Bloginatrix

Mr. Remi:

First, I’d like to thank you for coming out on Friday night. The Evening of Burlesque that I hosted supports an internationally renowned week of contemporary dance and dance theatre hosted here in our fair city. I have taken part as a performer in the past, and the festival will feature my original choreography and performance this year. I do appreciate your support.

I also appreciate my work being viewed with a critical eye, so I was willing to lend an ear when you suggested to me that only about sixty percent of the show was worth watching, and that the rest was ‘crap’. I respectfully voiced my disagreement, and explained that this event is a fundraiser put off by unpaid performers who are given very little time to rehearse in the theatre and virtually no compensation, other than the chance to practice their art and that glowy feeling that comes from helping other artists make THEIR art.

Your suggestion, which you pitched both to me and the three bartenders standing patiently in the corner, was that we work together to create a professional burlesque cabaret. You expressed the firm belief that it could run several nights of the week, and invited me to lunch to discuss the possibilities. I told you I would think it over, and perhaps give you a call. The bartenders were intrigued as well, though I sensed that they were put off by your suggestion that they should be wearing French maids’ uniforms.

It was obvious that you were having a good time, Mr. Remi. When your arm encircled my waist and dropped perilously close to my sumptuous, red-glitter-encased behind… well, I chalked that up to you having a good time as well. Often, a burlesque performer finds herself being pawed after she leaves the stage to mingle with the crowd, particularly if she remains in costume. It’s as though the tease has been too much for the audience… as though, after having watched you caress yourself and deny them for so long, the members of the audience feel inclined to give that sought-after bum a squeeze or caress your leg in an altogether too-friendly fashion. This is something a woman in my position grows accustomed to, and, depending on the source of the squeeze, chooses to accept as part and parcel of maintaining the fantasy character of the unflappable burlesque broad.

Suffice it to say that I was under the impression that you found me quite attractive. You can imagine my surprise, then, when you repeated for the sixth or seventh time your entreaty for me to call you and then leaned in to me and said “Look, sweetheart. You’re very talented. But if you want to do this professionally, spend a little more time at the gym.”

While you are most certainly entitled to your opinion of my body and me Mr. Remi, I am decidedly entitled to an opinion of you as well. I must admit, the waft of alcohol from your breath had suggested to me that your business propositions were perhaps not entirely well-thought-through, but your suggestion that I form a more intimate relationship with my elliptical trainer left me a bit concerned on your behalf. You see, I am afraid, Mr. Remi, that for all your bluster as a would-be burlesque producer, you’ve missed the point entirely.

Let me be clear with you. Burlesque is not about toned, trim bodies. Some burlesque performers have tight, traditionally sexy bodies, while others embody a shape that falls outside of the current North American beauty ideal. Please google “Michelle L’Amour” and “Dirty Martini” if you’d like an example of each. It may be of interest to note that both of these women have held the title of Miss Exotic World, which is burlesque’s highest honour. The spirit of burlesque is accepting of female sexuality and confidence, in whatever form that may take. Burlesque is not about perfection, it’s about creativity and fantasy and glamour. I am a woman who occasionally fantasizes that her thighs were a few inches smaller. In burlesque, I engage that fantasy by exposing my highly imperfect thighs to an audience of hundreds and exulting in hearing them cheer wildly, despite (or perhaps because of) the jiggles.

So, Mr. Remi, in short… I believe that we have a problem here. I do not believe that my thighs are that problem. You, and others like you, are the problem. Men who grab my ass and tell me to lose a few pounds in the same breath are the problem. And Cosmo is the problem. And our mothers are the problem. But mostly men like you, Mr. Remi. You constitute the vast majority of the problem. And for you and those like you, I am deeply, deeply sorry.

In short, Mr. Remi, I will never work with you on a burlesque show because you haven’t an idea what burlesque really is. And I will never respect the opinions or criticisms of a man who judges without thinking. The failure to construct one’s own beauty ideal is perhaps the most abhorrent kind of cowardice, and the impulse to impress upon others the suggestion that existing outside the mainstream beauty ideal constitutes some sort of failure is undoubtedly the most disgraceful form of bullying. We will not be working together, Mr. Remi, as much as you fancied the idea on Friday night.

