Mitzy Sixx is a graduate of the Academy of Burlesque who took a chance by trying Burlesque. She experienced major transformation and more confidence!
How would you describe yourself before you started burlesque?
Pretty darn sheltered (even in my 30s).
How did you hear about Academy of Burlesque?
I participated regularly in Bacon Strip. Iva Handfull and Waxie Moon had been in the shows at certain points, and one day at brunch Sylvia O’Stayformore just flat out asked me “Why don’t you get into burlesque?” It just so happened that Shanghai Pearl was joining the brunch later, and Sylvia said I should pick her brain about it. I did, and she suggested enrolling in Burlesque 101 just for kicks. If it was something I ended up enjoying, great! If not, well, at least I tried it out and I knew for myself.
What was it that you found intriguing?
The creativity when some performers stripped out of their costumes was cool. Also, I liked the fact that people could be goofy yet sexy at the same time.
What were your fears?
I was afraid that maybe this was yet another route of artistic expression that would once again refuse me. I was at the tail end of my modern dance career and I couldn’t handle more rejection. That was my lack of confidence, basically.
What was it that made you decide to do it in spite of those fears?
Again, at least I tried it. I had to find out for myself.
How long did you think about it before you took the plunge?
Not very long, maybe a couple of months. I had to wait that long because the next round of classes didn’t happen until then.
What was it like learning through Academy of Burlesque?
It was a lot more laid back than I thought it would be. Very supportive, and I think that was ultimately what led me back to Academy of Burlesque for the 202 class. That was a support I had never experienced.
What about the recital? What was it like for you performing?
I remember still not being too confident about my body until we did the dress rehearsal. Some students forgot their pasties and just stripped topless (just for the class). That made me think, “If they’re performing with nothing to lose, who am I? What am I trying to preserve?”
I only invited people I knew wouldn’t take pictures (people do because they’re excited for their friends, I get it), and people that I know I could still look in the eye if my pasties popped! I remember liking performing.
What’s the most powerful transformation that has happened in your life as a result of burlesque?
Weeeeeeeeeell, I met this guy after his Burlesque 202 recital. I just had to meet him because his performance to “Miserable” by Lit was so F*****G spot on to how I was feeling about love, and I just had to tell him. That was Eddie Van Glam. Fast forward 7 years and we are married with a child (we refer to him as Baby Van Glam). That was kinda huge.
How did your experience of your body, sexuality, and femininity shift?
I realized femininity doesn’t mean “weak”. I realized it’s ok if I want to dress sexy, and tell jerks to F off because I’m not doing it for them. I did go through a spell there where I cried about my body, but I realized it was because I was trying to please a producer with standards I was never going to fit, so I stopped associating with them.
What were you suffering from that burlesque healed?
I still have problems with confidence, but not as much. I still have problems opening up to people (new people especially), but I accept that and don’t make myself feel worse about it. That always led to a downward spiral that was hard to get out of.
Any advice for people who may be on the fence about learning burlesque?
Think of it as a bucket list item. If you like it and decide to pursue it, great! If not, at least you know that about yourself.
Anything else you’d like to share?
Coming back after pregnancy has been a challenge. However, I remind myself that it isn’t always going to be this way. My first year back I did one show when I was three months postpartum. I was pumping backstage, still dealing with massive hormonal changes to my skin, attitude, hair, shoe size, all the stuff they don’t go over in your “child preparedness” classes. And it occurred to me: I didn’t need to be a super mom. If I don’t do many shows, people will still remember me.
So don’t worry if you can’t make every show, even as an audience member. Keep in contact, drop a “good luck” message to other performers because it still means a lot, but please don’t beat yourself up because you can’t juggle it all. It’s a major transition, and burlesque will always be there to go back to. Take your time, come back healthy (mentally and physically), and show off those tiger stripes wherever they may appear.
The post Testimonial: Mitzy Sixx appeared first on Academy of Burlesque.
]]>Darlings, we are so excited to share this amazing article written by 101 graduate Paige Rustles, sharing her transformative journey through Burlesque. Let this excerpt whet your whistle, and follow the links for the full article.
Reposted with permission
When I’m onstage, I’m performing for no one but myself.
photo by Jason Standeger
How we see the world shapes who we choose to be — and sharing compelling experiences can frame the way we treat each other, for the better. This is a powerful perspective.
The spotlight is bright in my eyes as I mischievously grin out at the crowd of unrecognizable faces in the audience. As I begin to slip an arm out of my cardigan, they go wild with screams and clapping.
And in that moment I am healed.
When one thinks of various healing modalities, burlesque doesn’t likely make the list. But since I began performing nearly eight years ago, burlesque has been one of the most transformative influences on my life. It helped me overcome my history of disordered eating, gain a new love for my body, and grapple with the ups and downs of my physical disability.
The post Here’s How I Learned to Love My Body Through Burlesque appeared first on Academy of Burlesque.
]]>Tiffany Diamond is a recent graduate of the Academy of Burlesque with a dance background. She had been looking for a fun creative outlet that would let her express herself, and feel joy.
Tell us a little about how you’d describe yourself before you started burlesque.
