I Don't Gotta Dance, I make Money Moves

Selfie break from Bartending at a Top New Orleans Strip Club

Several months back, I revealed to the world in a Blavity article, that I once attempted to be a stripper, and ended up trusting in the universe. Several months later, I found myself “trying” the universe again…. This time, I landed a job as a strip club bartender in New Orleans, Louisiana.

With low funds, I relocated to New Orleans this past summer. As soon as I touched down, my main objective was to find a job and land on my feet. If you read my previous article, you know that I was enduring a difficult financial hardship, which was the reason I had even considered stripping in the first place. When I got to Louisiana, I figured there would be plenty of opportunity for me to find a bartending job in a place where nightlife and drinking was a main tourist attraction. I found myself on Bourbon Street, which I later came to realize as the Devil's debaucherous playground, and a mecca of adult entertainment.

On my first night, I found myself exploring the French Quarters, and needless to say I ended up on the world famous Bourbon Street. Though it was extremely hot and humid, people flooded the streets, drinking, partying, and dancing all around me. Music blasted through the doors of every establishment. If I thought I had seen everything being from the Big Apple, I was greatly mistaken. New York City has nothing on New Orleans, when it comes to partying. The one thing that I noticed almost immediately, was the amount of strip clubs that lined up like trees along Bourbon. Almost in front of every club, you could find dancers in their barely-there costumes, aggressively enticing patrons to come in, showcasing previews of the happenings inside. It was a culture shock for me, however I found myself drawn to the idea of bartending at one of these clubs, like a moth to a flame.

Within three days of moving, I landed a job at one of the most exclusive and well-known clubs on the strip. I had apparently moved during this slowest and hottest part of the year, when business was at its worst; not to mention the major construction happening on Bourbon - so I took what I could get. I was hired as a daytime bartender. I did not know what to expect, but as soon as I got my sexy little uniform, which consisted of fishnets, a corset, and tiny little thong booty shorts.... I was sold!

I started my two days of training, and though I did not care for the corporate business structure of this particular club, I had a feeling that I was going to make a ton of money, without having to climb so much as one pole. At first I was super animated about working at a strip club. Every day, I'd beat my face, push my boobs up, and rock my booty shorts like I was a dancer. Since the club kept the place colder than a walk in freezer, for "sanitary" reasons - but really to keep the girls nipples hard, you could find me at 1:30 P.M. in the afternoon dancing and twerking behind the bar. Some of the dancers joked that I danced more than they did! Customers would come in and ask me if I was a dancer too. Sometimes, they'd even offered me cash to get on the pole, or to give them a private dance. Technically, I was not allowed because I was hired as a bar employee, and the contracts we're different for an entertainer. I can't sit here and lie though, and say that I was not with it. In some cases, the bar customers would spend most of their time just speaking to me. Sometimes, they would straight up say I was “more interesting than the dancers” or that I was “hotter” or “more beautiful than all the strippers there.” Many of them told me that they preferred it, if I were on the pole and wanted to see me on the stage. Occasionally, they would blatantly say this to me in front of the dancers, and some of the dancers would throw shade. “Well we need a sexy bartender behind the bar” one dancer snapped back. The more frequently this happened, I began to wrap my mind around why? Was it because I indeed was “more interesting” than the dancers? Was I more enjoyable to speak to, because my main objective was not to suck the money out of their pockets? Did they only think I was “hotter” or “more beautiful” than the strippers, because they saw less of my body? As the saying goes, “you want what you can't have.” I had to dig deeper.

I observed how the club worked. Shifts were divided between night and day. Girls were given contracts to work either one shift or the other. Only a few chosen, or long time girls were given the opportunity to work both shifts. Of course, the daytime was slower than the night time, so girls would have to work extra hard to make their money. They would each literally swarm on the first man that walked in. Oftentimes, I would be in the middle of a conversation with a guest, and a girl would walk right up to him, interrupt our conversation, and begin finessing. Usually the customer's attention would be fully diverted at the sight of more T & A. I found it to be really rude, but I quickly came to learn, that was just how it was. My job was to be a bartender wearing a sexy corset, making drinks for both the guests and the thirsty strippers, who would drink the entire shift long. I was told by management, that we were there for them.

There is a distinct desperate energy in a strip club that is exhibited by the dancers. Strippers naturally see every man that walks in as a potential jackpot. You never know who is filthy rich. They are like sharks in the water searching for warm blood. Over and over I’d observe the whole play. A girl would prance over in 6 inch heels, and innocently introduce themselves to a guest, than nonchalantly prop herself on a bar stool and begin a dialogue. Depending on the pace of the guest’s intentions, the stripper is able to gauge when her sales strategy should kick into full gear. As soon as the buying of drinks, touching, and/or any laughing begins to happen, I've seen strippers go into full “sales mode.” I've witnessed some dancers pitch services and break down prices like an insurance rep. The funniest thing to watch, was what I called, “The Leashed Walk of Shame.” the moment the deal is sealed, a stripper grabs her customer by the hand, and walks him to the dark “Lap Dance Cove” as I called it. “Got em’!”, I would laugh to myself. This is where most of the money was to be made. That, and the private VIP rooms. The stage is just a preview. Most dancers make the most money in rooms. Of course, I wondered what went down in the rooms, but there was a hush-hush energy around those questions. Honestly, you just didn't ask.

