Maybe it’s something to do with the fact I’m working in a lingerie store that’s often frequented by sex workers and strippers that I find myself reminiscing on my own chequered past. And I say chequered with no hint of remorse or self-judgement.
My years working as a stripper were some of the best of my life. Possibly not the healthiest but definitely some of the most fun. It was an easy and carefree time or maybe I’m romantiscing it in my head. Who knows? Lately I’ve been contemplating coming out of retirement and, while I know I could probably still dance well, I know I wouldn’t be confident enough in my body to pull it off. Not at the moment anyway. Don’t get me wrong – I feel confident in clothes and in the outfits I wear out at night and to Babylikestopony but getting nude on stage is a whole ‘nother deal, especially when you’re pushing 37 and all the other girls are teens and early 20s. I’m realistic enough to know that I’m not quite up to that at this point in time.
I also worked as an escort for about six months and found the work itself to be quite easy and very lucrative. The hardest part was other people’s reactions, their judgement, not being able to tell people what I did because of the shame they assumed I felt and how that reflected in their eyes. Seeing young women coming into the store with their independence and confidence, happily talking about their work with strangers (us in the store) made me think that maybe the world has changed. Maybe things are different. I doubt it though. The world hasn’t come that far. Or maybe I’m just a cynic.
I often have moments where I want to find a way to be part of that industry again but I know it’s more just a feeling of nostalgia. Of remembering how young and carefree I was and unboring the world seemed. Everything was in front of me whereas now, in many ways, I have so much more but also so much less. I’ve done so much – now what’s left? And who has the energy to fucking organise it anyway? When you’re one of the only organisers you know, nothing much happens unless you make it so.
Working at Babylikestopony has definitely been a blessing. I don’t know how I would manage if I didn’t have that to look forward to two days a week but still… for a long time, I’ve been craving some kind of excitement that just isn’t there for me anymore. I don’t know what will bring it back. Hell, I don’t even know what it is I want. I guess for the moment, wearing lingerie outside my clothes and living vicariously through the lives of others will just have to do. It’s not such a terrible life, I guess.
I’ve had this feeling all day like I want to write something but wasn’t really sure what. It wasn’t until I took Scooby out for a night time pee/stroll that bits of this post started coming to me.
My husband and me are going back to counselling. We both feel like we’ve grown disconnected and, if we keep going the way we are, we’ll just grow apart. Obviously, it’s not a great thing to feel like you have to take these steps to save your relationship but I’m happy to be doing it. I’m happy that we’re not just giving up and throwing away nearly 13 years of being together. I’m happy that we’re giving ourselves the chance to fix things.
I’ve also been seeing my own therapist since probably mid-last year. I’d been feeling really low and knew that I needed more help than I could give myself. Although, my husband feels like I haven’t really done enough to try and fix my feelings. He thinks I should be on medication but I don’t think I’m depressed. I think I’m having a crisis of self-esteem that’s being exacerbated by constant drinking and drugs. I want to give myself a chance to find my baseline, to have a significant time off drugs – at least – to be able to know what my mental state is like without the constant vicious comedown cycle. And then, if I don’t feel better, THEN I’ll medicate. Without hesitation, I would. But not now. I need to give myself a chance in the same way that we’re giving us a chance.
Cocaine has always been the problem for me, since I was maybe 19 or 20 (god, that sounds bad when I type it IRL). The main one, anyway. I like other drugs but cocaine is the one I can’t say no to. A few drinks down and the next thought is: coke. It’s a real problem. Not that I do it every day. But every weekend, yes. I’ve had one weekend off since October. One weekend. And stupid me thought that after that one weekend I would feel AMAZING! That the lowness would be cured. Turns out one weekend isn’t enough but still it was a start. I fucked up the following weekend but this weekend I’ve stayed in (so far). Next weekend is my birthday so that’s a write off but I do want to try and give myself some time after my birthday and before we go to Coachella at the end of April.
Anyway, besides the drugs, my main issue is that, for the first time since I was in my teens, I look in the mirror and I don’t like what I see. Maybe part of it is just getting older but I’m noticing changes in my body that I do not like at all. I don’t like how I look in pictures. I don’t like myself, inside and out. But mostly out, because I feel like the outside has changed the inside. For awhile there, I was training regularly and eating better and things were manageable but, since mid last year I kind of gave up on the eating well part, which meant the training was pretty much negated (can’t out-train a bad diet, someone said).
I remember what I used to be like. I used to be confident. I used to love myself – all of myself. When I was stripping, I felt so powerful, so beautiful. I was the most independent I’ve ever been. I didn’t need anyone. Not that it’s necessarily a good thing to not need anyone but I felt good – about myself, about my life.
