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.

#whogetsavoice?

Talking about your dick onstage is not edgy. It is not daring. It is not progressive. It is the most mundane thing you could possibly mention, onstage or off.

You likely have not noticed (because part of privilege means not having to notice) that this society - indeed, our entire world - is set up to accommodate your dick. Your dick takes up as many seats as it wants on the subway. Your dick has healthcare. It is up to us to avoid your mismanaged dick in bars, in public spaces, in long-term relationships, in our homes and our schools and our ‘safe’ spaces, or just walking by on the street. Your dick makes laws that apply only to our vaginas. Literally every minute of every day, we are aware of your dick: therefore rest well assured that if you host a show or ten shows or every goddamned show ever in the history of shows there is no point at which we will forget about your dick, even if you go that entire time without mentioning or referring to it even once.

You are the system. And whether consciously or not, you benefit constantly and endlessly from that – even in our own microcosmic female-dominated pussy-positive artstripper world. YOU ARE THE SYSTEM. Getting on stage in front of this gorgeous world of Strong and Opinionated Pussy and talking about your dick is basically standing up and saying, Hey. You built this. This is one small part of the largely heinous world where you could have power, you could have a voice, this could be a system of support and accountability that is potentially revolutionary but FUCK THAT AND FUCK YOU BECAUSE I HAVE THE VOICE AND I HAVE THE POWER AND EVEN AS YOUR VOICE AND YOUR REPRESENTATIVE AND YOUR PROFESSED ALLY I AM STILL GOING TO EXERCISE THAT POWER OVER YOU BY CONSTANT REMINDERS OF THE SOCIAL AND PHYSICAL POWER I HAVE OVER YOU AT ALL TIMES JUST AS YOU EXPERIENCE FROM MY GENDER IN ALL OTHER FACETS OF YOUR DAILY EXISTENCE.


I seem to recall having heard that bit before. Why don’t you call us when you have some new material and if we’re still looking for hosts at that point maybe we’ll take a look at what you’ve got.


Maybe.

On Turning Twelve and Not Drinking The Kool-Aid

Not having felt moved to shout into the abyss of late, I haven’t been writing much - and the abyss, it appears, has been just fine without me.

But several days ago I passed my twelfth anniversary as a full-time performer, producer, writer and director within the neo-ecdystiastilogical arts. Twelve years. Big fucking deal, right? But it’s the longest I’ve had any job and, frankly, making a Life In Art – especially in New York City, and in 2016, and at no-longer-25 – is something.

So it seemed time to attempt to articulate a thing that has been sitting there taking up brainspace for a while now.

The temptation to hashtag about lacks of fucks is strong, but as we are not actually twelve years old, we resist nonetheless.

••••

I’d like to talk about The Myth Of Community.

The Myth of Community says that we are all one amazing loving shiny sparkly supportive gilttertribe that only wants to see all our sisters (and maybe brothers but really only The Acceptable Ones) shine and sparkle like the sassy empowered amazing fierce deserving creatures we all are.

The Myth of Community says that everybody who “does” burlesque (well, but of course what we really mean is performs burlesque, or maybe also teaches it) is equal: equally experienced, equally skilled, equally respectful and professional, equally deserving of financial and artistic success. It says that the sheer fact of existing under a stage name renders one worthy of every benefit that The Community has to offer.

The Myth of Community says that the one shining goal of burlesque is To Elevate Burlesque: that we’re all working hard, and all towards this same goal; and that at all times this single, universal, Community-wide goal is at the forefront of everyone’s motivations and thoughts - to the exclusion of individual needs and desires, so that it trumps and eclipses even personal events and real-world needs.

According to The Myth of Community, we all have the same artistic goals. We agree on what “is” and “isn’t” Burlesque. We all value the same things as people and as artists. And above all and beyond everything We all like each other and love each other and like each other, all the time and in all circumstances and we act like it too and we’re all best friends with everyone else, even the people we’ve sort of never really even met.

••••

… You do realize that this is pathological, right? It runs counter to almost every facet of basic human nature - which somehow and subconsciously we know, we realize and understand. But the Myth is so pervasive (and glittery and attractive and unicorns and butts omg yay!!!) that we all buy into it  - we pretty much have to, in order to Succeed At Burlesque. (Remember: you’re never going to Be Voted Number One if you put yourself first without also putting The Community first too.)

The Myth feeds and fuels all the feelings of entitlement, butthurtédness and persecution, the lack mentality, the competition hysteria and zero-sum mentality, the climbing and posing and starfucking and cutting down and backbiting and shade-throwing and simple basic lying that creates such a wildly unpleasant and constant undercurrent to everything that we do.