I was a performer and dancer. I’ve always had a performance background, but I had taken a step away from performing. I was doing a lot of admin work behind the scenes. After college before I moved to Seattle, I danced professionally for a bit but I felt like I wasn’t going to be as great as I wanted to be, and was unsure of what I wanted to do with dance and performing. I was teaching dance and my mom passed away and I was really sad and realized I needed a change in my life. I missed being on stage and being a performer, and I wasn’t as fulfilled being behind the scenes anymore. I was trying to figure out what my next step was in getting back to a scene in which I wasn’t feeling as confident and successful as I wanted to be.
How did you hear about The Academy of Burlesque?
I had known about it from being in the Seattle performing arts community. I knew some burlesque performers that did a lot of contemporary dance performance too. I had gone to some burlesque shows. I liked it and thought it would be something to pursue, but I didn’t know how to start before I discovered the academy. It was a little research and a little happenstance.
With your dance background, what was it about burlesque specifically that you found intriguing?
Growing up I had done a lot of jazz and tap and more theatrical dance. By the time I was in high school I was focused on ballet and more contemporary work. It became very academic – no more sequins and no more rhinestones. It was all very pulled back and distilled. College was more contemporary dance driven. I love it but it’s also depressing. Sometimes I’m a sensitive person and the subject matter is often more serious. When I watched burlesque I wanted to express myself that way again. It’s fun and enjoyable and you put a smile on someone’s face. There’s still an academic side, but with burlesque, I can create and do art and move my body in a way that people enjoy. It was a refreshing way to go back to something I knew but in a different form.
Was there anything you were afraid of? Did you have any hesitations when you were considering burlesque?
I was scared to tell my dad. It’s more provocative, and I was also nervous about doing it in front of my friends and people I know. It was scary. It’s very different than anything I’ve done.
Also, I was used to having a serious, focused face when I performed. I was scared to put myself out there and be big and over the top and silly and crazy, and show aspects of my personality I usually reserve for my close friends. I wondered if I’d have any success with it.
What made you decide to do it anyway?
It was always something I wanted to try, and there was finally room in my schedule to try it. I had taken some of the booty dance classes and I really liked the community. It was a now or never moment. If I didn’t suck it up and try it, I might have never done it and I would have always wondered if it would have been something I could have enjoyed.
I thought about it for three or four years before I actually did it.
In retrospect would you have waited that long?
I wish I had done it sooner because I love it so much. It takes time to go through the process of learning and performing. But I’m also older and more mature now, so maybe when I was younger I wouldn’t have liked it as much or found it as valuable.
What was it like learning burlesque and performing in your first recital?
I was really nervous. I went to one of the meetings but I got married over the summer and my wedding date fell during the program. I did two of the sessions virtually. When I got back and finally got to join the classes, it was exciting and nerve-wracking to be sexy in front of people, learning how to remove my clothes. It was new and it was intimate, but everyone was so supportive of each other. The women were warm and welcoming and no one judged anyone. It was a fun community of people to meet up with every week, spending time together learning something new, asking questions, and going through the journey together working toward a final performance.
I’ve been to a lot of workshops where you learn something but have no way to apply it. It makes a having a recital where you can apply all these things you’re learning, invite your family or friends to come see what you learned, and have everyone there to encourage you. It’s such a welcoming and warm group of individuals. You’re all behind each other 100% and only wish the best performance for everyone.
Other forms of art and performance can be critical and competitive. But the way everyone was approaching this was so encouraging, which is something I didn’t always feel in contemporary performance. I felt like I could flower and grow as a performer.
How did your experience of your body, sexuality, and femininity shift throughout the process?
I’ve always had body image issues from growing up with my dance background. The way all the material is taught is celebrating our bodies and the things we don’t love YET. It was really awesome for me to watch the other women I was with be so confident, and to be around other women who were experiencing the same thing at the same time. It’s okay to love your body and it’s okay to have curves, to not have curves, to have muscles, whatever. Your body is beautiful if you embrace it. It helped me to have a community of people. It helped me feel more confident about how I look, knowing I got to choose how and when I presented it.
My character is a little silly and she’s a little crazy. She doesn’t know she’s being sexy. Choosing how to do it was really empowering. I’m going to let you see my body, and I’m going to be really silly while I’m doing it.
You mentioned the word “empowering” and that’s a word we hear a lot in burlesque. How did that empowerment affect other areas of your life?
I definitely feel more decisive about things. I’ve always been nervous to state an opinion or to be the person who says, “We’re going to go here and we’re going to do this. I don’t want people to not enjoy it. Now I’m going “This is what we’re doing”. This is what I want to do, so let’s do it. I’m vocalizing my needs and desires and knowing that what I want to do or say is valuable. I’m more assertive.
If you had a friend who was considering burlesque but was on the fence, what would you say?
Anyone on the fence should just do it, even if you don’t want to pursue performing afterward or have never performed. Just the experience of working with this group of people, going through a process and building something with an end goal is powerful. The feeling of accomplishment at the end is really rewarding, and knowing you spent time and effort and you gave 110% to do something is really valuable. You may discover things about yourself you didn’t know, or find talents you didn’t know you had. You might find out you’re funnier than you thought you were, or sexier, or more glamorous.
