totally-absurd-dream goal?
What’s one specific action you could actually take, now, in the actual real world to begin to achieve this goal? 

• How did this past year differ from your expectations?

• Where do you see yourself at the end of 2014? 

 •••••

** I am proud to say that eventually, I was, and eventually, he did.
*** I do not, I freely admit, know what that format ought best to be; nor do I have any interest in being the sole motivator or administrator of it so don’t ask, thank you.

**** Ugh, sorry about that.

Butts and Rebutts (Mostly Butts)

--> When I co-produced my first sci-fi themed burlesque show in 2005, we had difficulty finding enough extant acts to fill the bill and ended up commissioning or creating half of them; now, in 2013, "nerdlesque" is a thriving sub-genre of its own with dozens of dedicated shows around the world, and has already profoundly affected the art form of burlesque.

The Lady Aye recently published an article on BurlesqueBeat.com, “Some Thoughts On Nerd Burlesque,” which sparked lively discussion amongst burlesque professionals in general and geeklesque performers in particular. The following is a somewhat edited version of a personal email that I wrote as part of that discussion. The Lady Aye very eloquently spoke to many points I’ve been striving to articulate for some time, and so this is not so much a ‘rebuttal’ to her piece as an expansion on it, with some thoughts of my own.

•••

First off, I have to say I've known Aye for a long time, and have had many a thoughtful discussion with her over the years about 'where all this is going' and the potential for burlesque to transcend the tiny-hat-and-corset model (especially when it seemed that was the only option out there). Now that geeklesque is a huge percentage of all neo-striptease performances, it's natural - and valuable - that the discussion is shifting from 'Is that even burlesque?' to the nuances and specifics of this type of performance. After all, it's been a major discussion in the 'straight' (ie non-geeklesque) genre for ages.

So I found The Lady Aye’s article overall very supportive of geeklesque: urging geeklesque performers to strive to transcend their 'source material' says very clearly that we can be as transcendent in our performances as any other kind of burlesque act (rather than geeklesque only being throwaway pop-culture reference).

I would argue (and I’m not the first to make this point – see Sailor St. Claire’s article in Burlesque Seattle Press, for example) that all burlesque is “cosplay” in some sense, and therefore could - must - benefit from a similar self-scrutiny: how does that fan dance / stocking peel / classic strip to 'Feeling Good' contribute to the dialogue and transcend the source material (Gypsy Rose Lee, the 1940's, the male gaze, etc., etc.) here, now, in 2013? The fact that geeklesque gets singled out more in this respect is, I think, simply because we're now reaching beyond the established vocabulary of burlesque (tassel-twirling, fan dance) and adding new 'words' to that 'vocabulary’ – for the same reason, boylesque has sparked a similar discussion over recent years, too.

The fact is, geeklesque does use other people's material (characters, costume designs, games, plots) as jumping-off points for new performance. There is nothing wrong with this in and of itself - it has led to some of the most exciting, innovative, delightfully transgressive burlesque performances that I've ever seen. But just like "I put on a pretty dress and a pretty song and took off my pretty dress and I was wearing pasties" isn’t necessarily adding to the discussion, "I put on a Dr. McCoy costume and a song about Star Trek and took off my Dr. McCoy costume and I was wearing Star Trek pasties" says nothing new, either.

The only reason that the geeklesque version gets more focus in this respect (and rightly so) is that no one can really say for certain who 'invented' striptease; but we know that Dr. McCoy is Gene Roddenberry's artistic creation - and to co-opt it without any commentary seems to border on … maybe plagiarism isn't quite the right word, but something like that. I've retired numbers myself that were basically stripping-out-of-a-costume, simply because I wasn't comfortable with the idea of just using the character and doing nothing with it.

It's what marks the difference between dress-like-the-character, strip-to-the-theme-song numbers and (for example) Mary Cyn's “Data” act, B.B. Heart's Dementor, Anja Keister’s Dolores Umbridge, and lots of others. Likewise, it's what makes shows like The Pink Room, D20 Burlesque and the like actual unique experiences beyond "We like nerdy stuff!” And it’s important to acknowledge that there are performers and producers who are striving, going beyond, carefully crafting geeklesque numbers and shows that are thoughtful and provocative and funny and sexy and really hit the spot with geek- and non-geek audiences … and to keep pushing ourselves to go further in those directions with our work.

