Strip Clubs and You: A User's Guide

One of my dearest and oldest friends was getting married. Lisa and I had known each other since we were 8, and I was so excited that she was getting married and that I would get to be a bridesmaid. So, in leiu of a traditional bachelorette party, we decided to have a much classier celebration. We ignored the tradition of penis straws and "last night" sashes. We got all dressed up and went out to the Melting Pot.

And after dinner, found ourselves bored.

"I don't wanna go home yet," she frowned.

"Well, Miss Bride to Be, where do you wanna go?"

"Strip club?"

So much for the classy evening.

After a few giggles we realized it would be our first time at a strip club. We excitedly hopped in the car and headed to the only all-nude male revue I knew of in town... only to discover it has been turned into a Jazz club.

I looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Well?"

"All girl strip club?"

Without another word, we turned around and headed to a strip club, that boasted hundreds of beautiful naked girls.

The two of us in a titty bar was interesting to say the least. Lisa was straight as they come and I am a 2 on the Kinsey Scale. But the reason Lisa and I have been friends for 15 years is because we're always up for the experience just to say we did it. The "why not?" attitude has got us through a lot in the past.

We walked in tentatively, to be told that it was BYOB, meaning alcohol was not served on the premises. But with our receipt, we could get complimentary sodas, since we were "ladies". We joked to each other how odd that they would be conservative on their drinking policies, of all things.

And, what is there to say about the first trip to a strip club that hasn't been said before?

My personal brand of feminism has been from the Playboy era of sexuality. If a woman is beautiful and smart, what the hell is wrong with her exploiting her sexuality in a fun and safe environment? Who are we, the public, to judge her personal sense of fulfillment? Plus, I've always said if I had the body for it, hell yeah, I would strip. Lisa and I had even very jokingly discussed the possibility of stripping because plus sized girls would appeal to the fetish market, which would mean more money.

I assumed the atmosphere would be fun and playful. Perhaps it was Hollywood's influence, but I expected dancing and cheering and hootin' and hollerin'. I assumed girls would rip off their tops in dramatic flairs and dance to the music, as they happened to be naked. What girl wouldn't enjoy being paid to be cheered at for looking beautiful?

Well, I can answer that now. The six girls I watched dance looked completely dead on the inside. Their faces were all frozen in what was not even an attempt to look happy or flirt with the customers.

We watched girls dance, and were shocked by what "dancing" meant. Call me crazy (or blame Hollywood) but I always assumed strippers would dance... well normally... as if they were at a club. They just happened to be naked.

But no, strippers don't really dance. The music is there incidentally. I don't even know if the strippers I saw even heard the music. They simply gyrated, worked the pole, and simulated sex by spreading their parts for the world to see. During one particularly widening performance, Lisa stared at me.

"Can she do that?!"

"I guess she can..." I murmered.

And the audience? Well, half of the audience unsurprisingly were older men. These men weren't having fun either. They sipped their cokes and stared, zombie-like, at the girls performing. I wondered if these guys were regulars, who hung out there every night. If so, why did they keep coming back? Fifteen dollars for emotionless performances from girls who wouldn't flirt back with you? Watch porn for that! And if there weren't any regulars, how the hell did this place stay in business?

The other half of the audience? Young couples. Men who shyly tried to figure out what they could and could not look out without seeming like creepy old men, and their prospective girlfriends, who tried to cheer and laugh and encourage their boyfriends, but obviously were dealing with low self esteem themselves. None of these girls were beauties nor were they likely to climb a pole without triggering an asthma attach. But hey, at least they get brownie points for trying to spice up their sex lives, I guess.

The most pitiful thing I saw was when Lisa asked me where to smoke. We found a back patio, sectioned off for smokers. As we walked out, I almost laughed out loud. One half of the patio was occupied by strippers who were "off" at the moment, laughing and chuckling and chattering away. The other half of the patio was occupied by men, awkwardly shuffling their feet.

"This segregation between boys and girls reminds me of a third grade dance," I whispered to Lisa.

As we left, I began to think. My entire view of strip clubs had changed. Who was "empowered" here? Certainly not the strippers. The only people in the club who seemed satisfied with their stations in life were the men walking around in business suits who walked around importantly, obviously a part of management. I had also always assumed that if need be, I would have no problem accompanying my boyfriend to a strip club to reassure to him that I'm not the jealous type and that I want to encourage him to explore the sides of him that may feel repressed.

But frankly, if he was turned on or thrilled by seeing these lifeless girls, I'd be pretty disgusted.

Lisa and I had walked in determined to stay at least until we felt we had gotten our money's worth, the $10 lady cover charge. Between dances, I'd ask her questions, determined to not make her last night single a complete bust.

"You want some singles to throw at the girls?"

"Uh, no."

...

"You want a lap dance?"

"Yeah, I don't think so."

When we finally felt as if we had gotten our $10 worth, we left to the parking lot.

I complained bitterly, frustrated by my deflated expectations.

Lisa looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

"You know, while you examined the sociological aspects, Brandi, I was busy myself."

"Really?" I brightened, glad that our uneventful bachelorette party may have been more eventful than I realized.

"Yes," she told me. "I was busy watching the strippers and how they moved their bodies and let me tell you, I have moves to perform for my wedding night."

I guess I was wrong.

I guess someone walked out of that strip club feeling empowered, after all.