I love that the group of people I was with still text each other and support each other. Knowing that they’re still there is really awesome, even if you already have a ton of friends.
The post Testimonial: Tiffany Diamond appeared first on Academy of Burlesque.
]]>When I first got into Burlesque, I almost immediately learned about the Burlesque Hall of Fame, and the Miss Exotic World competition. I’ve always been a competitive person. And I was super excited about being a candidate for Miss Exotic World. Starting in 2002, I attended the Burlesque Hall of Fame reunion and pageant, competing to win the title of Miss Exotic World. By 2010, after 9 years of NOT winning Miss Exotic World, I knew a lot more about losing than I did about winning!
But by then, after those 9 years, something had shifted in me. I realized that each year I had left myself an “out”. Each year I had said to myself, “I really want to win, but I want to manage my expectations – to hedge my disappointment – just in case I DON’T win.” In other words, I was preparing myself to NOT win.
Once I realized how carefully and consistently I had prepared to NOT win, I knew that it was time to change. It was time to set aside my fears of feeling bad. It was time to focus on what winners do, how winners feel, and completely shift my mindset. So I did just that.
Here are some of the ridiculous rituals I did for the months before the competition:
- I asked myself every day, “how would a winner prepare?” and the answer was always, “Rehearse!” so I rehearsed a ton. I asked people I really respected for feedback, and then I did exactly what they recommended.
- I asked myself, “what would the winner’s hair be like?” and the answer was totally “she would have extensions”. I laughed. And then I totally got extensions.
- Each night, I wrote a list of gratitude to the universe, thanking the universe for granting me the title of Miss Exotic World and detailed the ways in which I would be of service to the Burlesque community. I put the list under a jar of water. In the morning, I re-read the list and drank the water.
On the day of competition, during the actual act, I made a mistake in my choreography and had to improvise with a costume removal. I added a leg-accentuation movement in order to get back on time in my music… and thought to myself, “Holy Cow, did I really just screw up the whole act?” Right after that, all of the rehearsal I had done kicked in, and my body just kept going. My mouth was dry as a bone, so when my back was turned to the audience for a moment, I closed my mouth in a desperate attempt to create some kind of saliva so I could unstick my lips from my teeth. Finally the act was over and I held my ending pose for the requisite time, and executed my stage exit as choreographed.
I was certain that I’d screwed up. I told myself, “try not to freak out… I did the best with what I could at the time, and it’s up to the judges anyway”.
Finally, the time came for the judges decisions to be read by the emcee, Miss Astrid. My mind flashed back to 2002, the very beginning of my Burlesque journey. I had gotten Miss Astrid’s phone number when I met her at the first Tease-O-Rama. I basically cold-called her and asked her to put me in her show, the Va Va Voom Room. Reluctantly and tentatively, she gave me the newbie spot – which was my very first gig in New York.
Flash back to 2011, standing in the back of the Orleans Theater, leaning against the wall behind the last audience row, pretty much certain there was no need for me to be backstage. Miss Astrid read out the superlatives – Miss Astrid called out, “Most Classic – Miss Indigo Blue!” – I was shocked! I had actually forgotten about the superlatives… I walked down the aisle, and up the stairs to the stage, to receive my trophy.
I thought to myself, “well, there it is! My prize! No Miss Exotic World for me. Best to smile and be gracious!” so I stood with my peers as the rest of the superlatives were announced. Most Comedic, Most Dazzling, Most Innovative.
Then Best Newcomer, then Best Troupe, then Best Boylesque.
Then it was time for the 2’d Runner Up, Miss Exotic World. A hush overcame the crowd. The name was stunning and thrilling: Lily Verlaine, one of my best friends! After receiving her trophy, she came to hold my hand in the line of honorees.
Then 1st Runner Up: Anna Fur Laxis! The stunning British Beauty had wowwed everyone with her glittering act.
Finally, the pinnacle of Burlesque awards in the world: Miss Exotic World, the Reigning Queen of Burlesque. Miss Astrid received the envelope, and opened it up. As she began speaking “and now… Miss Exotic World…” she began walking slowly across the stage in the direction of Lily and me. “Miss…” Lily and I gripped hands, “Indigo Blue”.
I looked at Lily, “…me?” she smiled and released my hand, gesturing me towards Astrid’s outstretched palm.
Handed off from one dear friend to another, I walked forward to an unbelievable, humbling, gorgeous roar of an ovation from the entire packed 800 person house at the Orleans Showroom in Las Vegas.
Thinking about it even now makes vibrations go through my entire body. It was hard to believe that I had finally achieved such a long-sought-after dream. But that moment is one I will never forget. The feeling of warmth, overwhelm, humility, and appreciation is almost indescribable.
(The only thing that supercedes that moment in my life is the step-down act I performed at the Burlesque Hall of Fame the following year – but that’s a story for a different day.)
And the point of this story is, anyway, that leaving yourself an “out” just creates a pathway to that exit. The point of this story is that preparing to live the life of your dreams leads to just that – the life of your dreams. So, dive in. Do it differently than you have in the past. Ask yourself, what would I do if I was living the life of my dreams? And then go do it.
