You know what I hate? When people who call themselves feminists tell me that I’m degrading myself or messing myself up by being a stripper (“if only she knew what she’s doing to herself,” they whisper). After over a decade of dancing, I’ve got a pretty good idea of exactly what I’m doing, and I’m feminist enough not to let them define my experience. Sometimes men even do it, “I know it all seems fun and exciting now, but soon you’ll be passed out on heroin getting raped for ten bucks, trust me, I know these things.” They think this does something for their manly image.
I love stripping. I love getting naked and dancing under red lights. I love crawling around in peoples laps and bringing them into themselves. It’s one of the most sacred things I have ever done.
Sometimes I resent the context of it all. I resent having to deal with a bunch of drunk young guys who are looking for something so different from what I offer, and I wish I could cloister myself away in a sacred temple convent of holy whores. But most of the time I appreciate the way a strip club is a tiny replica of the whole world. I love that I dance with law students and coke heads and we are all just women. I love that I’ve learned more about the patriarchy from drunken assholes than is even possible to learn sitting in a feminist theory class listening to abstract concepts.
I also love that I can pretty much work where and whenever I want, and that when I do work I make enough money that I don’t really have to work very often, if I don’t want to. I think it’s disgusting and fucked up that the dominant culture forces people to go do what they’re told for forty hours a week in order to have a place to live and food to eat. Forty hours a week of slavery, in exchange for food and a bed. If your a good slave, you can have a nice big house, health insurance, and a fancy car, and you’ll probably identify with the slave-makers. It’s an awful system that I like to think I’m completely seperate from.
Except. You know what’s bothering me today? That if I’m going to stay here in my beloved Alaska for the winter, and stay in a warm place, I’m gonna have to go work for a couple months straight to make the money. Even worse, if I’m going to buy land and build my own warm little place to live I’m gonna have to go work really hard all summer.