Sunday, 27 November 2011

Getting the right stripper look for each stripclub

An exotic dancer's job is based on looks.  Yeah, sales and attitude come into it, but the right look is key.  That doesn't mean that a girl needs a boobjob, or fake tan, or locks as blonde as Rapunzel.  But it's important to realise that you need the right look - the right look for the night, the right look for the guys coming in, the guys you want to attract, and for the club itself.

Firstly, if you don't have the right look for the club then they won't hire you, or they'll perhaps tell you to sharpen up before your inaugural shift.  That's what happened to me in my first dancing job - I was being hired as a hostess but they said I looked too young.  It's true - I looked proper jailbait at 18/19 years old.

Secondly, it's nice to fit in.  The girls in any club will always look at you a bit funny when you first start - but that's the same as anyplace, right? New school, new office, new pub...  Well whilst it's nice to stand out and look special - perhaps be the only redhead, have the biggest breasts, the shakiest arse, the longest, thickest hair - you still have to make sure that you rock the look which is THE LOOK for you.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, what works for someone - or somewhere - or sometime - else, may not work all the time.  If you are auditioning for an upmarket club, then make sure you look like you take care of yourself.  You have to be immaculate.  No visible roots on those highlights.  Some nice shiny diamante jewellery.  
Your clients will be expecting girls to have a certain look - if its a busy club full of lads on the lash, channel a lads mag pin-up and throw in a few fantasy outfits for good measure.  If its busy midweek attracting business clients, then look groomed - the girlfriend that got away, the supermodel they lust after on billboards, that cute girl from the front desk.  A little black dress, stockings, whoosh those GHDs over your hair.  Turning up on a Tuesday looking like a streetwalker with patent boots and pillarbox red lips may sound like it will make you money, but in reality many men will just be scared off.
If you are feeling downbeat, make your look safe.  Lock-up any outfits which look cheap, hold bad associations, or feel tatty.  Bring out those old favourites, and perhaps cheer yourself up with some new jewellery or expensive lingerie.  A pair of stockings from Walford can be bought from Selfridges for £20, a fancy diamante ring that makes you smile every time you look at it costs under a tenner from anywhere on the high street.

if you are on stage a lot, invest in the ultimate stripper thong.  Yes you read that right - THE ULTIMATE LAP DANCER G-STRING, the kind which blows all those other butts on stage away.  AWAY!  In picking a thong, you have several considerations;

  • BRIGHT ; make your thong so bright that it shines from 50 yards away - because that's how far from your naked booty your customer is sitting.  Get your dancer pal to order a drink form the bar and watch you on stage. If she is not blinded, the thong is wrong. Flouro or crystals need to be maxed.
  • DIAMANTE - Look, crystals catch the light, and you will be standing in lots and lots of spot lights when you are on stage, so ignore the chafe and Swarovski your arse. Your spangly crotch will thank you for it once those notes start getting shoved in the elastic...
  • CURVES I really don't understand all these thong coming onto the market that go straight across your bum. It makes even the most well toned exotic dancer look flabby and fat. Buy the dental floss that curves up, or for the very least, pull it up across your butt cheeks.
  • BUM BUM BUM I've given a million lap dances, and men fall into two camps with me.  They are either an ass or a tit man.  So why so many lapdancers pay no attention to their pants is beyond me.  Pay attention to your pants! If you are tired, bored, need to pick your nose, cough, yawn, or all of the above, you will need to turn around and wiggle your butt. So make your arse a joy to see. 
  • PROLONGING LAP DANCES Look, this is easy-peasy - the longer it takes for you to strip, the bigger likelihood that you will get a 2nd or more lap dance.  Thats another 20 in your pocket. So play with those panties.
  • LABELS Please for the love of Bacchus (God of Debauchery), pretty please, cut the bloody labels out of your pants.  Stripper pants have a lot of wear and tear, and a short shelf life, so if you haven't bought a job lot from the outfit guys that pop up occasionally, a dancer is more likely o wear Primark than La Perla.  Just cut the label out so that the guy who just dropped a grand on you in VIP doesn't think 'CHEAP!'  He wants to stare at your beautiful curves, not the fruits of child labour....

