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    A Dancer Responds

    Dear Reclaiming Quarterly,

    I was very hurt and disappointed by an article you printed in last winter's issue, "Sex Work: Sex-positive or Sexist?"

    I acknowledge and appreciate your efforts to balance this article with Scarlet Harlot's interview. Unfortunately, many of my concerns were not addressed by Ms. Harlot.

    I currently work as an erotic dancer, as do a few of my dear friends. We are all Reclaiming Witches, and feel that our work is not nearly as unacceptable as this article expressed.

    The author asks dancers to, "take a good, hard look at what is given as product, and how incredibly precious it is, and what is received in return." As Witches, we root ourselves in honoring the sacredness of sexuality and women's bodies, so it's natural that another Witch (and feminist) might question the integrity of working in an industry where these sacred things are treated as commodities. But how many precious things are bought and sold in this world? Food -- precious sustenance, which always involves a loss of life so that life in another form may go on -- is bought and sold. Healing-- as medicine, massage, and counseling -- is bought and sold. Mama Gaia herself can be bought and sold (as land) even though we know that She is beyond money or ownership.

    Perhaps more importantly, the "product" that I'm selling as an erotic dancer is not my sexuality, which I could no more give away than I could my imagination or psyche. I make money by providing people with an experience -- the same way that all performers do. Also, I do not agree with the assertion that a lapdance "might be described as simulated sex." Although certainly some lapdances are that way, it is a very narrow and particularly degrading way of looking at something that may be explicit or teasing, intense or gentle, sexually gratifying or just plain fun -- and sometimes even funny. As a former dancer herself, she must know that the dynamics between a dancer and a client are very complicated and as colorful and pied as the neon carpet that lines the stripclub floor.

    This isn't to say I think that strip clubs are enclaves of sexual equality. The author is correct when she says that although there may someday be a world where erotic dance is not steeped in sexism, that world is not the one we live in today. But where some see the palpable sexism of our society today as the reason to question stripping, I understand that it is because sexism pervades our society so deeply that the option of making my living as an erotic dancer is available to me. If women's bodies were revered -- especially if women revered and unconditionally loved their own bodies and sexuality -- men would not pay so handsomely for lapdances. Why would they, when any woman might do the same thing for free, as a joyous and liberated act? The sex industry as we know it is completely dependent on the limited supply and constant demand for audaciously sexual women, and this is what enables me to make a living by being one of those rare creatures who flaunts, relishes in, and provokes people through her blatant and willful sexuality.

    But although I understand that the world of strip clubs is one drenched in sexism, I won't tolerate the idea that the world is more sexist because I work as a stripper. When the author challenges erotic dancers to ask themselves, "Do I feel that I could be contributing to the dynamic of women and their bodies being goods for sale?" and "Do I think the objectification of women can co-exist with women's empowerment?" she seems to imply a certain amount of culpability on the part of dancers.

    Do we ask the illegal immigrants who work on our farms if they ask themselves if they are contributing to an oppressive system? Do we ask them if the objectification of their bodies (as labor) can co-exist with the empowerment of ethnic minorities? We do not. So how is it that the author can push erotic dancers to see themselves as manufacturers of sexist culture, rather than being small figments of something tremendously bigger than any of us, a system that affects all women and men on a daily basis?

    We assume that farm workers are doing what they must to support their families, but often see working as a dancer is some sort of decadence -- maybe if I weren't so lazy or greedy, I could go out and get a "normal" job, one that doesn't damage my integrity or set the feminist movement back twenty years.

    But today in the United States, women still earn only 70 cents for each dollar a man makes, although more often than not we remain the primary caretakers for our children. Strippers are workers that put food on the table. Most erotic dancers (including myself) began dancing only because some sort of financial emergency pushed us to try it. Those who stay after the crisis passes do so because we've discovered that there is nothing wrong with what we are doing, and, perhaps for the first time in our lives, we make enough money to support ourselves. We may make our livings in ways that expose us to a more concentrated form of customary sexism. But to me, the more important issue here is that women in the United States in 2005 -- many with college degrees -- still find it nearly impossible to support themselves and their families. When I look at myself as an erotic dancer, I see what I do as part of something that goes far back in time -- not to the Sacred Whores of the Classical World, but to the Courtesans of the past few centuries. These were women who defied convention and invited chaos into their lives because the socio-political system of the time did not allow them any other way to be financially independent.