With love (and a sash & crown),
Indigo
The post Are You Living YOUR Dream? appeared first on Academy of Burlesque.
]]>Amara Strutt came to the Academy of Burlesque in 2015 seeking a creative outlet. Although she had an extensive background in dance, Amara had stepped away from her artistic side and settled into a comfortable routine as a bartender, while making dog collars on the side.
Amara “Before”
How would you have described yourself before you started burlesque?
I had a self-deprecating sense of humor. I wasn’t shy, but mostly hid behind a lot of clothes. I’d dress up once a year and get really excited about it. Most of the time I was silly and would do silly dances, but in kind of an apologetic way.
How did you find out about the Academy of Burlesque?
I watched A Wink and a Smile [the documentary film about The Academy of Burlesque]. I don’t know how I didn’t know about burlesque before! I also saw the documentary about Crazy Horse in Paris, And I was obsessed with it.
I have a background in dance and was a choreographer in college. I thought, “Oh my gosh, I didn’t know this existed. This is what I’ve been looking for, but I didn’t know I was looking for it.”
What was it about burlesque that was so striking and different than other types of dance you’ve done before?
It really hit me while watching the Crazy Horse documentary. It focused on images, beautiful shapes and the dancer’s body in a way other dances don’t. And then through A Wink and a Smile I started learning more… so much of it isn’t choreographed— it’s your own act and your own personality and your own experience that you’re showcasing. Other types of dance are about the choreographer’s experience, and the dancers are the tools.
Did you have any hesitations or fears about trying burlesque?
I had a lot of body image issues. I was hesitant about doing it for a couple of reasons, but body image was a big thing. I used to be a dancer but then 20 years passed and I didn’t have a dancer’s body any more.
I thought “I’m supposed to be a certain way because I grew up as a dancer. I’m supposed to be that and I’m not that any more and I’m sorry and I’m hiding.” I used to have nightmares about someone putting me in a leotard and putting me out on stage when I wasn’t ready for it.
And it was a big investment. I didn’t know if I was worth that investment. I was thinking, “It’s just this silly thing I want to do and I’m obsessed with it and it looks really beautiful and interesting but…I’m not worth that.”
What got me over the hurdle was a class with Indigo. I was so struck in that class. It was Beginning Bump & Grind, teaching people to dance who had never danced before. That’s really hard.
She was so patient and so good at breaking down the movement, making it fun, and engaging with the students. There was such an honesty there. And in just that one-hour experience I knew I could trust her, and I could trust this. I told myself, “Just do it. Your 40th birthday is coming up. This is your birthday present. It’s a little extravagant… but I’m going to do this for myself.”
Now, looking back, I think, “It doesn’t matter if you have this big milestone. You’re worth that investment.” It’s like that nice bottle of wine you’ve been saving for a special occasion. It’s not doing anyone any good just sitting there on the shelf!
When you were in 101, what was that learning process like for you?
I was so excited and so overwhelmed. I didn’t really know what to expect. I signed up a couple months before the class. I started figuring out what my routine was going to be, choreographing it, designing my costume in my head and picking out the music and doing all those things. And then I went to the first class and realized, “Oh, I don’t know anything. All these things I had planned, throw them away and start fresh.”
Amara “During”
I completely changed my approach and opened up to learning a completely different thing, and it opened me up to go in a direction I never would have gone.
I remember before that class I dressed up. My “dress up” then was a western plaid shirt and Frye boots and my “nice” jeans. Looking back, it was SO not a celebration of me. It was not me at all. I just didn’t want to stand out.
What does dressing up look like for you now?
It’s ridiculous (in the best way). If it’s really dressy, I wear these ridiculous gowns and fur coats and boas and gloves. And then if it’s medium dressy I have a bunch of pin-up dresses and my wear my hair up with a flower in it, and heels.
Do you think any of that had to do with a shift in body image? What did you notice around your body image when you started doing burlesque?
I was always apologizing for what I wasn’t. But nobody knows me from 20 years ago. It’s okay. You don’t have to be perfect. There is no perfect. There’s a range of bodies and they’re all sexy. Seeing burlesque performed made me go, “Wait, look at all these different bodies. And these performers are all in their own bodies, and celebrating their bodies.” And there’s such a range of bodies in the class! Everyone was scared, but everyone stepped up and did it. Once you’re in a room and see all those bodies, you relax. We’re not all models in a magazine, and we don’t need to be.
When you get up and perform in front of an audience, with people cheering and hooting and hollering, no one is saying, “Yeah, but you’re not skinny enough, you’re not this enough, you’re not that enough.” It made such a difference to be who I am and be accepted for it.
What else did you take with you into your daily life, that started in the studio?
Confidence, for sure. Suddenly I wasn’t apologizing for myself or hiding. I never wanted to draw attention to myself or try to be the center of anything. And suddenly I was like, “Wait, it’s okay. This is who I am.” All of these things I had been quiet about, all of the sudden I was proud of.
My understanding of who I am changed a lot.
Would you have ever expected that?
Not at all. I thought I was going to have this opportunity to get up and show off. None of my friends, and not even my husband, had ever seen me dance. I just thought I’d get all my friends to come to it. They’d say, “Wow, we didn’t know you could do that! And we saw your boobs! Cool!” and then that would be done and I would go back to my life.
