When I was in college - I was out with a group celebrating our mutual friend DM's birthday. Late in the evening. DM suggested that I (as the lone car-owner) drive him to a bar he wanted to visit.
Uh, okayThis suggestion and my agreement received an odd reaction. Nobody else seemed to want to go. My car was small, so the whole group was never going to be able to go - but still. Odd.
My usual half-@ssedto drinking had kept me sober - and DM didn't drink. DM's enjoyment of the bar scene had always seemed vicarious - he'd watch what others would do, and then out-crazy them while sober. It sounds strange to describe it now, but at the time it was just part of being around DM.
I took his latest suggestion as an excuse to prolong the evening. He wanted to stay out - okay.
For reasons that will soon become obvious - my line of reasoning will seem completely implausible - but at the time, I truly had no idea what was in store. DM wanted to drive to a bar, and I said okay.
When we got there - it was obvious that DM was using his birthday as an excuse, but for something else.
DM wanted to go to a strip club. And that's where we went.
I have three distinct memories of the evening:
First, talking with the bouncer on the way in. I briefly wondered if being 19 was old enough to get in. The bouncer made it clear if we had the cover charge, he didn't care if we were in pre-school.
Second, talking with a stripper at the bar. She was waiting for her shift to start, and amused herself by picking on me. She called me baby face and yelled at the bouncer for letting me in. I remember this woman looked...used up. She had feathery clothes and a voice like a chain smoker. She was having great fun trying to make me uncomfortable. It was working. I had never met a stripper before and it was like encountering someone from Mars.
This place and the people in it were normal to her. She was in her element - and I was the freak. It was a lasting and unsettling feeling.
However, the most disturbing impression was the one that made me write this. The one I was reminded of as I read this article from New York Magazine,
Rachel Uchitel is Not A Madam.
At some point - I was standing back, having paid my $6 cover, drinking my required $8 can of beer - and I watched a stripper at the end of her routine crawl around picking up dollar bills off the stage floor. The act was over, the music had stopped - and this person was very clearly tired. The fake smile was gone, and this woman was picking up her money in a manner not unlike a person cleaning up dirty laundry.
I have to do this, in this way, so this is what I will do.My point isn't to get all sanctimonious about the objectification or degredation of women - I was a 19 year old male who went into a strip club for precisely the reason you'd expect. All protestations aside, I was there to see women take their clothes off.
What I'm talking about is the dreadful symmetry at work in such a place - This woman was surrounded by a group of leering predators. Her employer had created an environment where money ended up on the floor - and she was required to crawl around on all fours to retrieve it.
And off the stage was a decidedly sad bunch of men, buying overpriced cans of beer and throwing money on stage at a rate that none of them could reasonably afford. The more they paid, the more attention they would recieve from the strippers.
Economics governed the strippers behavior - once off stage, they would stalk the room - aggressively prancing in front of men who were hanging back from the stage (and consequently, were spending less money). Those who did not respond to these antics with cash were shunned by the strippers - but a regularly-attired waitress would soon approach and offer more $8 cans of beer.
It was a system - designed to exploit the intersection of what men will pay to see - and what women would do for money.
Well, duh - I'm sure you're saying. Of course that is the thinking behind it. Yes, but what I'm laborously trying to get across was my surprise at how systematic the whole thing seemed. How efficiently it ripped off both parties.
And what is clear from
Lisa Taddeo's article in NY Magazine - is that however appalling this system appears - it is a thin slice of nothing compared to the one she describes. One constructed to maximize the financial return from putting attractive women in close proximity with wealthy men. They take great pains to avoid outright prostitution - but somehow that makes them appear that much worse.
Ms. Uchitel's rise to infamy with the Tiger Woods scandal has netted her the oportunity to tell us what she knows. She knows plenty - and while she comes across as a mid-level, more commercial Stephen Ward, it's hard to feel any sympathy.
She is just another predator, being turned into a different type of prey by Ms. Taddeo.
It
is a fascinating story - but disheartening on so many levels. The world has gotten far too good at this sort of thing.