Beyond the Stage: Breaking Stereotypes About Strip Club Dancers

Lately, I've been reflecting deeply on how swiftly people jump to conclusions about others—judgments formed purely on appearance, profession, or the places someone visits—without truly knowing or even attempting to understand the person behind these superficial markers.

I encounter this phenomenon regularly because I work in a strip club. Men, in particular, tend to make rapid assumptions about women in my line of work. Some immediately label dancers as prostitutes, and honestly, I'm not entirely surprised—I've heard enough stories to know that such activities can happen in clubs. While I'm saddened by having to work in an environment where such practices exist, I realize it's prevalent everywhere, in every strip club, and there's nothing I can do to change it.

Other men believe that because they've come to the club to relax and have fun, I owe them entertainment. But that's not true at all. I'm not obligated to entertain anyone. Approaching a customer, let alone dancing for them, is entirely my choice.

Then there are those who see themselves as superior to dancers. But why? Because they have a university degree? Well, guess what—I have one, too. Perhaps they think they're smarter? I'm no genius, but I'm intelligent, quick-witted, and well-read. Maybe they believe their prestigious job sets them apart? But here's the thing: I consciously chose freedom over spending most of my life trapped behind an office desk. Career prospects? True, there might not be much "career growth" in dancing, but who said that's all I do? I have other ambitions and goals. My greatest priority is my freedom; being chained to an office job and dependent on superiors doesn't resonate with me. Yes, there are rules and management at the club, but compared to office work, I have significantly more freedom—I set my own schedule every week and can take time off whenever I please.

Some say it's easy work, claiming there's nothing much to it. Really? Pole dancing isn't just about spinning around and undressing; it's an intricate art form that demands incredible physical strength, grace, and skill. Of course, not every dancer performs elaborate pole tricks—some dancers simply move beautifully and gracefully undress—but that's not me. I specialize in pole dancing, mastering moves that require dedication and intense training. Not everyone can do what I do. And let's talk about customer interactions—that requires real social skills and emotional intelligence. If you can't communicate effectively, you simply won't earn much.

Want to know what I do when there's downtime at work? I read. Yes, I always have my iPad with me, filled with e-books, to ensure I never waste precious moments while waiting for new clients. Does this still seem trivial or effortless?

So, in what way are those who come into strip clubs superior to the dancers? In my opinion, they're not superior at all.

Outside of the club, when men find out what I do, their first reaction is often dismissive: they think I'm easy, a temporary amusement they can use and discard. It's as if a stripper isn't human, incapable of genuine feelings, love, or dignity. Why? Why do men—and people in general—have such narrow minds?

Have these people ever considered the reasons why someone might choose to work in a strip club? Most never bother to think about it. They assume I've chosen an easy route, easy money. Let me assure you—it's neither easy nor effortlessly earned money. It's disheartening to face such judgmental attitudes.

I'm not saying I take pride in this job, but neither am I ashamed of it. Yet there is something in this profession I am genuinely proud of—my talent as a pole dancer. Considering my life's circumstances, working at the club was the best available option for me at the time. And while working here, I'm not stagnant; I'm continually growing, developing myself, and building a solid foundation that will eventually allow me to leave this job behind.

It's easy to judge someone from a superficial perspective. But true understanding requires looking deeper. Maybe if more people tried, we'd live in a kinder, more empathetic world.