I found the art form that I had been looking for. During the third class I felt like “this is what’s been missing”. This was what I had been looking for. I bounced around a lot in college and did a lot of things, but nothing I tried was quite right. And I found it 20 years later. This is what I was studying that whole time. This is what I was training for. I had been looking or this for a really long time and it changed so many things.
It was the beginning of finding community, and finding my tribe. They’re accepting, and creative, and sexy. I didn’t expect to find any of that. It was a huge transformation.
Tell us a little about how you continued and what you’re doing now.
After my last 101 class I asked Indigo, “How do I keep doing this?” She gave me a couple of suggestions so I started taking any class that was available. I was a sponge.
Amara “After”!
There were 2 students who helped out with our 101 recitals, and they saw my act and hired me for one of their shows. There’s a thing called Tassel Talk where you can bring an act in progress and get peer reviewed. I went to every one of them, and started speaking up and giving feedback. People were wondering, “Who are you and why are you talking to us?” I was there about six months before I actually did an act, and then people said, “Oh! You’re actually pretty good! You actually know what you’re talking about!”
A year later I signed up for the next level of classes (202), and after that Indigo asked me to join the staff of the Academy. That really changed everything.
Now I’m actually teaching at the Academy. I performed at the Burlesque Hall of Fame recently which was a huge honor, and this summer I started doing costume commissions. My life has completely changed!
The post Testimonial: Amara Strutt appeared first on Academy of Burlesque.
]]>Heidi Von Haught
Heidi Von Haught (center)
Photographer Unknown – Is it you?
I have done a lot of hard work, made a lot of lifelong friends, and had a wonderful weird naked life. These days, I only produce and perform about once a year but I pour a lot of love into those shows. I’m looking forward to another fifteen years of being a weird naked artist.
with love,
HVH”
Photo by Max Shaw
Randi Rascal and Heidi Von Haught
Photo by David Peterman
The post Then + Now: Heidi Von Haught appeared first on Academy of Burlesque.
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SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT!
Darlings, we are thrilled to announce we have hired a new TIT (Teacher In Training!): The fabulous, fantastical, uber-talented Moscato Extatique! They will be observing and training over the next few months, and you will see them in rotation in 2019 (ps… Pilates with Moscato, anyone??). They are also performing in Friday’s SOLD OUT Faculty Showcase!
In the meantime, learn more about our new fabulous faculty member!
Moscato Extatique is a classically trained dancer and award winning choreographer based out of Seattle, WA. They graduated Magna Cum Laude with a BFA in Dance from Cornish College of the Arts where they studied neo-burlesque theory & performance under the instruction of Cherry Manhattan. Moscato has appeared in dance works by esteemed choreographers Donald Byrd, Sidra Bell, Wade Madsen and was a member of LED Boise.
Meneldor Photography
This tempting tart is one fourth of Seattle’s very own burlesque sensations Mod Carousel, a dancer for House of Verlaine, and has graced the stage in productions by BenDeLaCreme and Verlaine & McCann Present. Moscato has also appeared in the Vancouver International Burlesque Festival, Texas Burlesque Festival, Freezing Tassel Burlesque Festival, the Moisture Festival, as well as The Seattle & New York Boylesque Festivals.
Photo: Ji Ji Lee
Teaching Experience: Moscato is a certified Pilates mat instructor and has taught workshops and pop up clases since 2016. They have taught ballet and contemporary dance styles to students of all ages and levels since the age of 16. Moscato was a Teaching Assistant to Cherry Manhattan’s Burlesque Theory & Performance class at Cornish College is the Arts in 2016.
Photo: Sydney Akagi
Other experiences: Since moving to the Pacific Northwest Moscato has been featured in various theatrical and dance productions including Land of the Sweets: The Burlesque Nutcracker, Through the Looking Glass: The Burlesque Alice in Wonderland, BenDeLaCreme’s Beware the Terror of Gaylord Manor, The Gifts of War Project, The Men in Dance Festival, and was a featured choreographer and principal dancer for 127th St. Dance Company. Moscato was presented the 2016 DanceCrush Award from SeattleDances for their choreographic work “cold side [of the pillow]”.
The post Introducing Moscato Extatique appeared first on Academy of Burlesque.
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Reagan Jackson is a writer, artist, activist, international educator and award winning journalist. She’s been a regular contributor to the Seattle Globalist since 2013. Her self published works include two children’s books (Coco LaSwish: A Fish from a Different Rainbow and Coco LaSwish: When Rainbows Go Blue) and three collections of poetry (God, Hair, Love, and America, Love and Guatemala, and Summoning Unicorns). To find out more check her out at www.rejjarts.com
Last Fall Reagan Jackson, a reporter from Crosscut, took Burlesque 101 with The One The Only Inga. She wrote this incredible article about her experience that captures the journey of 101 so well.
See the original post on Crosscut here: http://features.crosscut.com/making-a-burlesque-dancer
The making of a burlesque dancer
What a Burlesque 101 class taught me about my body, beauty and friends who aren’t afraid to glitter your butt
I’m standing on a darkened stage in fishnets and heels with a rainbow fish windsock strapped to my ass, thinking that in 3 minutes and 12 seconds this will all be over. It’s time to go big or go home.
