I used to live near a naval base and directly across the street was a strip club. Eventually the naval base closed, and shortly thereafter, the strip club shut down, too, which left me thinking, “Well, of course.”
After reading two articles in the Washington Post this past week about the “trend” of straight women going to strip clubs that feature women dancers (you can find the articles here and here), I’m wondering if that strip club near my house could have survived if only it had been marketed to women. I’m generally suspicious of these “trend” stories that appear in newspaper style sections, and I’m not convinced that straight women are flocking to strip clubs after reading the Washington Post’s take on it, but I’m willing to consider it, for the sake of this blog post, at least.
The biggest problem I have with the “trend” is that there just doesn’t seem to be a compelling reason why straight women would suddenly find stripping entertaining. Oh, the author quoted a couple of pointy headed intellectuals trying to explain, like this from noted pointy head Ebony Utley, a professor at Cal State Long Beach.
“I think in the strip club we’ve got a new generation of women that is throwing off the shackles of the politics of respectability,” says Utley, whose research has appeared in academic journals such as “Women and Language.”
Eh, maybe. There just seem to be better ways to throw off the shackles of politics of respectability (whew! that is a mouthful!) than to sit around a stuffy, probably smelly, barroom with a bunch of creepy guys pawing at gyrating women who are trying to get me to stuff dollar bills into their undies. For example, if I really wanted to throw off the shackles of politics of respectability, I’d totally sex the entire men’s cross country team (Go Aggies!) that trains near my house, instead of meekly crossing to the other side of the street to finish my run when they approach. Take that, shackles of political respectability!
But watching women with bigger breasts and nicer asses than me rub up and down a metal pole? I don’t see how that’s liberating. It sounds more like a recipe for exacerbating every personal insecurity I have. According to one of the articles, here are a few reasons women go to strip clubs:
“Between us girls, I started coming to keep an eye on him,” a woman sitting in the front row at one of the sad, suburban clubs told me behind her husband’s back. While their 3-year-old son slept at home with a sitter, they were in the strip club. She smiled at her husband and said, “We bring home some of what we learn here,” with a wink. “And this way, I know he’s coming home with me.”
That would be me. I’d tag along with some joke about “picking up pointers” but actually I’d be there to stand guard over my husband, growling and hissing at any dancer who looked at him, and I’d be so pissed he wouldn’t get any for a week. No, a month. Make that several months.
Of course, I’m an old married woman now. Maybe if I were young and on the prowl (yes,
the articles suggest women go to strip clubs to meet men. This blog post isn’t long enough for me to go into all the reasons why that particular dating strategy is doomed) I might go to a strip club just for the story I could tell afterwards. Heck, I once entered a beer drinking contest just so I could go up against a female
midget little person who was competing.
She drank me under the table, btw.
So have you ever been to a strip club? What tale do you have to tell?