    The author asks me to consider, "What is my relationship to money? Am I truly choosing this work, or do I feel that society provides no way for me to support myself?" My answer is no, I have not found that our society provides a way for me to support myself.

    I consider myself to be deeply buried in an oppressive system similar to the ones that Veronica Franco and Marie Duplesiss faced, a system that does not allow women (as well as people of color, people born in the working class, etc.) to be financially secure. I see myself as a woman trying to pursue artistic endeavors in the face of a culture that tells me to be a good little worker.

    Rather than working forty to sixty hours a week in a capitalist job that involves ravaging nature or exploiting people in other nations, I work three days a week and spend my free time pursuing dreams that I think may help change the world.

    Rather than be the dupe of a sexist system that still has women earning 30% less than their male counterparts, I take advantage of that system and make enough money to attend writing workshops and magical retreats, support local artists, and travel.

    Rather than work behind a desk as a non-entity in corporate job that oppresses my spirit, I have a job that allows me to shine on-stage, that demands that I pamper myself regularly, and that has taught me a lot about sisterhood, creativity, sexuality, and energy.

    Am I objectified? Yes, quite frequently. But then again, in this culture, I am frequently objectified just walking down the street, eating in a restaurant, or going dancing at a local club. Am I disrespected? Sometimes, but no more than I was while working as a server in fine-dining restaurants. Am I subjugated by others? No. The freedom and independence I have in my workplace is a stark contrast to the limiting environments I faced working as a hostess, teacher, or administrative assistant.

    In many respects, erotic dancing has been the most personally significant employment I've had. I won't lie to you: it can be very difficult work, both physically and emotionally.

    But by facing these challenges, I've learned deep lessons about myself, and about the world outside my familiar ivory towers. I've developed more strength, endurance, and self-confidence than I ever had before-- yes, especially self-confidence about my appearance and sexuality.

    This isn't because I can now afford a boob job and a personal trainer, but because as a curvy young woman living in a world swathed in prepubescent models with concave cheeks, I had come to believe the myth that men aren't attracted to women whose figures echo that of Neolithic fertility goddesses -- a myth that my success as a dancer, without either boob job or personal trainer, has patently proven untrue.

    I once also believed the myth that only carefully moderated female sexuality is acceptable or attractive; before dancing, anything overtly sexual seemed trashy and ugly to me. Moving past this myth has opened the door to more freedom and joy in my romantic relationships, as well as in my artistic expression.

    As a writer and a Witch, I've learned a lot about human nature -- and compassion -- by witnessing Goddess in the most unlikely of situations, and dynamically expanded my understanding of what it means to say "Thou art Goddess, Thou art God" no matter who it is that I am speaking to. I applaud the author's attempts to be even-handed, and I hope that this response, in conjunction with the first article (see link below), will establish the balance the author and RQ strove to create.

    Most importantly, I hope that other dancers, women considering stripping, and the community I love will now have ample food for thought when reflecting on this line of work and how sexism plays into it.

    Quite often, people ask me, "How on Earth do you call yourself a feminist and work as a stripper?"

    I've thought about it quite a bit, both before pursuing work as an erotic dancer and as a constant process while working in this industry, and I can honestly say I think I'm a better feminist now than I ever was before.

    Much love, Stripper-Witch Number Three

    PS- For those wanting a thoughtful, in-depth look at these issues and the world of erotic dance, I highly recommend Bare by Elizabeth Eaves.

    AManda Etain Adamah offers a different view on sex work and sexism

    Scarlot Harlot offers a different view on sex work and sexism


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