The Lady Aye’s article touches as well on the idea of wide appeal: "Would this act translate to an audience of the uninitiated? If not, then perhaps your focus is too narrow and you should think of ways to let the audience in."  This is, ultimately, the performer's choice: but for me personally as both performer and spectator, the most successful and satisfying geeklesque numbers are the ones that require minimal-to-no previous familiarity with the source material, where the specific elements are Easter Eggs for the initiated but I don't feel like a total idiot for not getting any of the act (again: Data, Dolores Umbridge - these are stories that any audience will understand, whether or not they know of Data's 8-season character arc about finding his humanity, or the nuanced depths of Dolores' sadism etc. etc. It's all in the acts.) If one is creating an act for a show based on, say, one specific episode of a particular cartoon series - and the show is being presented as such, and cultivating an audience of fans of that cartoon series - then why not add as many tiny in-depth nods and references as you like? With, of course, the understanding that in a wider context (a 'general' burlesque show, or even a 'general' geeklesque show) those specific references might pass by much of the audience. It's all about understanding what acts to bring to what shows, which is a skill we all learn pretty quickly (hopefully).

The fact that geeklesque is being discussed ‘as if it were real burlesque’ is amazing and hugely important, given the fact that 6 or 7 years ago the reaction to, say, my (long-retired) Tron number was befuddlement and 'That's not burlesque.' Whether it's our primary performance focus or not, enough of us now put enough time, effort, talent, intelligence, and thoughtful critique into our geeklesque acts/shows that it's starting to show up the lazy and un-thought-out geeklesque acts just as well-crafted and expertly-presented 'classic' burlesque has always highlighted the 'I bought a corset! I'm the next Dita!' acts. Part of being a permanent and legit genre within the art form is going to include more critique and discussion and - as long as it's in non-troll form - that's only a good thing.

I Wish You'd Told Me That

--> 15 things appertaining to my job that I wish someone had told me years ago or, if they did tell me, I clearly wasn’t listening, but in a few cases I figured it out myself so now I’m telling you. 

In no particular order and to varying degrees of urgency and usefulness:

• Paint the bottoms of your stage shoes - or at least make sure there aren’t big stupid labels on them. The first time you see a giant “Jessica Simpson for K-Mart” sole logo in a photo of yourself you’re going to wish you’d grabbed the spray paint before you left home.

• It’s Okay To Say No. It’s okay to turn down gigs that seem sketchy, or that don’t pay, or that you simply don’t want to do. It’s okay to turn down projects that ask for a huge amount of your time, skill and effort and offer little or nothing in return. It's okay to say you’re not comfortable with a photographer in the dressing room. It’s okay to say that you don’t have time to ‘help out’ with costumes, or choreography, or poster design, or stripper wrangling, or that you really can’t ‘bring a few extra numbers to the show in case we need them,’ or come up with an elaborate theme-specific act at the last minute based on an obscure 1970’s Dutch cartoon you’ve never heard of. If you decline politely and honestly and when you’re asked (rather than an hour before the shoot, meeting or show) then no one is going to be mad or hate you or never book you again … and if they do, you probably don’t want to work with them anyhow.

• Unless it’s a deliberate character note, don’t hand-write signs or labels on props: it looks like crap. If you can’t get something computer-printed in time for the show, save the number until you can do it right.

• Your most elaborate or complicated number isn’t necessarily your best number, especially where first impressions are concerned. If you really want to make a good impression on a producer the first time you work with her, think long and hard before putting together a sixteen-minute-long aerial epic with working mayonnaise-filled waterslide and a shower of live fruitbats. (Or anything with a ton of baby powder.) If it’s a solid act you’ve had down for years, go for it; but adding bells and whistles to impress a producer can backfire spectacularly. Often it’s far easier to stun her with a simple act flawlessly executed.