So late last year, I started doing private strip lessons to try and recapture that feeling. The first class back after New Year, I nearly died when I looked at myself in the mirror. I’ve kept at it though, even though I hate what I see. I felt like maybe, if I kept it up, I’ll somehow get in touch with the confident girl I used to be. Sometimes I feel a flicker of her. I don’t know if it’s just scraps of her left behind (which means she’s never coming back) or if she’s still all there, just trapped deep down under a multitude of negative experiences and self loathing. I worry she’s gone. That I’ve done such irreparable damage that, even if I eat well and get fit, that part of me will still be dead.
If I fix my body, will my mind follow? Am I really so hung up on being attractive to myself and others that, once that fades, I become this shadow of a person that can barely function, that caves in on herself like a hollowed out mountain. If so, god help me when I really start getting old and shit really goes wrong.
I actually entertained the notion of a boob job not so long ago. Not that there’s anything wrong with them, I’ve just always really liked my boobs. But I felt so shitty about myself, I thought making that kind of external change might somehow make me feel better. Madness, right? Even I was like, “Natalie, this is a new low. Even for you lately.” Again, nothing against boob jobs, more of an observation of the downward spiral of my own self appreciation.
I don’t know how to fix me. I suppose all I can do is it try and take care of myself – mentally and physically – and see what happens. That’s all we can ever do, right?
As some of you may have read on my other blog, I’ve been going through a bit of a body image/self esteem crisis of late. I’ve been dealing with it in a number of ways – some good, some not so good and some definitely bad. For example, I’m seeing a therapist, doing private exotic dance classes and have a personal trainer so those would be good things. I’m also going to restart my horse riding classes which I was doing for awhile there but cancelled them all when I worked myself up into a ‘I don’t want to do anything/what’s the point?’ mind rage awhile ago.
On the not so good-bad side, I have been partying a lot – sometimes to great excess – and comfort eating. Both the best and worst thing to happen to me is the opening of our new cafe where I now have endless access to delicious custard filled pastries and I avail myself of one literally every day I’m there (which is pretty much every day). Then, a few weeks ago when I was feeling particularly shit, I drove well out of my way to find a McDonald’s drive through where I scarfed down a double cheeseburger, fries, soda and choc fudge sundae with fudge on the top and bottom. And I had no regrets. The thought, “who fucking cares?” actually went through my mind as I gorged myself in the parking lot. This thought goes through my mind quite a bit actually.
I know what I’m struggling with is not liking my outside or my inside. I know this. But sometimes I get fed up and doing unhealthy things to excess seems to be the way I handle it. “Oh well, can’t control it,” my brain seems to think. “May as well push it to the fucking limit. What’s the worst that could happen?”
One of the perhaps in between (or good – I certainly don’t see it as bad) things that I’ve been fixating on is tattoos. For quite a while now, I’ve had a list of tattoos I want to get but, while I know what I want, I don’t know where I want it to go (a major part of any tattoo decision, really). Anyway, these decisions have been coming to me lately – I suppose as a means of exerting control over my body or trying to convince myself to like my outside more or maybe just to cover it up. I’m sure my therapist would have some thoughts on the topic.
Anyway, I already have nine tattoos across my wrists, back of my neck, shoulders, back of my thigh and a decent chunk of my back. Last week, I got a little red crown on my left shoulderblade. Only a small, fine lined one – nothing like some of the larger pieces I’ve gotten. But on Friday, I’m going to meet with another artist about my first really visible piece – a geometric half-sleeve. I have all my inspiration pics and I’d already scoped this dude out for another piece and I like his style so it’s not like this is something I’ve never considered before but it definitely feels like an accelerated process right now. After this one, I already have another text based one I want done and eventually a chest piece (still working myself up to that one). Some might say my creative juices are just flowing a bit more now – but others might think otherwise. Who knows? Either way, it’s happening.
As I mentioned earlier, I’ve been doing private stripping classes. Some of you may not know this but I used to strip when I was in my teens and early 20s and lately I’ve been missing it very much. It was honestly the time I felt the most beautiful, powerful, sexy and in control of myself in my whole life. I’d been toying with the idea of getting myself into shape (more or less) and going back and doing a shift or two. Not for the money, just for the experience. Just to feel better about myself, to feel desirable. Yes, I know I shouldn’t be looking for this externally but until I can find it within myself then I felt like this could be a short term solution.
So I started planning my outfits. I bought new stripper shoes. My therapist (both of them at the time) were very keen on this idea but, when I floated it with Jared, him not so much. I can’t say I wasn’t devastated for awhile there but I’ve resigned myself to doing the private classes instead. I feel more uncoordinated than sexy dancing to someone else’s choreography with someone that’s a much better dancer (at least to their own choice of music) but it’s something at least. We’ve been dancing to this hip hop song I don’t particularly like but she posted a video of something else much more sexy and slow the other day so I might broach the subject of doing some more kind of freestyle-y, sexy stuff – just shorter routines, we can learn quickly in each 1hr session. I feel like that might make me feel more sexy. I don’t know.
