MEMOIR
Back to the (Strip) Club
A Retired Stripper Visits Her Past Life 20 Years Later
“Take me to the other side…” — Aerosmith
The weather was perfect for an evening stroll. I started up Kūhiō Avenue with the plan to hail a cab [pre-UBER] a few blocks in. I missed flagging taxis. Waikiki may not be your typical big city lifestyle but it’s still the type of place you can walk everywhere and when your feet tire, there’s always a taxi to rescue you.
Familiarity started within two blocks of my walk on the streets of Kalākaua Avenue. I noticed a man I used to party with — still passing out Booze Cruise tickets to young tourists on the sidewalk. His hair was still long and gelled into a now-dated mullet like he was an extra in an MC Hammer video. Mr. Mullet did a double-take at my face when I walked by and for a second, we stopped to serve up that “don’t I know you?” look with one another. Not one for exchanging small talk with long-lost acquaintances from my party past, I ignored our exchange and kept walking.
The taxi dropped me off right in front of Femme Nu. This is the first [nude] club I worked in back in 1990 after it became legal to drop trou at age twenty-one. (I started my exotic dancing career in 1987 wearing a bikini in a topless bar.) It had been two decades since I stepped foot into the club and I was propelled by equal parts fear and curiosity. I almost turned away from the front door, but wonder won the round.
The bouncer at the door checked my purse, pulled out my smartphone, and handed me a claim check ticket. I didn’t even think about taking photos inside the clubs, but it made me happy the security was tight. In my day (it’s official, I’m old) we didn’t have to worry if a nude photo was plastered all over the internet — there was no internet!
Once entering the club I was overcome with nostalgia, and excitement and my fear was now controlling the thumping in my chest. I sat at the bar, ordered a vodka cranberry, and soaked it all in. The dancers seemed bored, as it was just 8:00 PM and the crowd was sparse. After my second drink, I asked the bartender for some ones and made my way to a chair at the tip stage.
“I have to support the ladies,” I said, as I walked up to each of them smiling, waving my cash.
“Thank you!” They looked at me, smiling, wondering what my story was.
After introducing myself a couple of the gals and I chatted and they were excited to meet someone from “the old days” — a fellow sorority sister from the pole — who had stories.
I told them how different the club was, how the stages changed, the bar was on the opposite side of the club, etc. They marveled at my stories of how we used to dance on a jet stream runway — complete with shower stage and glow-in-the-dark body wash.
I noticed each dancer had a personal pillow and was blown away by the fact that not one of the girls was actually standing up for long. They all knelt down and performed shows for the men on their knees!
“What’s up with the pillows?” I asked.
“Oh, that started in the late 90s” A darling twentysomething dancer replied.
“It’s got to be better on your feet!” I immediately regretted my words, feeling like an elderly house mom.
“Oh, yea — you used to dance, right?”
“Yea — in spiky shoes. Clear platform heels weren’t around back then.” More senior citizen-like prose. Still, I was proud to be there, sharing my stories. It was nice to show them there is life after the pole.
After chatting a while with the girls I made my way to Club Rock-Za across the street, another club where I rocked my ass for cash. As soon as I opened the door the bouncer remembered me, gave me a hug, and waived the cover charge. I was then greeted by Yvonne, the club owner, who recognized me immediately. I was so surprised to receive such a warm reception and felt a little touched I was even remembered (especially since my cocaine-fueled diet days were long behind me and I could stand to shed a few pounds).
The ladies at Rock-Za had pillows too and I sat at the bar in amazement at the floor shows I was witnessing.
In both clubs, I noticed a lot more body art. Each girl displayed a fair amount of tattoos — something I don’t remember seeing back in my day. They also seemed younger to me, but I’m sure that’s because I am so much older now. I also noticed the lack of drugs. As a long-time career party girl who has since retired, I can usually tell if someone is high. I didn’t pick up that vibe once from any of the dancers. Another difference I spotted right away was the rise of their bottoms. Every gal there wore their bikini bottoms (or panties) very low-waisted. I felt so old-school, thinking to myself how high-up-the-thigh we used to wear ours.
After a couple of hours and a hand full of drinks, I decided I was ready to leave. I saw what I wanted, met some great ladies, and came full circle. I was surprised I wasn’t more emotional. I suppose it’s because I’m at peace with the part of my life that no longer controls me. Walking into my past was fun and entertaining, but walking away felt even better.
For more information on my story (including photos) please visit my website: www.poletosoul.com. Thank you!