I Want the World to Know That I’m a Stripper
By: Anne Ray
Tags: Hands, Equality, Eyes, Work, Sex Work

I Want the World to Know That I’m a Stripper

The most difficult part of my job isn’t dancing, it’s lying about it

Photo: Nina Marsiglio/EyeEm/Getty Images

I was at a bar with friends back in Seattle. There was a movie playing on a flat screen. My friends weren’t paying attention to it, but I have an unfortunate tendency to gravitate towards screens. What I saw was this: a young woman, naked except for sexy knee-high boots, dramatically splayed out on the ground in what seemed to be a hotel room. The camera lingered on her for a while, offering her to the viewer’s eye. In a second I knew two things about this woman: She was dead and she was a stripper. I asked the waiter what movie this was so that I could go online to read its synopsis. I found that I was right. The woman was a stripper who went back to a main character’s hotel room and then accidentally died during intercourse, which sets the movie — described as a “dark comedy” — in motion as a group of bumbling male friends try to hide their non-crime.

I knew this woman was a stripper because of the voyeuristic pleasure that was taken in showing her lifeless, naked body. What I saw I immediately recognized: a form of gleeful, cynical objectification. It was something that I understood because I am a stripper, too.

Photo: Weggee Productions

I have been a stripper for almost a year and a half, and I like it. I mean, it’s a tough job. You have to be confident; you have to be comfortable with your body and with being naked and acting sexual in public; you have to perform very physical work for hours at a time; you have to deal with drunks, with disrespectful men; you have to make sure you actually get paid for your work and sometimes even battle your establishment’s hostile management. But did I like any of my other jobs better than stripping? Absolutely not.

So I have finally found a job that I sort of enjoy. A job that pays better than anything I’ve done before. A fun job that motivates me to constantly improve myself. And yet I am miserable. Now, I’m not miserable because I secretly hate my job, like all the guys who tell me “You’re too beautiful to do this” assume. I am miserable because I cannot live truthfully.

Can you think of any depiction of a stripper in pop culture that does not rely heavily on the shock value of the mere fact that strippers get naked for a living?

How many people do you think know I am a stripper? How often do you think I tell people the truth when they casually ask what I do for a living? Lying about my life is part of the job. I lie to customers. They ask if I have a boyfriend. They ask where I live. They ask what my real name is. I lie. I lie every day I work. And then I lie on my days off. I lie when I’m Skyping with my parents. I lie when contacting prospective landlords. I lie to my friends about what I’m doing next Saturday night. I lie to my loved ones and to strangers alike, because my way of life is shameful, apparently.

You might say: “Just tell people you’re a stripper. No big deal.” Are you sure about that? How would you react if someone told you they’re a stripper? How often do you hear strippers discuss their work at Starbucks? Wouldn’t you chuckle and text your friends if you overheard a stripper tell her friends about that guy who fell asleep in VIP last night?

The fact is that I am not crazy. I have good reason to be nervous about people’s judgment. Remember the movie scene I described earlier? Can you think of any depiction of a stripper in pop culture that does not rely heavily on the shock value of the mere fact that strippers get naked for a living?

Some douchebag gets married to a stripper during a Vegas bender? Embarrassing! A man leaves his wife for a stripper? Shocking! A stripper gets knocked unconscious? Hilarious!

‘Desperate Housewives’ character Gabrielle Solis tries her hand at pole dancing to titillate her husband. Photo: Disney/ABC Television

Strippers are the butt of these jokes not merely because we are recognizable cultural entities, but because the supposedly degrading quality of our work has made us easy prey.

Strippers are a joke in real life, too. I often carry a lot of one dollar bills. I cannot recall the number of times I’ve settled a bill with a bunch of ones, and the server has quipped: “Where have you been!?” with a goading smirk. Never do I answer: “I have been at work. Those were thrown at me onstage.” They don’t expect, or want, to hear that. The point of their joke is that the mere possibility that I’ve been to a strip club or am a stripper is amusing. The reality of my life does not touch them. (By the way, that happened even in Portland, Oregon, a city supposedly more tolerant of the likes of us. There is no haven for strippers.)

We live in a sexist society; strip clubs are just easy to fixate on because their display of sexualized femininity is so flashy. Thinking that strip clubs create sexism ignores the bigger picture.