If your look is not working, check out what the top-earners are doing.  And copy it. 
Well they do say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, right?

Friday, 25 November 2011

Cocky attitude fails him

He said he worked in banking, but had probably only just started, as he had the face of a cheeky teenage boy. besides, is equities really banking, or is more one of the prolifigate spank-shops based around the city of London's Square Mile? They are all filled with similar in-your-face city boys, shiny suits over a candy-striped TM Lewin shirt.
He talked back with endless questions and snorts of derision - he knew it all, my efforts at friendly banter was pure bullshit in his eyes. I made saucy comments back and became abrasive myself before turning the conversation to Essex nightlife. He was from somewhere beginning with B. Brentwood or Buckhurst Hill, it's all TOWIE land - a far fetched reality TV show of loud personalities and preening image obsessed Essex lifestylers.
Ironically enough, the first words out of his mouth were about how much he hated his infamous local territory - Sugar Hut and Faces were filled with annoying clubbers, even though they all share the same attitude and upbringing, they are 'too cool' to admit an association.
Just when I'd finally found some common ground to talk about, he changed direction by demanding a dance. I was so pleased that the ordeal was almost over - I could stop focusing on the minefield of words and instead play with my curves in their raunchy new lingerie set.
He passed me a couple of twenties as soon as we got to the booth, and I started slowly undressing, with lots of eye to eye contact and playful winks to keep the guys attention. He had been so easily distracted at the bar I was surprised when he settled down like a meek little choirboy, hypnotized by my tits. His hands were not so well behaved though, brushing up my thighs and making repeat efforts to caress my bum. He'd touch me, id brush his hands off teasingly, he'd try and touch me again, I'd move back, he'd beckon me closer - it was an endlessly repeating dance within a dance.
We stayed for the original two songs and then for one more. I must have been a very sexy little girl to keep him so interested that he became forgetful. His cocksure attitude failed him at the last hurdle - he handed me three twenty pound notes as he left the booth, obviously forgetting that he had already paid me £40.

I like it when that happens - but just in case he realised his mistake, I scurried off in the opposite direction afterwards....

Saturday, 19 November 2011

Are Strippers Self-Employed? Landmark Court Case

Stripping has been in the news again this week, with more publicity highlighting that its not always a glamorous and rosy picture after all.  A former stripper is in the process of suing Stringfellows after she was 'unfairly dismissed'.  According to reports if she wins it could set a legal precedent for dancers in the adult entertainment industry, and give the dancing girls of Britain legal rights.  Our rights as lapdancers are pretty murky, even though the obligations that we have to the club are set in stone, and we are often fined, suspended or sacked if we break them.
The Guardian did a great piece on the case in their legal section, find it here.  If you prefer a more sensationalist tabloid view, the Daily Mail wrote about it here and the Sun here.
At the moment lapdancing is pretty one sided - heavily weighted in the clubs favour.  There will always be more girls willing to take a dancers place after all, especially in these desperate times.  A girl can be here today, gone tomorrow, even if she has been at the club for 6 months - even 6 years!  It's a real pack your bags and F**k off mentality, and whilst some clubs operate a three strikes and your out system, with a written record of any misdemeanours, quite often its a case of bullying, personality clashes and a show of power.
If she wins, the Guardian's legal affairs correspondant says that we could get the same legal rights as other employees.  I'm a bit unsure what else it could mean for us lapdancers as, unsurprisingly, all the articles focus on the kind of questions I get endlessly asked myself - How much did she earn, what was her biggest night, who did she dance for, did she get naked etc. 
But I'm going to keep an eye on this breaking news story because if she wins, I know by experience that it will probably result in two things; all the dancers will be called in for a house meeting, compulsory attendance or get fined (I've had to pay £50 before!), and the management will probably use it as an excuse to deduct more from our wages, ie: if you miss a shift you will get fined, house fee price will rise, some glorified bouncer with nil team management skills will devise a new shift/fine system with out consulting any lapdancers to see what would work.  You may read this and think I'm complaining, but I'm not - generally speaking exotic dancers get treated by the management and clubs the same way motorists often are - as cash cows, with a myriad range of deductions and heavy penalties levied on them.  So I'll be watching this, and will make space in my diary for the inevitable meeting and deductions to follow....