The curtains part and the music breaks. From behind a wooden screen decoupaged with green glittering reeds and blue tulle, I wave a single elbow-length black glove stitched with spiky gold fins. The crowd goes, ooooh.
I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. After an intense six weeks of Burlesque 101 with Seattle’s Academy of Burlesque, I’m making my stripper debut as Cocoa La Swish, a fish diva emerging from the reeds of self-doubt into the shiny confidence of my own bedazzled body.
I bite the air and smile.
So you want to be a stripper…
Six weeks earlier, I’d walked into the first night of our class at Studio Blue, a dance space on Rainier Avenue. The room resembled every other dance studio I’d ever been to. It had a hardwood floor with a wall of mirrors and an adjacent wall of cubbies separated by a curtain of pink fringe. A metal rack draped with feather boas reminded me that though I’d taken dance classes before, this would be a different experience.
Growing up, I learned early on that being black and beautiful meant being thin, having light skin and hair that hung straight and long with no kinks. Basically, the standard of beauty was being the whitest version of black, with occasional exceptions for those coal-black African models who were bone-thin and “exotic.” I’m none of the above.
After filling out some required paperwork, I took a seat at a table in the center of the room with an awkward smile and wave to my classmates.
“Hi, What’s your name?” asked the chipper brunette in fishnets and hot pants.
I answered and she introduced herself as Crystal.
“She’s like the Mayor of Burlesque class,” the man beside her explained, and I wondered when the elections had been held.
Looking around the table at the group of seven white women and one white man — the majority of them younger than me, and definitely in better shape — I wondered if they were mentally undressing me, too. I felt my insecurities begin to whisper.
A woman who called herself The One, The Only, Inga introduced herself as our Stripper Spirit Guide and Life Coach. If there were a casting call for a naughty Tinkerbell, Inga would fit the bill: petite but well-muscled, with short, chic blond hair. She told us she trained in jazz and modern dance for 16 years before attending her first burlesque show at the Rendezvous Dance Theater downtown and getting “the call” to perform. She toured the world as a member of the Atomic Bombshells, and was Miss Viva Las Vegas 2011.
Inga announced that the goal of the class was to turn us into “magical sparkly naked people” on stage. There was a round of introductions. Like Inga, several of my classmates talked about getting “the call.”
I felt my stomach fall. I had never thought of public nudity as an aspirational goal. I saw the Burlesque Nutcracker last Christmas. The costumes were lavish and the dance routines were so fun that when the opportunity to take the class for free arose, I thought, why not?
By the end of the first class, all the why nots showed up in stereo and danced in my head like hyper critical sugar plum fairies embodying the voices of every kid on the playground who ever called me fat, ugly or nappy.
“You can’t have your 10th performance until you’ve had your first performance,” Inga said, encouragingly.
What, exactly, is burlesque?
There was no dancing in our first class. Instead, Inga gave us a comprehensive history of burlesque.
Burlesque had its origins in Greek Theater circa 426 BC, then spread to the Romans, through the UK, and later to the U.S. What began as satire performed by men (call it Ancient Saturday Day Night Live) gradually integrated women in the late 1800s and evolved from sociopolitical commentary into chorus lines and strip teases.
We learned about Lydia Thompson and her British Blonds, whose six-month tour of the States turned into six years and gave birth to the concept of girls in tights doing chorus lines. Little Egypt caused a stir at the Chicago World’s Fair by performing the first recorded belly dancing in the United States.
For many years, strip acts were illegal in the U.S. except in New Orleans, so cunning dancers used to wear “nude” bathing suits. At one point, it became illegal to touch your own body in public, so strippers used puppets and trained birds to remove garments for them.
During the 1920s and ’30s, the New Orleans jazz scene provided a soundtrack to a racier version of burlesque, with more Creole and black women performing. Many white performers drew inspiration from women of other cultures — Little Egypt, for example, who was actually Syrian, but borrowed dance moves from Moroccan belly dancers — raising questions about cultural appropriation.
Inga was all about the business. It was a more thorough introduction than I had expected, but it made me feel grounded. I’ve always been an activist. Stripping for stripping’s sake felt overwhelming, but joining a legacy of woman who danced in ownership of their own bodies seemed like an accessible way for me to rationalize trying something new.
Cocoa La Swish is born
For homework, we had to create our stage personas. This part was easy. I named my alter ego years ago. I even wrote a children’s book about her called Coco La Swish: A fish from a Different Rainbow. Coco is a vibrant and vivacious fish who overcomes the jeering of hater fish to be her fabulous self. But how to take Coco and turn her into Cocoa?
More than just a name, I had to build my character’s backstory. Where was she from? What was her favorite drink? Her crush? Her favorite pick-up line? I decided Cocoa would be like Grace Jones combined with Godzilla and rolled in glitter — fierce and unapologetically bold.
When we met for our second class, my classmates and I re-introduced ourselves by our invented personas. The others had names like Scarlett Herrington, Muffy Thyme, and Ivy Thorny. There was Lana del Spray, creator of messes, Crystal D’Cummings, who arrived in the world on a magical flying unicorn to be a sex and life coach, and Kat Trick, a submissive, perennially heartbroken, small-town waitress whose super power was stripping.