If you are a woman, you know you can’t escape the expectations placed on your womanhood. Now imagine being a woman who is even more intensely defined by her sexuality — in fact, a woman others refuse to define in any way other than her sexuality. And that’s not all. People will assume you’re a drug addict. They’ll assume you have no self-respect. Maybe you were abused as a child?

Isn’t that a neat little mental compartment? Strippers are broken, but they are over there, on the side of the interstate, in the sadder part of town. They are messed up because they are lowlifes. Their difficulties have everything to do with their intrinsic limitations and nothing to do with the fact that society constantly pushes them to the margins, collects their money through taxes and mandatory licensing — did you know that in many places, strippers need expensive licenses before they can work? — but refuses to acknowledge their dignity or guarantee their safety. Well, it’s okay: Every once in a while, some church ladies come by with cupcakes and promises of redemption.

Shot from the Queens of the Stone Age’s ‘3’s & 7’s’ music video. Photo: Universal Music Group

As I mentioned earlier, I’ve been stripping for almost a year and a half. It’s not long compared to others, including some badass women who have made a real career out of this. But I have seen enough to know that strippers are diverse and they are everywhere. Last September, I embarked on a road trip around the country. My goal was to dance in as many locations as possible to figure out where the best place to work was. I shook my naked ass from Seattle to Charleston and back. I have learned a lot, but there was something I already knew: Strip clubs are everywhere. The demand for strippers is everywhere. So why should we be invisible?

I am tired of having to make myself small in order to not offend people. I am a smart-ass stripper with a master’s degree. I did not choose to become a stripper because I have an imperfect mind, I did it because I live in an imperfect world. You think strip clubs are sexist? You think they perpetuate the objectification of women? Have you seen the world? We live in a sexist society; strip clubs are just easy to fixate on because their display of sexualized femininity is so flashy. Thinking that strip clubs create sexism ignores the bigger picture. Men (granted, not all of them) enter the strip club with their sexist preconceptions. And the stigma against strippers makes it even easier for them to dehumanize us. Every time you perpetuate negative prejudice against strippers, you make it a little bit easier for a predatory man to assault a stripper without consequences.

I am not arguing that stripping is inherently feminist; I haven’t yet made up my mind on that point. But it opens a path for women, including some with few career opportunities (because they have a police record, because they have struggled or are struggling with addiction, because they do not yet speak the language perfectly, etc.) to reach financial stability.

I found a way to play by the rules of this world that brings me closer to happiness than working as a cashier did. I have found a community of brave, smart, entrepreneurial women who inspire me every day, and then I have been asked to laugh at grotesque caricatures of these women — of me — in pop culture.

When you belittle us, you make us weaker in the face of real challenges.

I am being asked to stay quiet while my interests are trampled and my supposed allies look the other way. What did the mainstream media have to say about the impact of SESTA-FOSTA on sex workers? How long before someone asks presidential candidate Kamala Harris about the consequences of her crusade against Backpage.com?

Most people don’t care about strippers. Maybe they care about workers’ rights? Do they care to know that strippers are not paid employees, but independent contractors who pay the club for every shift we work? Do they care to know that we have no protection? That when we sign a contract with a club, we often relinquish the right to sue for any injuries that happen on the job? That we can be denied access to work at any time? Does it at all shock them that we have the same obligations as employees, but without the protections they enjoy? Or would people rather just laugh at the fact that we get naked for a living and ignore the complexities and hardships of our job?

When you belittle us, you make us weaker in the face of real challenges. It’s not only the precariousness of being an independent contractor. It’s dealing with some men who do not think we are anything more than pieces of meat. It’s confronting law enforcement officials who assume we are criminals. It’s battling strip club employees who think we are good-for-nothings when we are actually their livelihood. Want an example? The other day, a customer — drunk? Mentally unstable? Resentful? — told a manager at my club that I cooked meth. It doesn’t matter that I have never even seen meth in my life; I almost lost my livelihood.

I am exhausted. I am carrying an unnecessary burden. I feel like sharing that burden with the world not only because it would make my life easier, but because it might eventually make the world a better place. I have reason to believe that when enough of us come out about our job and take up more space in public life, society will improve. There is no reason to push part of the population into the shadows, especially when those people provide society with a service there is real demand for. Marginalizing a group of people harms everyone. That is a fact we should have learned by now.

So I’ll start: Hi, my name is Anne, and I strip for a living.