Thursday, 17 November 2011

Dejected & Rejected

Tonight was such a big knock to my confidence. I walked into the club nice and early with a spring in my step, feeling like a million dollars after the best haircut I've had all year.
But I missed out on several chances.
I also put the time in before getting passed over for another blonde.
There were several awards do's this evening and every stripclub in London was surely filled to the rafters with rich men bursting with party spirit.
I know mine was...
But I missed out, and steadily watched with rising trepidation as VIP booth after VIP booth got filled up with missed chances and their lucky girls. As more dancers got taken off the floor, the number of girls available for stage rotation decreased till the flood turned into a trickle and the same girls - us despondent band of rejects - were called up again and again.
I became one of them.
I couldn't, and still can't, believe it.
I felt impotent to the siren call of the DJ. Everytime I stepped onto a podium I could feel myself being dashed onto the rocks, my goodwill and good nature sacrificed in a suicidal mission to make the place look good to the few remaining losers who skulked the floor. The kind of guys who would be hard pushed for a lapdance, let alone 2.

As the night wore on, my shoe leather & patience wearing thinner with every step, I began to get terribly bored and despondent.
I turned from a sassy lapdancer with a brand new 'do to an unloved and unwanted showpony.
Call me irrational but I'm upset.
Upset at how my high expectations were torn apart so cruelly.
I left as soon as I could tonight and walked the streets of London soaking up the quiet.
Call me irrational but I was upset...
I tore off my fake lashes, falling tears had made the glue unstick. It was easy to rip them off, and it felt good. Like a weird cosmetic self-harm.
I glimpsed my reflection in the shop windows, all dark and closed for business at 3am.
I saw my slim figure, hunched, dwarfed by a bag bulging with so-called sexy gear and lucky pants.
My new blonde locks shined like a beacon under the streetlamps. I felt like tearing the stupid hair out, strand by strand.

I know, I know, you'll all be calling me irrational now, but I fell so far, and so hard, in just a matter of hours.

Dejected, I walked and walked until I found myself at Trafalgar Square. Grand edifices made of Portland stone and marble rose all around me. I lit a cigarette and cried.
The spray off the lion fountains looked like hot steam in the chilled night air.
I realized a haircut was not a panacea.
I resolved to do better.
I dried my eyes and went home.

There's always the next time....

Stripclub Stereotypes #11 ; The Eastern European Stripper

Like most British industries, the stripping world has been hit by an influx of immigrants from the former Soviet Bloc states and other countries in the Eastern Europe diaspora over the past decade or so.  They are easy to spot, as they all have long thick hair untouched and undamaged from years of bleaching and extensions, and look like a catwalk model.  Luckily for this historically crappily accurate (ish) account of how they travelled across Europe just to show you their sweet little pussies,  they didn't all come at once, and certainly don't all look the same....

The first wave were the Poles - tall, blonde & blue-eyed young ladies from Poland. As their nationality would suggest, the Poles made very good strippers as they looked excellent draped around a pole, your lap, or each other.  Some even took the jingo reference seriously and became highly-proficient feature dancers with acrobatic pole-work shows.
A few years later, the Estonians and Latvians showed up, I think - a various hotch-potch of countries, bringing with them a kaleidoscope of varying languages and womanhood.  Changing-rooms across the country were suddenly mini United Nations, and the women now on offer were of all sorts of beauty.  Brunette, blondes, mousy, eyes of baize green, icy blues and deep russet browns. they smoked funny cigarettes, such as thin Vogues, and mostly came in pairs or cliques, chattering away in conversations peppered with gutteral pronunciations and the odd designer label 'Mulberry', 'Dolce' & of course, 'Primarni' as the big store on Oxford Street was freshly opened and was - and still is - a mecca for a girl looking for some cheap underwear.
Most recently, the Romanians have ventured onto British shores.  The Romanian girls pushed a whole new kind of meaning to pushy and ridiculousy sexy.  These girls are usually so drop-dead gorgeous you would think they were the underworlds harem.  I've never seen such long, luscious hair, deep black with thick waves and curls.  Eyes are a deep black, wide and open, and fix men with a hypnotic stare.