It got to the point, where I realized that I was not going to make the money I thought I would, especially during the daytime shift. As I got to know some of the dancers, many of them encouraged me to start dancing. There was a joke that the only difference between a bartender and a dancer, was two weeks of working. The idea went back and forth in my mind. I was impressed by the pole work that some of the dancers did! Stripping takes so much strength and skill, especially if you're doing pole tricks. It's not easy. I was intrigued by that aspect of it. I'd fantasize about doing my thing up there, like a sensual acrobat. I even got up there sometimes, when there were no customers, and practiced. The twerking and tantalizing men wasn't a big deal, I did that behind the bar... It was the precision of the pole tricks that got me, however I couldn't see myself doing everything else that came along with it. I refused to rub my bare breasts on a stranger's lips, or pick up a dollar between my butt cheeks off of a dude's nose. I've seen some girls literally put their whole vagina on someone's face, as they pounded back and forth. It didn't sit well within my spirit. The idea of having to feel like I was already stripping, plus violating myself is something I could not get over. I couldn't pitch my body to a man, dumbing myself down, laughing at every joke, allowing myself to be touched and caressed by a man throwing a couple bucks at me. Maybe I just didn't have the right mindset for the job. Maybe I was too prideful. I was appalled by how many men believed that being a stripper, makes you an automatic prostitute. There is an expectation, or at the very least a desire of sex almost every time. I often felt that I would lose money as a stripper, for cursing someone out for doing too much. I came to the conclusion that the only reason I was treated with "more respect" (if that's what one wants to call it) was because I was behind the bar, and not on the pole; untouchable and unattainable. If I were on the other side, I would have been seen in the same way, as a potential prostitute. It's a harsh reality, but it's true. This is not to say that the girls were doing more than dancing. That is something no one would know about, since there are no cameras in the private VIP rooms. I often wondered if any of the girls that worked at the club went the extra mile for more money. Many times the girls would complain that they weren't making any money, and while it's true that I could possibly make more money than the dancers on any given slow day, the earning potential for a dancer is objectively and substantially higher. If you sell a $1,000 room, you leave with $700 for an hour of alone time with the customers. It seemed like a good deal to me, but still dancers complained and complained about being broke constantly in one breath, but bought shots of $10 Jameson all day. The alcohol helped the dancers deal with the atmosphere.

As I begin to get to know some of the girls, I begin to notice a pattern of desperation. I also noticed that some of the girls were deeply wounded. As an empath and clairvoyant person, I could feel the pain and trauma beneath the shells of many of the girls. I would bring my tarot cards to work and read some of the girls. The readings often contained some heavy, dark and deep energies. A lot of these girls wanted to be heard, to be listened to... To be healed.

Many of them had no other long-term game plan. A lot of the girls were very young, even some as young as 18 years old. Some of them had children, and other responsibilities. A few of them had other careers, or had completed a college education. Everyday I went home feeling more and more detached emotionally. In these environments, you put your feelings aside. Even the male hospitality seemed unbothered by the constant nudity and sex work going on. You become desensitized.

It got to the point where the toxicity of my environment, begin to weigh on me, and I'm not just talking about the club itself. I would go out on Bourbon Street with some of the dancers on numerous occasions, and get too drunk, and party too hard. I could see myself going down a debaucherous path of over indulgence. With each passing day, I realized how fake and conniving a lot of the girls were. All of the girls and hospitality gossiped constantly; no one could be trusted. There was no transparency. I was sick of being propositioned to dance, or meet customers outside of the bar in their hotel rooms. I was sick of being asked where one could get blow, and other drugs. I was sick of looking over my shoulders leaving Bourbon Street at night. I was sick of getting called out on corporate BS every other week from my management. I was sick of feeling that I was surrounded by fake love. I was sick of strippers getting drunk constantly, and getting in trouble for giving them too much. I was sick of not making enough money, while freezing my butt off because I couldn't leave the bar. That was ultimately the last straw. I would literally shiver, slur and shake. I couldn't function, and I was tired of dancing behind the bar as a means to stay warm. They would not let me wear any kind of jacket because it was against corporate policy as far as the uniform went, so I quit in the middle of a shift. Since quitting the club, none of the girls I had befriended had reached out to me to see if I was okay. That just reinforces the temporary, superficial nature of the environment, and connections based on proximity.

Now, with this insight that I have, I will never understand why we is as a culture, glorify such a dark place. Rappers and ballers stay in the strip clubs! Maybe it's no more than a patriarchal rite of passage. The idea of paying entire rents might make the ego feel great, but what does it do for the heart? Is this why there seems to be a trend in the rise of popularity of the bartenders, waitresses, and bottle girls in strip clubs? “I don't gotta dance, I make money moves” is a lyric from Cardi B’s #1 hit record, “Bodak Yellow.” Is this song a new anthem for women celebrating the choice to take pride in making money in ways that don't serve the misogynist construct we live in? I, in no way mean to bring down anyone who decides to be a dancer for a living. Who am I to judge? I tried to become one myself! If any one thinks that my personal anecdote includes reductive observations or assumptions of a women's control of her agency, than just watch today's top hip hop music videos if you want a happy-go-lucky, fun and more empowering idea of this industry. ALL of them display this feather-light surface reflection of an industry that has so many tethered, abusive layers underneath- layers that I got a chance to experience from a spiritual and emphatic standpoint. That must be why I still found myself in a strip club environment. I hadn't even scratched the surface when I was auditioning. Just like in my personal tarot card readings, sometimes you need to pull clarifiers. With my Brown Girl Inc business picking up, and my Brown Girl Tarot Card Deck™ completed, and available now, I guess the universe pulled a final clarifier for me, and I've finally learned the lesson, that I don't gotta dance I make money moves.