Are You a Stripper?

May 23, 2015 by

          “Lmao! A guy just asked if I’m a stripper!” I told three of my pole friends yesterday in the middle of a group chat on Facebook in which we were discussing our plans for the night.

          “You should have told him yes, and you’re going to meet your stripper friends for dinner right now,” one responded.

          “I mean, technically, he’s not wrong,” another said with a wink, making me laugh harder than I already was. “You said yourself, your goal is to dance in underwear . . .”

          “Lol! I’m a writer. I have a way with words,” I replied, still laughing. (For the record, I was completely serious about that underwear goal.)




          Until yesterday, I hadn’t really thought about it, but I wonder how guys picture pole dancing classes in their minds. It’s understandable that they might think we’re straddling poles in next to nothing. After all, we are. Moreover, pole dancing is undoubtedly most highly associated with stripping. Personally, I love the connotation. Strippers are sexy and confident, so I take any comparison to them as a compliment. (I also take any comparison to them as hilariously ironic, since I can count the number of guys that have seen me naked on two fingers.)

          I’m not alone in my perspective. Both girls and guys cheerlead my pole progress. Some girls have expressed interest in trying it. Some guys, as expected, have expressed interest in watching it. Their unoriginal pole insinuations always make me laugh. Even if I didn’t have the supportive friends that I do, though, I’d proceed to fling myself around brass anyway. When I pole dance, I pole dance for myself.

          I began because I needed a confidence boost. I needed to be challenged in order to feel on top of the world as I overcame posed challenges. In other words, I needed to get over being rejected by a guy. I sought that challenge through pole dancing because I had an interest in it, because I’m uncoordinated so I knew it wouldn’t be easy, and because I lacked the required upper body strength and wanted to build it. Speaking of upper body strength, can we please talk about how I’ve gained more arm muscle in a few months of pole dancing than in a couple years at the gym? My biceps are so legit now. Like, they’re actually there!

          Needless to say, pole dancing has done for me exactly what I hoped it would. The instructors motivate, the classes push, the poles empower. We’re not performing seductive stripteases (sorry, boys); we’re lifting and manipulating our bodies, and we’re panting and sweating doing it. (Ha, everything really is that easy to turn into a sexual innuendo when you add a pole. Maybe pole classes would live up to guys’ imaginations.) We’re losing our hair, bruising our legs, and burning our skin. In short, we’re kicking ass, and we’re undeniably sexy doing it. Even when – especially when – we look like hell because we’re exhausted after three classes in a row and the sweat is starting to show and our hair ties have given up on us, we’re sexy. We’re sexy because we feel sexy. We feel sexy because we’re doing it. We’re doing what we first walked into the studio not knowing how to do. And when we’re doing it, we’re doing it for ourselves (and just a little bit for our boyfriends/husbands/future boyfriends and husbands).

Happiness Tip: Be sexy for yourself.

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