As a stripclub stereotype, the Eastern European Stripper (and I know that this is a broad bunch and that this post is a very broad generalisation), anyway, the Eastern European strippers can be said to be intoxicatingly beautiful, with willowy figures to die for, full breasts, and a work ethic that puts the average homegrown British stripper to shame.  Imagine you are a customer.  You go for a dance with a charming, pretty little girl from Devon, and you will probably spend £20-60 on her.  It's easier to say no, somehow.  However, go for your next dance with an Eastern European stripper, and you will blow double that.  Go with a Romanian that puts the exotic into exotic dancer, and you won't even have dances - she will lead you straight into VIP, and avail you of at least £150.  I truly wish I knew what they said, and how they did this, as I could then be writing this post from a nice beach-hut in the Caribbean.  I suspect that the enduring fascination with Eastern European strippers is that so many of their kindred feature prominently in porn movies, so bits of them look erringly similar to what the average bloke jacked off to when he was younger, or even last night's secretive fumble whilst the missus was putting the kids to bed.....

Monday, 14 November 2011

where's my copy?! 'Stripped; The Bare Reality of Lap dancing'

Ooohhh, there is a new book out on stripping, and I'm eager to get a copy. But damnnit! Amazon has sold out.  This means that it's probably massively popular already, which is great news for me as I'm currently scribbling away on a lapdancing novel of my own.  Ahhh, how I dream of a major retailer selling out of my own silly scribblings....
So, the new book out is;

'Stripped; The Bare reality of Lap Dancing' by Jennifer Hayashi Danns & Leveque Sandrine and here's an Amazon link

I first heard about it after a Twitter follower (thankyou honey!) alerted me to a review in the Guardian.  I read and reread the piece with some interest as the views purported seem to be the exact opposite of mine - Jennifer worked for two years as a lapdancer and she didn't like it.  At all.

The review said that she drank daily, daily meaning before, whilst prepping and during work.  Lots of girls took cocaine or drank-drived home.  I agree that a lot of women in the stripping profession turn to drink or drugs, but so do many women nowadays in their twenties - drinking and drugtaking are so normalised into social culture and practices that I am more suprised if somebody doesn't drink or dab in a little coke now and then.

But I really emphasised with her stories, collected from various dancers in conjunction with a campaigning co-author, Leveque Sandrine.  God, they make them sound so nasty - and I suppose a lot of them are.  Guys making you feel like shit, whether it's through the levying of pointless fines by a misogynistic management or customers making degrading comments, which get increasingly tiring as they stack up though the night.

The books main thrust, as far as I can tell from the review, is that lapdancing is psychologically damaging.  (I'm really hoping that this isn't true, as I've been in the business for so long now, and would hate to turn out as a crackpot)  But seriously, I think that stripping is harmful for many girls.  In my experiences, their ability to deal with it centers on just a few aspects; the average customers attitude, the level of contact, and how strong a base the dancer has herself.  A girl away from home for the first time at university may find it very difficult.  A journeying dancer - a stripper on tour - in a different bedsit/friends couch/club every week, may find that she gets more worn out and snappy, more introspective.  A girl who is falling in and out of love shouldn't be working till she becomes steady Eddie once more.  A girl who has failed to budget properly, and then work turns quiet, and she doesn't get that windfall she was counting on, well they always say that desperation leads to drink and drugs and ruin.

Yeah, we all have bad days at work.  But if you are a lapdancer without a strong mental barrier to block it all out a bad shift or comment can linger and fester, as Dann notes;  
"While you are dancing you don't talk about it – because if you are not going to stop, what possible value is there in letting [those thoughts] fester? That's why I would question research which only talks to people who are still working."