Because of course we’re human: and it is in the nature of humans to be selfish. Not grab-all-the-candy, tax-the-poor, kick-the-orphans-out-of-the-hospital Gordon Gekko greedy, but we all have our individual needs, desires, likes and dislikes, goals, values and opinions. Sometimes these synch up with other people’s, and sometimes they do not; but either way truly and honestly our only obligation is to seeing that serving our own goals doesn’t actively hurt or intentionally deprive others. And that is called Existing In Society.

When we Exist in Society, we get to make the decision to collaborate artistically or financially or personally with this individual rather than that one. When someone hurts or is unkind to us – deliberately or by accident - we are allowed to speak up about it to that person. Artistic opinions can be expressed and discussed without personal attack or reprisal. We get to spend our leisure time with people whose company we enjoy, with no implied obligations on our professional time and relationships (and vice versa). We get to work towards goals that are meaningful to us personally, to not participate in events that are uncomfortable or unpleasant or uninteresting to us, to avoid situations that would mean interacting with people that hurt us, or disrespect us, or who we simply and for no particular reason just kinda don’t like. WE ARE ALLOWED TO JUST KINDA OR ACTUALLY AND IN FACT NOT LIKE PEOPLE, FOR NO PARTICULAR REASON OR FOR ACTUAL REASONS TOO.

••••

And so.

In rejecting the Myth, we’re not instituting a self-centered free-for-all. We’re simply freeing ourselves of these self-imposed obligations of behavior and interaction that constantly butt up against the nature of humans in general and Us Sensitive Artist Types in particular:

When we reject The Myth of Community we’re acknowledging that we’re not one giant hydra-headed single-minded “glittertribe,” but countless self-created, geographically-convenient, interest- or circumstance-based groups, cliques, families, companies, troupes and organizations, some of which overlap in a giant Venn Diagram and others of which exist as independent satellites - and that is alright.

When we reject The Myth of Community we’re acknowledging that not everyone is at the same place in their artistic journey, that not everyone has the same level of experience or training or talent, and that opportunity, compensation and recognition are based at least in part on these factors - and that is okay.

When we reject The Myth of Community we’re acknowledging that the reasons for which people participate in burlesque are varied and infinite; that one person can have several or many different reasons and that these can change over time and with personal experience; that often different people’s goals are complementary but many times they are not - and that is acceptable. 

When we reject The Myth of Community we’re acknowledging that “art” has as many definitions as the people who create it - and that is as it should be.

When we reject The Myth of Community we’re acknowledging that humans are just that – human – with different personalities and experiences and outlooks and intellectual responses and emotional responses and likes and dislikes and relationships and attractions, that everyone is owed basic human respect and that that is the only thing everyone is owed - and that is, simply, what existing as human beings means.

••••

So when we reject this Myth what, practically, happens?

Well.

The idea that there is one single “definition” of burlesque finally being discarded as ludicrous, no show or performer is any longer dismissed by others as being “just classic” or “only doing weird shit” – or indeed is required to define it- or herself in any way. The fucking pointless Is burlesque stripping? non-discussion finally just stops. If people want to perform or produce or teach solely as a lucrative and early-retirement-friendly career, they are free to do so to the best of their ability and the limit the market will allow. If people want to create performances or shows simply for the sheer artistic exhilaration of it and never charge a dime, they are free to collaborate with like-minded individuals and organizations to do so. Other artists will agree or decline to work under these conditions as they so choose. If people want more than anything only to re-create historical striptease with absolute accuracy, or just to perform neo-burlesque based on pop culture references, or solely to be recognized with a particular title or crown, they are free to work towards these goals with as much or as little energy, focus, money and time as they choose to expend.

With producers under no perceived obligation to book anyone, backstage and online bitching about why so-and-so never books me stops, creating a far more professional and pleasant environment for everyone. Forced instead to both evaluate their own attitude and skill level and to learn to interact with peers in a businesslike and appropriate manner, performers, producers and others elevate the level of skill and professionalism across the board. With this increased level of professionalism comes independent, value-based decision-making (“Your host tells racist jokes onstage, so I will not perform with your show”) and also actual accountability (“I choose not to hire you because you speak very badly of this show to other producers and performers.”) With this transparency, rumor-mongering is no longer tolerated and thousands of social media ‘secret groups’ are disbanded. The number of Facebook-fueled pre-ulcerous conditions among artstrippers plummets. 

Without an undefined, constantly contradictory notion of “community” fueling commentary on all ideas and events people focus on their own work rather than monitoring everybody else’s. They work towards fostering meaningful real-world interactions with other living breathing beings, rather than speaking only through the comments section or vaguebooking. They work with whom they choose, for whatever personal or professional reasons they like, while expecting or requiring nothing from those with whom they do not have any relationship.

