Forget all you’ve ever seen on TV, music videos and in the movies about strip clubs, especially behind the scenes.
It is not glamorous and 99% of the girls are not tall, beautiful models; in fact, in my seven years I can only recall a handful of girls that even came close to that description.
I remember having conversations with other club employees (not dancers) who shared the opinion that you could find “hotter girls” walking the local malls than who worked the clubs.
When I started working the clubs, I was a house-mom.
A house-mom assists the girls in getting ready for the stage; everything from make-up to hair and outfits. As with every job I’ve held in the past, I went above and beyond my job description. I always made sure to bring in some type of food for the girls to eat, either before they hit the floor to work, or to “smash” while on break.
I also had mints, gum and always some type of candy; the girls favorites were strawberry Twizzlers. Hairspray, assorted body sprays (mostly from Bath and Body Works and Victoria’s Secret), hairpins, q-tips and pastie glue were also on my menu of items available for the girls usage.
I eventually had a huge Black & Decker tool box I filled with these items and lots more; I referred to it as my “whore box”.
Add to that the lingering horrid scent memory of FDS Shower Fresh and Summer’s Eve Island Splash feminine sprays. I am gagging now at the memory of those “pussy sprays”, as the girls called them. Some girls would spray it until there were clouds of fragrance wafting through the dressing room, and sometimes into the club itself.
When you add the scent of baby wipes to the “pussy spray”, you get Eau de Stripper.
Baby wipes – these are a must have staple in the strip club industry; it’s like duct tape to men. I went through at least three packs of baby wipes a week as a house-mom. I made the mistake once during the winter months of leaving the baby wipes in my car – I had a frozen baby wipe brick that could be used as a weapon.
The girls used baby wipes for a myriad of different things; from make-up removal to bathroom use and to sadly, bathing before stage. There were a few girls that you could tell didn’t shower often. We used to joke about these girls having clothing that could get up and walk away on its own; looking back, this is sick and sad, especially for a strip club, that girls weren’t keen on personal hygiene.
When I started working the clubs, almost all the girls actually cared about their appearance on stage – towards the end of my employment, and especially once I transferred to a different club, I’d say there was maybe a handful that really cared.
Instead of wearing body hugging, sexy dresses or gowns, most girls opted for triangle bikini tops and tie-side booty shorts.
Personally I hated the tie-side booty shorts; they were trashy looking and even looked like diapers at times on the girls. There was no imagination to their outfits, especially when it came to theme party nights.
One of the better traits of The Queen Bee of the club is that she knew the importance of the strip tease and playing the fantasy role she was there to fulfill.
She always had on great outfits that showcased her curves, yet didn’t give it all away up front, as would most of the other girls.
On the rare occasions that she would get on stage and dance, it was very seductive; she always made sure to maintain eye contact with the guys that would gather around the stage to watch her. I had hoped that the girls watching her would take a cue, but the lesson in “old school” seduction was always lost to my dismay.
At times the Queen Bee took her fantasy role too far, but that’s a tale for another time.
At the start of my employment, girls actually put together skits for the stage, almost like a light burlesque style performance.
Gowns and dresses were a must and only 2-3 girls per night could wear black. I remember getting calls hours before work from girls letting me know they had planned on wearing black for the night. I enjoyed helping girls get stage ready and they appreciated my efforts and tipped me very well.
There were times that I saw girls walking into the club in pajama pants, slippers and sometimes with towels in their hair.
Let me take a moment to explain why this is so bad; the girls had to walk through the club, most of the time walking past customers, to get to the dressing room to get ready.
Not a very good first impression; sadly there was never much transformation from the walk in to stage ready.
The last three years of my time served, I found there to be no dress code in the club.
The girls could wear whatever they wanted, no matter how unflattering it looked. The management was about quantity not quality in their dancers; they always managed to hire a few girls with apparent drug problems, i.e. meth-mouth or thin and listless bodies.
Some clubs do not have a weight limit or even an attractiveness scale anymore. I remember seeing girls with guts hanging over booty shorts, and sometimes even pregnant or pregnant looking girls on stage.
I’m a fat girl, but I dress accordingly; I know how to showcase my assets and camouflage the not so attractive parts of my body. I would always try to help the girls to dress better, but they wouldn’t listen; they preferred to let it all hang out – literally.
Behind the scenes, and sometimes even out on the floor of the club, girls could be very rude and crass. I can remember a handful of girls that would curse like sailors along with burping and farting like dirty old men. Their behavior was usually laughed off by management.
I was a definite square peg trying to fit in at the club; not only because I was a fat girl, but because I always tried to do the right thing. I knew the logistics of how things ran, but everything was contrary to what you would think.
When people would ask me where I worked, the first rush I felt from the shock factor on their faces wore off and after too long I would roll my eyes and sigh with exasperation when I would tell them.
It’s not all glitz and glamour, it was more of an environment filled with gross deprivation; the fantasy is devoid.
All that glitters is not gold… especially in the strip clubs.