The book is clearly written with an agenda - a moralistic, anti-stripping one.  I'm a bit scared actually that it will be so full of depressing stories which strike a chord with me that I will go slightly loopy. I started this blog as a way to filter out a lot of the bad comments and soul-destroying evenings - writing has always been a cleansing and cathartic experience for me.  My first blog, the stripper bride, was often written when I was in a bad place, and many of my shifts did make me unhappy.  Even more petrifying is the knowledge that many of their arguments will be heavily researched, and coming from all directions - political, psychological and sociological - directions which I have studied myself.  What if through reading, I am turned away from my profession; "Danns hopes her book will persuade others that this industry harms men and women alike. "There's something uncomfortable and unbalanced in a fully clothed man paying a woman to strip naked."

Anyways, I'm not going to form a valid opinion until I read the book, which I will probably read with a good bottle of red, just to make the nasty truth medicine go down a little better. 

Friday, 11 November 2011

stripping for squaddies & war vets

Eleventh day of the Eleventh month in the Eleventh year of the Second Millennium

It's Rememberance Day today

I've been giving lapdances to lots of injured soldiers this week as London has been full of war veteran memorial dinners and parties.  Most stripclubs are 'squaddie friendly' - they will let men in a uniform in for free, particuarly those who were hurt in battle.  More than I can say for many of the drinking dens in London - shame on you for not letting them in to let off steam!

I always give a little extra to the war veterans, whether I spend more time than usual talking to them, am even more upbeat and flirty than usual, or give them 2 for 1 lapdances.  Basically I give a shit when they meet me as an exotic dancer. And they look really hot in their uniforms!

This week I've done lots of dances and its been really hard for me.  last night I cried all the way home - I just had to release after acting so happy and upbeat on the outside but inside I was thinking - 'your legs been blown off! You have badly burnt hands!' Poor sods.

So today, I remember you guys - and remember, I'm always happy to take my clothes off for my country!

Tuesday, 8 November 2011

Stock-Pick Heroics

I've been encouraged to dip my manicured toes into the murky world of stocks and shares.  Well, I meet enough boys from the city - why not try playing them at their own game?

Once again, Simon English from the Evening Standard has been in touch, and in what must be the ideal dinner party dream, I found myself sat at a table with a City analyst, a journalist, and a PR guy.  Naturally I was the only blonde present, and thought that I added a certain flair to the proceedings.  Simon asked that I dressed 'demure' as it was a 'business lunch in Kensington'. Keeping true to my sexy stripping self, I wore heels and a russet-orange bodycon dress.  Well, a girl has to look good for lunch, right?

I'm now a competitor playing with ten thousand pounds, and rather than spending it in Selfridge's shoe hall, I'm investing it in glitzy, glamorous shares.  With Christmas coming up I don't see how I could go wrong!

I'm dropping two grand on;

Gold - a bit tacky with my colouring, but the rest of the world drape themselves in it.  Especially rich Arabs, who surely control the stockmarket/world economy/stuff.
Silver - a gorgeous seductive precious metal, like me.  
Diamonds - a girl's best friend, especially when they come in a Tiffany's blue box.  Stripper's love a twinkle too - spangly thongs & chandelier earrings!
LVMH - because I love champagne & fancy Salma Hayek
Burberry - because I am a proud Londoner & it's run by girls.

My competitor's are Jeremy the Stockbroker (a charming man) Harry the Hedge-Fund, Whiskers the Cat and Mickey the Mattress.  For some reason I've been called Lisa the Lapdancer - I think I preferred Lucy as in my previous article, but whats a few more stagenames?!?

The competition is running over the next three months - you can read all about it here

Wish me luck!!!

No fighting on the floor

It's been a slow couple of weeks in London's lapdancing industry what with Halloween and Guy Fawkes both taking up the weekends, not to mention half term. Whose gonna end their night at a stripclub if you are carting your family around dressed as a Vampire?
Stripclubs aren't as catty as you might expect - it's a glorified sales floor after all, but when the going gets tough, us girls get our claws out...

Firstly, it's the powerful mixture of money, booze, and large groups of competing women. Most dancers will have a drink or two to warm them up at the beginning of their shift at say, 8 or 9 o'clock, and if there are no customers to talk to they will keep on slowly sipping away. Stripclubs are renowned for big double measures too...