And, just when you thought I couldn’t get more fucked up, despite my complete and utter loathing for my body, I have stepped up my level of exhibitionist dressing to sometimes extreme levels. Corsets, harnesses, lingerie as outerwear, sheer bodysuits in fine dining restaurants, for someone that doesn’t like themselves physically, I do a good job of making it look otherwise. My desire for new lingerie knows no bounds (even though I only wear it out in public – for show) and I’m now obsessed with wearing stripper shoes in public. Ever the provocateur I am, except now it’s all front and no substance beneath. I no longer believe my own hype.
What can I say? These are complicated times for me.
I’ve been quite nostalgic about stripping of late. It’s been eight or nine years since I stopped but somehow my sister’s convinced me to take a pole dancing class with her once a week. The classes make me feel terribly unfit and uncoordinated, mostly because I’m not half as strong, flexible or graceful as I used to be. Usually I wear gym gear but yesterday I felt inspired to get into costume. I dug out a pair of mesh, frilly panties, a sheer black top and my old pair of 7″ silver glitter stripper heels. Gosh, they must be at least 12 years old now. It’s a wonder they didn’t crumble into dust!
Clothed a bit more appropriately for the task at hand, I almost felt the part as I strutted my way into class. I wasn’t able to get totally back into character (Jay and Mia were my stripping alter egos, depending on which club I was at) but I definitely felt like I belonged on that pole a little bit more than when I was wearing a singlet, gym shorts and bare feet. The stripper shoes make all the difference, I’m telling you.
Then last night, I went down a rabbit hole watching the amazing pole goddess in the video below. There was another video on FB that was EPIC – find her, her name’s Daria Chebotova – but I couldn’t figure out how to get the link and it’s not on YouTube, as far as I can see. It was posted on Tuesday or Wednesday and features two girls in gold and black costumes. Holy fuck. Ah-mazing. Still this one is pretty awesome too and the song is perfect. Makes me miss being on stage and feeling at one with the music and sexy as fuck. Not that I was quite as spectacular as this woman but still… I’m a good dancer, if I’m allowed to say that. 🙂
Then the other week, I saw a photo from the theatre production of Closer and that took me back as well. In the photo, it’s the strip club scene where Alice/Jane is standing over Clive’s character (can’t remember his name). She’s facing away from the camera and all you see are the backs of her legs and him sprawled on the couch below her. The positioning of the actors and placement of the camera make Alice/Jane seem totally in control. You might be more familiar with the movie version with Natalie Portman and Clive Owen. I’ve included a still from the movie, couldn’t find one from the play.
I think many people think of stripping as something male driven. And in many ways it is. If men didn’t want to spend money watching naked women, the industry wouldn’t exist. If they didn’t want to spend it on you specifically, you wouldn’t make any money. But what a lot of people don’t realise is that it’s often the women that are the aggressors. They approach the man while on stage or while on the floor. They talk him into spending money he may not otherwise have spent. Yes, men will often approach you for a dance but a lot of the time it’s because of the connection you made him feel while you were dancing on stage.
Once you get in the private room, yes he’s paid for your time but it’s only the very rude men who try to tell you what to do. Most just watch in silence or chat with you but rarely will they make a specific request and, if they do, it’s usually done very politely. If he misbehaves, you can call security at any minute and have him unceremoniously ejected from the premises, never to return. Men know this. And they also know they’re not getting a refund. This has been my experience anyway.
There are many things I don’t miss about stripping: the late nights and unhealthy lifestyle, the financial instability, the incessant small talk with people I had nothing in common with. But there are other things I do miss: being on stage, essentially dancing and entertaining for a living, the costumes and outfits, the socialness of working (and playing) with all the girls and most of the customers, the money.
You might think I’m contradicting myself by mentioning the money and financial instability but I’m not. I made heaps of money, very easy money, but you were never guaranteed anything (some clubs gave you a retainer on certain nights but it wasn’t much). You had to work for every penny and, if you had an off night or it was quiet, you made nothing. That’s what I mean by money being a pro and a con. I always made enough but I was never sure I was going to – not like when you have a ‘real’ job that pays a set wage every week.
Also, the confidence. You feel like a fucking goddess while you strip and sadly life outside the club isn’t quite like that or, at least, not every day. 😉 I feel like a get a tiny whiff of that feeling during pole class sometimes when they’ll show us a move I already know or we’re doing floor work (I’m still kind of ok at that). But maybe it says more about me that that kind of confidence boost comes from having people watch me and desire me in such an blatantly sexual manner.
Maybe I’m ruined for real life, which is a problem because I’m going to a whole bunch of burlesque shows this month, including seeing Dita Von Teese which I AM SO FUCKING EXCITED ABOUT!!! However, this sexual entertainment overload means my nostalgia will be pretty much constant. Someone asked me if I wanted to topless waitress at their bar for some event they’re having and I actually considered it (am considering it). Maybe I’m just missing excitement in my life and, by ‘excitement’, I mean that feeling of being sexy and desired that stripping runs hand in hand with.
Well now, this isn’t quite where I thought this post would end up. Although, I kind of like it when this happens. It’s like writing/typing through my thoughts.
thecuriousadventuresofme 