Festivals become actual ‘reunions’ around the world and celebrations of the various facets of the art form, rather than in-name-or-in-notion attendance-obligatory cookie-cutter pageants. Numerically-ranked voting lists vanish in a puff of illogic and the endless commentary on these lists is instead channeled towards proficient and informed reviews and discussions of art and of craft. Literally almost everyone never wins Miss Exotic World. There is no Next Dita, the Facebook police still crack down on stage names, bots still flag nipple pics and trolls still call us sluts and fatties in the comments section.

And because we don’t have the obligation of Community to contend with all the time, we simply deal with it all in our own individual ways, with the support of our actual friends and families, and with an actual mindfulness towards others’ journeys and the impact that our words and actions have on them beyond trite floral inspirational #myshowgirlfamily quotes on Instagram.

••••

Most of this of course will never happen. It is the utopian fantasy of a middle-aged wiseass title-less non-numerically-important neo-ecdysiast whose goal is to create weird smart shit with like-minded, dependable and adventurous artists, and to sell enough tickets to that shit to pay her exorbitant rent and not die of scurvy in the streets of New York. Would she like to be Heralded as The Eternal Queen of What She Does? She surely would. She would like to be ensconced as Permanent Number One for A Life In Art, Flawlessly Exhibited. She would like to see her Enemies Vanquished By Fire, she would like everyone to agree with her all the time, and to Do Better, and to shut the fuck up about everyone else for a goddamned minute and live their own fucking lives. Is that gonna happen? Ain’t. After twelve years of it the best she can hope for is one single hour when all the other butthurt whiners just do their work, and leave everyone else alone to do their work too.

And so I do enter into a new era of fucklessness. I’d invite you along but really, at this point, I don’t give a fuck. I’ll be over here like an adult caring about the things and people that matter to me and that care back, and not worrying about the rest of it .

But I’m sure I’ll hear everyone’s thoughts on that through the grapevine eventually, anyway.

And I Wish Real Life Came With Back-Up Dancers

“’Tis bitter cold, and I am sick at heart.”

                                                - Hamlet, Act I, scene i

--> I am tired of fighting - with everyone, about everything, every single second of every night and day.

I am exhausted by every audience member who believes that buying a ticket entitles them to take my photo, to film my acts, gives them access to me before the show and after the show and during the show and somehow makes them part of my life.

I’m tired of everyone who has ever - or never - seen a show and thus presumes to speak with great authority about the complexities of art and business and babysitting and relationships and talent and experience and personalities and effort and risk that go into every single second of what I do.

I’m exhausted by those who don’t understand the difference between thoughtful critique and adolescent whingeing, between creating and consuming, between opinion and fact, stage and reality, the internet and life.

I am tired of everyone’s hurt feelings and offended sensibilities and ranting outrage - which somehow exists simultaneously with a blithe disregard for the feelings and sensibilities and circumstances of anyone else’s reality.

I’m tired of bad performers who assume that the sheer fact of their existence entitles them to work; of bad producers who assume that the sheer fact of their existence entitles them to endless gratitude; of every single person who simply assumes that they can do what I do.

I am exhausted by colleagues and friends of nearly a decade’s acquaintance saying one thing to my face and another thing to Facebook. I’m tired of colleagues of minutes’ acquaintance somehow having opinions on my life of a decade past.

I’m tired of constantly having to defend everything I create; of having years of focus and effort and craft dismissed as “comic relief” by performers with a different aesthetic from my own; of being too smart to be the pretty one and too weird to be the fancy one and too much of a stripper to be a “real” performer; and of ever caring about any of that as much as I do.

I’m exhausted by the very idea of a loving and supportive artistic ‘community’ that thrives on factionalism and self-righteousness and dishonest business dealings. I am tired of public outrage when perpetrated against and wide-eyed blinking innocence when perpetrating in the exact same way.

I’m tired of this city. And suitcases. And subways and stairs and closing in on forty with increasingly bad knees and no health insurance and borrowed rent money and strings of cancelled gigs every time it snows.

I am tired of glitter. I am exhausted by the very words: fabulous, showgirl, glamour. I’m tired of leopard print, of spandex, of eyelash glue. I am exhausted by the debate over Swarovskis versus acrylics - by the very fact that this is, somehow, a debate.

I’m tired of having fun. I’m tired of talking about how much fun I’m having, of Tweeting about having fun and posting fun photos of all my fun. I’m tired and just right now, I’m not having any fun.