Changing Spaces, Part Two

“What’s your name? What’s your real name? Where are you from? Why’d you move here? What’s your tattoo mean?”

And my personal favorite: “What do you want to do with your life?”

Imagine having to answer those questions every night, and when giving the same answers to dozens of strangers, sounding genuine and spontaneous.

Many readers might assume they know why I stopped stripping and took on a more socially acceptable occupation.

You’d be surprised.

Even more exhausting than having to touch and feign interest in men nightly is how much a dancer is required to give emotionally.

Repeatedly providing a shallow definition of myself to strangers throughout the week left me drained of any enthusiasm for meeting new people, even in daily life.

Another inspiration for getting off the pole was that dancers are constantly faced with the public’s stereotypes, either spawned from dirty bachelor party stories or watching “Showgirls” too many times and mourning the loss of Jessie Spano’s innocence.

When asked what I did for a living I’d have to choose between telling the truth and facing judgments, telling the truth and addressing perverse curiosities about “what really goes on in the back room,” or just flat out lying.

Waiting tables, I sweat more and my feet hurt every night (those clear plastic heels are actually very comfortable and I bet any waitress would be happy to serve a shift in them). I also stress more than I used to, but that’s because I care about my job now.

My reasons for taking a sweatier, more stressful position may not have been what you were expecting. I’m definitely glad it’s no longer my responsibility to explain away stripper-myths.

And the best part is I don’t have to answer those stupid questions over and over in order to get paid.