• “Oh, please. We take our clothes off in bars.”*

• Pre-setting the tape on your pasties at home while you’re packing for the show saves a shit-ton of time backstage.

• You don’t have to like everyone you work with, and you don’t have to be everyone’s best friend. Just being in the same business isn’t a guaranteed automatic soul connection (I’m pretty sure that every nurse isn’t a spit sibling with every single other nurse on the planet). The only requirement is that you treat everyone with respect and professionalism - backstage, online, or at the diner after the show.

• Glitter isn’t the herpes of burlesque. Herpes is the herpes of burlesque.

• Rehearsing in large, tall, new or otherwise potentially disastrous wigs can save a lot of exposed-wig-cap-onstage-heartache - something that didn’t occur to me until I found myself pinned by the head to a paper parasol with dangling flowers attached by fishing line, from which there was absolutely no graceful extraction. (All extant copies of the photos have been burned, by the way, so don’t bother asking.)

• Okay, sure: no one is ever going to launder costumes with any regularity (assuming that any of our made-of-curtains-and-covered-in-feathers shit even can be washed). But do yourself the supreme favor and open up the gig bag when you get home and hang wet stuff up to dry. If you go-go’d for three hours in that bra and wig, for the love of all that is glittery do not leave them in a Ziploc bag all night. While it’s a fascinating practical experiment in bacterial cultures, it will destroy your costumes as surely as a pie fight at curtain call.

• Try everything. Never let the fact that you’ve only ever done rock-and-roll acts keep you from performing a classic fan dance if you really want to. Rehearse and prepare for it as fully as you would for any other act** and remember that if it doesn’t work, you can toss it out.

• Keep records. It can be as anal-retentive as a multi-page spreadsheet document listing the date, venue, acts you performed and what you were paid for every show you’ve ever done (ahem) or as casual as scribbling your schedule in a pocket calendar, but I guarantee that at some point you’ll need that information for remembering how long you’ve been doing a particular act, disproving income-tax fraud, or settling a bar bet.

• Nine times out of ten, your photo-in-a-frame prop is completely indistinguishable from a few rows back in the house … and half the time even the audience members who can see it have no idea who it’s supposed to be a picture of anyway.

• No One Cares About Your Shit As Much As You Do. Your web designer is never going to care as much as you do about updating your site calendar. That guy the producer got to video the show is never going to care about getting you that footage. Time Out is never going to care that they mis-spelled your stage name, got the time wrong, and used a photo of someone else in the listing for your show. The audience is never going to care that you have black gloves tonight instead of blue, or that you lost an earring in the middle of your act, or that you have 643,291 rhinestones on your corset instead of 623,712. Everyone else in the dressing room is too busy caring about their own tampon string showing to worry about yours. Producers, your performers care more about their own acts than they do about promoting your show. Just do your work, don’t freak out over missing gloves (and visible tampon strings), help out each other when you can, and try not to take everything personally.

Also:

• Try Not To Take Everything Personally. In general, I fail spectacularly at this – but we all must have something for which to strive, mustn’t we? Every distracted look backstage, every passive-aggressive archly-veiled Tweet, every random innocent statement in passing isn’t necessarily a venomous attack at your particular art or person. Likewise every performer with a pink dress isn’t ripping off your pink dress act and everyone who has ever used a champagne glass as a prop isn’t automatically plagiarizing your champagne-glass number. Advocate for yourself when you need to – no one else is going to (see above) – but take a moment first to decide if you in fact do need to speak up, or if you’re just reacting personally to someone else’s bad day.

••••••

* Someone actually did tell me this a long damn time ago, and for once I actually was listening, and it has stood me well many times and in many circumstances in the intervening years. I will be forever grateful to you for that, Veronika.

** As with any number, maybe don’t spend ten thousand dollars on the costume right off the bat … you can always add to it later if it’s something you want to keep in the rotation.

First, Last and Always: The Lineup Isn’t Forever

--> Backstage Myth #242: Being put first in the lineup is a kind of punishment: a throwaway performance spot before the house is full, before the audience is warmed up, and before the show really gets going.