Cleopatra of the South (who in real life is a civil war re-enactor from Alabama) based her character on Isabella “Belle” Maria Boyd a confederate spy from West Virginia. Perry Von Winkle, a gender fluid immortal, was born to a family of witches and raised like Samantha from Bewitched.
My mind pinwheeled out into questions: What is sexy and why? Who gets to decide? We like what we like and we know it when we see it, but how much of this is personal preference and how much is determined by cultural norms?
Becoming Cocoa was an invitation to enter a world of fantasy and play, and I was excited to try it out. I went home and narrowed down my song choices and began plotting my act. But reality kept interrupting my fantasy life. When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t see Cocoa, I only saw myself and the various intersecting identities that didn’t match up with any image I’d ever seen of a burlesque dancer.
Growing up, I learned early on that being black and beautiful meant being thin, having light skin and hair that hung straight and long with no kinks. Basically, the standard of beauty was being the whitest version of black, with occasional exceptions for those coal-black African models who were bone-thin and “exotic.”
I’m none of the above. I’m thick and tall with brown skin and an afro. It took me a long time to get over all the teasing I got as a kid and to embrace myself as beautiful. I had to work hard to undo all the negative programming.
Being big, black, and beautiful in this society is an act of courage, but I didn’t want it to be. I wanted, for once, to experience the privilege of assumed beauty, to feel sexy and confident without it being a political statement. Maybe that might have felt more attainable in a situation with different demographics, but as I visualized our recital, I felt like the token. Could I really do this? Did I even want to?
The big freak-out
Waxie Moon, a brilliant boylesque performer, was our guest instructor for week 3, the bump-and-grind week. It felt good to be on my feet and out of my head. We learned the art of the shimmy, and strutting in heels with and against the beat. Then we practiced teasingly removing our gloves.
Teasing is an art — what you show and what you don’t and how you invite an audience to get invested in what you’re willing to give. While I still hadn’t decided what I was willing to give, Waxie gave me some perspective. In sweatpants and heels with sculpted facial hair, he reminded me that outside-the-box could be a positive.
The evening culminated with each of us performing a sexy walk to a chair where we did three poses, a glove tease with a “deny” (that classic give-you-a-little-skin-then-take-it-back) and then the dance move of our choice. We wolf-whistled and cat-called as one by one we showed off our moves, and I realized I was actually having fun.
Then came week 4. Inga says that everyone freaks out in week 4. I freaked out. Even though I’d been keeping up on my homework and attending private lessons in addition to the regular classes, I still didn’t feel ready.
It occurred to me that this wasn’t some theoretical performance anymore. In two weeks I was going to go on stage and take my clothes off. Strangers were going to see and judge my body. Friends were going to see and judge my body. I was going to trip on my stripper heels, my boobs were going to come flying out of my gold beaded butterfly breast plate, my ass was going to explode out of my sequined hot pants, and I was going to literally die of embarrassment.
Inga assured me that I didn’t have to get totally naked. I could strip to pasties or even to a flesh-colored bathing suit if that’s what felt comfortable. Nothing about this experience was comfortable. I wanted to scream.
Over the weekend, I got sick, so I missed the optional tassel-twirling class, where all of my classmates took their tops off and became titty sisters. They were all BFFs afterwards, and though Lana del Spray invited me to come to class early to catch up on my boa work, I felt a little left out.
After the optional bump-and-grind class, Kat Trick, Cleopatra of the South, Muffy Thyme and I went on a costume shopping excursion. We had lunch first and it was nice to get to know them. Kat is a realtor. Cleo is the mother of 9 children, grandmother of 15, and has been doing burlesque back home in Alabama for a couple of years. She’s only here for a few months before she returns to the South. Muffy is a biologist and has been learning how to be an aerialist.
Though we all came from different walks of life and probably wouldn’t have met any other way, the class created our common ground. “We’re all nervous too,” Kat told me when I confessed that I was panicking. Just like everyone had their reason for being in the class, they also had their challenges too, and there was something comforting about knowing I wasn’t alone.
Practice runs
My heart raced as I made my grand entrance. Everyone was staring at me. I knew they would be, because that is what audiences do, (and what I had just done to six of my classmates) but I didn’t realize it would be so awkward.
I’d spent an afternoon painting and gluing glitter on reeds for my backdrop, but the costume still hadn’t come together. I wore black peep-toe heels, fishnets and a gold beaded backless halter shaped like a butterfly. A friend used her seam ripper to pop the hoop out of my rainbow fish windsock. Using safety pins and a length of fabric, I rigged up a tail.
On top, I wanted to wear something elegant, a two-piece ball gown with full-length, black satin gloves. I’d found a beautiful wine-colored gown with a poofy skirt layered with lace, but it was still all in one piece, so I rolled down the ill-fitted bodice and wore a T-shirt. I felt disheveled and mismatched.
When the baseline hit, I rolled my body, giving life to my shimmy, but my tail snagged the back of my fishnets and my skirt kept slipping off my waist and got tangled under my heels. I tried to keep smiling, but I could see all the faces in the audience and it was freaking me out.