Throw desperation into the mix and shit gets nasty. It's simple striponomics - every night a large number of girls do badly, but they still need to pay their rent, so they come in the next night too. Thus the amount of strippers increases till you get twice the normal amount on even the usually quiet Sunday,Monday,Tuesday shifts. That's a lot of girls hungry to hustle whoever walks through the door....

So I've seen a fair number of bitch fights recently. The scramble when a guy comes in has escalated into an Olympic sprint across the club, pushing & shoving is a daily occurrence, and everyone's complaining to the management that so-and-so is a greedy slapper.

It's quite amusing really. If you like the idea of half-naked wrestling girls, visit your local stripclub and wave a few pound notes into the air. You big tease!

Monday, 7 November 2011

Monday moon in aries

Ohhh apparently the moon is in Aries, my star sign, and this fills me full of energy and awesomeness.

I'm going to use it to my advantage by jumping in the shower and thinking positive thoughts as I scrub the fading tan from my body.
I'll then be a nice moonlight White which I can set off with lashings of perfumed cream till I glisten like a star.
I'm then gonna meditate for a few minutes on my goals for this week. I like to do this on a Monday as otherwise I can be do scatty that I get terribly distracted by gin, tonic, or a combination of the two.
I'm then going to grab my new Italian lacy number which is in a lovely pearly white and strip all night like the moon maiden I am.

Isn't it great when strippers spend too much time alone and go slightly dotty? I think that must be the moons effects too....

P.S. I'll keep you updated on how cosmic this week goes....

Friday, 4 November 2011

Getting motivation is exhausting

I've been in a slump recently.
Filled from tip to toe with ennui till even my nipples could burst from boredom.
It's because I've been trying to do a writing project the fear of which has been making me run away from it.
Kinda like a literary suicide...

I've always been one for shooting myself in the pedicured foot, purposefully putting it off or giving up.

In many ways, that's why lapdancing is such a good job for me. I can put it off in so many facets;

Should I work tonight - or not?
Should I approach him - or them, or wait for another?
Should I do pole work, or just lie languidly?
Should I mention VIP or just grab a dance first in case he's scared off by the sums involved?
Should I be late or get in early?

Lapdancing is all about choices - but when you have too many options, you often end up doing nothing at all...

Thursday, 3 November 2011

Time for a Body Overhaul

Well I'm back from my little sojourn in Italy, and whilst I had a fantastic time, I am now faced with several problems....

Flickr by KWDesigns
  • Carb overload.  I'm not stupid, I knew that this would happen in the land of pizza and pasta.  Luckily for me, I find it very difficult to put weight on, and even if I do pile on a few pounds, they usually pad out my tummy or tits, never the hips.  So after five days stuffing my face with mozzarella in all it's incarnations (creamy burrata, heavy smoked scamorza, melted and gooey mozzarella that stretches from mouth to plate - you get the idea), anyhow, even after five days of munching my body still looks ok.  Not perfect, but still a size 8, except that now with a bit more cleavedge and a little pot belly.  Nothing that a bit of fake tan can't sculpt...
  • Patchy tan.   I didn't top myself up whilst I was away, so my usual layer of terracotta gloop has rubbed off.  It was also in the pleasant twenties so I even caught a bit of sun, especially whilst walking around the glaring ruins of Pompeii.  Again, it's nothing that careful application of fake tan can't fill in....
  • Dodgy knee  Partying by night & sightseeing by day has left me with a swollen knee.  It's the first time my knee's given out through over-use, and I'm pretty worried about it as I'm usually in such good flexible shape.  I'll be calling my masseuse to pound out any stiffness in my joints and muscles, but will also have to find a decent physio to take a look at what could turn into a lingering problem which would be disasterous for my career. (And no, I don't get sick pay guys!)
  • Red Wine Teeth  I drank a lot.  I think I damaged my kidneys too as I had a lower back ache for a good 24 hours.
  • BUT THE GOOD NEWS IS.....  I had a well-deserved holiday, got to see some beautiful sights both ancient and modern, got trashed with old friends and made lovely new ones.  I also spoilt myself to a lovely lingerie slip in Italian silk and lace that will be perfect for work, and several traditional devil's horn good luck charms, so hopefully they will manifest in lot's of lucky VIP's and multiple lapdances.......