BUSTED

A principal law of burlesque quantum mechanics* is that every setlist will appear different according to the physical and emotional circumstances of whoever is observing it. (This is because: Science.) In truth, there are no empirically good or bad performance spots (just more- or less-skillfully-crafted setlists), and being trusted by a producer to open a show is a testament to any performer’s skill and style.

There Are No Small Stripteases

There’s no point to opening a show with a ‘weak,’ ‘small’ or ‘bad’ number. (There’s no point to intentionally booking ‘bad’ numbers to begin with: though there most definitely must be differences in tone and tempo within even the most theme-specific show, any time a producer finds herself consciously burying a mediocre act in the middle of a set, she needs to reconsider her booking policies.) No, not every number is the right choice tonally or thematically to open every show; but a producer confident in the skill and professionalism of her cast will have a show full of performers who are all able to “open big.” A good producer will select as an opener a visually stunning, polished act appropriate to the show and theme, one that will immediately command the attention of the audience and make them eager for more. This is most definitely not a place to stick a throwaway act: open big, close big, and keep it fabulous in between.

(… and while we’re on the subject: Backstage Myth #242-A has it that closing a show is the ‘star’ position. While this is traditionally the “headliner” spot (if there is one in a given show), I’ve often found that going on late in a show means performing for a half-empty, wholly-drunk house. This can be as challenging as any other spot in a show.)

Don’t Throw Anyone To The Wolves

Several times I have been booked to perform my car alarm fan dance at a particular show with an audience that is usually unfamiliar with burlesque. Generally they warm to the idea very quickly, and more challenging or sillier acts such as this go over as well as the most classic ones when presented a bit later in the show. In one instance, however, so as to not have two fan dances in a row (this is a good idea), another performer’s very fabulous classic fan dance was left in the second set and my idiotic neo-burlesque ode to noise was moved to the second spot in the show. This was a bad idea: an audience that had never seen much striptease at all - fan dance or otherwise - was completely confused by my absurd commentary on the genre, and the host and next few performers had to work that much harder to regain their attention afterwards. A producer familiar with her audience and the structure of her show would better have put the classic fan dance early in the show and the neo-fan dance later on.

Balance is always key: rather than six slow numbers in a row, all the rock & roll songs in one set, or three short blonde performers in blue costumes one after another, splitting them up makes each one stand out as an individual and unique act. Even in shows with a specific theme to the music, acts, etc (all Neil Diamond songs, all clown numbers), a well-curated setlist makes use of the differences between the acts - resulting in a show that is constantly surprising to the audience, one that keeps them on the edge of their seats wondering what might be coming next.

Like any other aspect of producing, putting together an effective setlist is a skill to be learned and refined through practice. There are artistic as well as practical considerations. It can seem a fairly simple task, but when it’s done clumsily the entire show suffers for it.

Do Try This At Home

Taking into consideration all of the following elements:

• familiarity of the audience with burlesque and/or striptease as a concept

• type of acts booked (fan dance, boa tease, chair dance, neo-striptease, nerdlesque, variety acts, etc)

• music used by individual performers (specific songs, genres and tempos)

• costume colors and prop elements

• large or extensive setup or cleanup required by any acts

• any performance(s) specifically booked as a “headliner”

• time constraints of performers or staff

• anyone performing multiple times in the same show

and above all keeping in mind the overall flow of the show and evening as a whole;

craft a setlist of 10 to 15 acts that balances all these elements; accounts for performers who provide incomplete (or no) information about their acts ahead of time; leaves room for last-minute substitutions and changes; results in a seamless flow; and makes every performer feel happy, special, showcased and loved.

So.

Keep in mind at every show that a professional producer (or her professional staff) has put thought and effort into crafting a setlist that balances many elements, not just your act. Every performer can (and should) let the producer know ahead of time if there are aspects to their performance that need to be taken into account in this respect – and every performer should remember that no matter when they step on the stage, it’s time for their star turn.

* Totally a real thing.