Sassy by name, Sassy by nature, I write to explode the myths which surround the lapdancing profession - standing up for the clubs, the girls and the customers. Its not always drinking champagne and playing with my tits - it can be hassle, hustling and hangovers. At heart I'm just a regular twenty-something posh cockney living in London who likes taking her clothes off...
“Mr. Grey will see you now.”
Except he probably won’t be likely to if the woman in question is a stripper.
The #FiftyShades effect is everywhere, in all-too-welcome respite from the usual Valentine’s schmaltz and tacky red hearts, the high street is instead alive with grey ties and fuzzed-out photographs of whips and chains. The merest whisper of silk is all that’s needed in a consumer’s mind to conjure images of BDSM and kinky sexual pleasures. We are being encouraged to try the darker side of eroticism, to discover our sexual selves, to chase seduction at home and all over London’s nightclubs and bars and pop-up parties.
But amongst all this hullabaloo, where is the usual front-line of female sexuality – the art of the striptease?
Whilst these informative pages make for a rollicking read and trying them all out would be so exhausting you’d beg for a cup of tea, there is a distinct lack of stripping.
Stripping, you see, for the masses, is not burlesque. It’s not cabaret. It’s not poledancing.
Stripping is something that everybody knows exists, but nobody owns up too.
The media keep visits to stripclubs quiet, only acknowledging their existence when a celebrity stumbles out at 3am, or the council battles for ever stricter and stricter license fees and regulations.
The working men of the world wink at each other, a pat on the back and another office night out to be chalked up to history.
Women try to emulate the fake-lashed superbodies of the strippers of their imagination, if they’re not campaigning against the exploitation buzzword of the day under the banner of ‘feminism’.
Which is a shame really, as in the USA and Canada, arguably the birthplace of striptease, stripclubs are accepted, even celebrated, as a perfectly ordinary evening out. Couple’s drink beer at the tipping rails in Jersey tittie-bars, no visit to Las Vegas is complete without a visit to one of the Hypermarket sized edifices lying just off the strip, and stripper fashion is so mainstream Perspex heels and fishnets appear in every pop and hip-hop video.
The biggest shame that stripping has been ignored by the Fifty Shades Effect though? Stripclubs are great places for couples and individuals to explore their sexuality without being freaked out or scared. Themed nights are full of hot girls in BDSM and fantasy outfits, eager to talk and flirt. Many stripclubs are beautiful inside – Secrets has rooms bedecked like jewel boxes – and are more akin to first class airport lounges than seedy dens with men in old macs. Go to a strip-pub in East London and you’ll see a variety of women, beauty and prowess celebrated in all sorts of shapes and sizes.
So if you go and see Fifty Shades this Valentine’s weekend, and don’t want to scurry back to your overpriced London flatshare straight away, then visit a stripclub. There’s a map of them on this website.
Go on, I dare you. Unlike Mr. Grey, we don’t bite.