I took my skirt off and crawled on the floor, then stepped on my tail trying to get up. When I ripped my top off all I could think was, everyone is looking at my stretch marks. This was a new level of vulnerability, and I didn’t like it.
Winded and sweaty, I managed to sit politely through the remaining acts. Everyone seemed so much more together than I felt. Their costumes were complete, and their acts were sexy and hilarious. I kept trying not to compare myself, but when I went home, I sobbed. My performance was going to suck. After a month of working on it, I felt invested — I wanted to get on stage and kill it as Cocoa, but it felt impossible.
Two days later, I had my private lesson with Inga. I didn’t talk about my full-on meltdown. I admitted to not loving my run-through and Inga assured me it was great. We went over my floor work and she made me run through the routine again, making “Bugs Bunny porno faces.” It is impossible to mope and make stupid faces at the same time.
I came up with a new mantra: I’ll only be on stage for 3 minutes. I’m not going to die.
Then it was time for our second dress rehearsal. First up was Cleo, dressed as Maleficent and stripping to a love letter from Walt Disney. Her act had a classic feel to it and was sultry, funny and ended in tassel twirling. Then came Kat Trick, decked head-to-toe in Seahawks swag, attempting to get the attention of a man glued to the TV. Icy London played a ’50s housewife sick of cleaning. She had even bedazzled her broom. She went from Donna Reed to dominatrix.
Lana del Spray’s act took place in a kiddie pool, so we went outside. The burlesque studio shares a parking lot with a plumbing company, so one confused and embarrassed plumber caught the gaggle of us cheerleading Lana in various states of dress. Though it was freezing, Lana performed like a pro. Her act involved stripping out of rain gear. (Just a year ago she was engaged and living in a yurt on a pot farm. She gave all of that up to start a new life in a new city.)
She was supposed to end in a merkin and pasties with tassles, but I think the pasties came off in the kiddie pool. She kept twirling anyway.
We went back inside and Ivy Thorny played a naughty nurse resurrecting a dying patient with the power of her pussy. Then it was my turn.
Somehow, between contributions from four friends and several trips to thrift stores and fabric shops, I’d pieced together a workable costume. With my costume complete, steps and faces refined, I got through my routine — and it didn’t suck.
Muffy Thyme performed after me. She was a gender-bending rodeo cowboy/girl who stripped to the country version of “99 Problems and a Bitch Ain’t One,” while knife-throwing and dancing a two-step. The big finale was Perry Von Winkle, pizza stripper extraordinaire. Perry, a bank teller by day, pranced around light-footed in denim and red dance pumps with a pizza box before stripping to a pepperoni pizza leotard studded in rhinestones and trimmed with glittery cheesy fringe.
Maybe, just maybe, we were going to pull this off.
Go-big time
The day of the recital, even arriving four hours early, I felt rushed. I was up late the night before spray-painting my tailored prom skirt with blue and green glitter, and then sewing, pinning and tying it with green and gold ribbons. My fish tail was fluffed, my headdress was pinned and repined. Muffy tied me into my gold beaded butterfly bikini while Perry applied my fake lashes.
Somehow, even without having much time to get to know each other, we had become a community. When Lana handed me a brush and asked if I would glitter her butt, I didn’t hesitate. We zipped, tucked, snapped and strapped one another into our respective costumes, wolf whistled for each other during our dry runs, and kept each other in chocolate and bobby pins.
And then there I was, standing in the dark, listening to Indigo Blue introduce me. It was a reckoning, those final jittery moments. But in the midst of all that painting, sewing, music mapping, rehearsing and wrestling with my insecurities, I’d made a space in my life for whimsy and magic. And most importantly, I’d made a commitment to not be half-assed.
Spotlight on me, I shed my gloves, then touched my bare arms and shimmied from one side of the stage to the other. I turned around and began my skirt tease with a grin. When I dropped my skirt to reveal gold hot pants and my shiny rainbow fish tail, the audience erupted in laughter and applause. I tossed my skirt to the side, crawled center stage, struck a sexy pose, then belly-flopped and made fishy faces while I kicked my heels and swam.
I got up and darted back behind the screens of reeds for one last tease. I dangled my top on one finger before tossing it aside. Then I emerged with my worm boa, in my gold beaded butterfly breastplate, to strike my triumphant final pose. For one moment, I stood confidently in my own skin. The crowd went wild.
In that moment, as the audience cheered, I realized how much I needed this experience. I realized that I’d needed to heal the parts of me that had internalized what media, kids at school, former lovers and even my parents have said about my body. I realized that I could choose to love and approve of myself exactly as I am — at this weight, this height, this physical incarnation. I didn’t have to be
Cocoa to shower myself in glitter and ribbons and to feel sexy, strong and confident.
Burlesque may not have felt like a calling at first, but I’d been called — and despite all my hesitations, I’d answered. And I’d found a community of really cool people who held space for me to do what turned out to be some pretty deep personal work. Through the process of shedding my clothes, I opened myself up to shedding my fears, insecurities and self-imposed limitations.
I don’t know if I’ll ever do it again, but I take with me the pride of knowing I was brave enough to try.
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