I may, however, still let you buy me lunch, if you can afford it. You’ve no idea how much a “fat” stripper must eat to stay in this sort of condition.

Kindest regards-

Bx

Dear Trojan:

Over the years, I feel like you and I have developed a special relationship. I’ve been accompanied through some of my most memorable moments by your brightly-wrapped protective devices. And let’s face it, Trojan: You’re the only one I’d ever let get between me and my man during an intimate moment. Yes, you and I have come a long way together. And despite the fact that ‘ribbed for her pleasure’ is a terrible phrase, I’ve always appreciated the fact that my pleasure is being considered in the development of your product.

So you must be able to imagine my delight, Trojan, when I discovered your new Elexa line. It’s high time someone endeavored to make condoms a bit more female-friendly, and the smartly packaged Elexa line is clearly marketed towards hip, sexually-liberated women who are comfortable in their own skins. The line features three types of female-friendly condoms, and they’re also comparably priced to your traditional fare. I appreciate the fact that you, Trojan, haven’t fallen into the popular consumer trap whereby it’s assumed that women will pay more than men for everything from haircuts to deodorant to shoes.

However, it’s the boldness of the rest of your Elexa line that truly impressed me. One Elexa box contains heated intimacy gel, and another features condoms paired with a vibrating ring. I am so proud of you, Trojan, for pairing the things that tingle and vibrate with the things that protect us from nasty diseases and unwanted babies. Your approach to reconciling safety and pleasure is a truly modern one, and your attempt to market racier products with a tried-and-true sexual staple is heartening. The Elexa line challenges the age-old assumption that the guy should buy the condoms and the chick should buy the pills, and also encourages women to chase pleasure as stridently as they chase safety. Girls who are too shy to visit a sexual health store might be introduced to the wonders of clitoral vibration or heated tingle gel through Elexa.

So props to you for breaking the gender barrier in your own little way. Props to you for presenting sex toys as a healthy parts of foreplay. In fact, I was totally ready to give Elexa all-around props… until I spied the little green box at the end of the row that contained three Elexa condoms and six freshening wipes.

Freshening wipes, Trojan? FRESHENING WIPES?

I’ll be honest with you. I’m a bit offended. I thought Elexa was all about embracing female sexuality. Do you really want today’s sexually-liberated woman running around thinking that she needs to be ‘freshened’? Because that’s what you’re implying. And that, Trojan, is unfortunate. A vagina should look, smell and taste like a vagina, not a potpourri canister. There is nothing ‘fresh’ about scenting our sexual organs.

Don’t get me wrong. I understand that feminine hygiene has its place and that freshness is subjective. If I’ve just finished teaching four dance classes, I’m less likely to feel ‘fresh’ than I would if I’d just, say, stepped out of the bath. But the only ‘freshening’ that the average female needs in this instance is the soap-and-water kind. It bothers me that your freshening cloths only exist in a line marketed towards chicks. It’s as though you’re saying “Have fun, ladies… enjoy the vibrating ring and intimacy gel, but don’t forget to sanitize your inherently unclean vaginas after you’re finished.” Whither the ball wipes, Trojan? Those suckers are every bit as likely to get sweaty as the lady-bits.

It just seems so UNLIKE you. On your website, you explain the uses of the cloths: “It’s great to go with the moment, but sometimes it’s unexpected, and opportunities to freshen up are limited.” This makes sense to me, Trojan, but I’m still bothered by the fact that the ‘freshening’ is presumed to be an exclusively female need. I read on: “Also, keeping them in the night table drawer for you or your partner provides a comfortable way to clean up without getting up.” Okay, that also makes sense. You’re basically positing the freshening wipe as come rag. But why are pre-and post-coital ‘freshness’ exclusively the woman’s concern? Why don’t you sell an (oversized) manly ‘Freshening Cloth’ with your Magnums?

I thought we’d come further than this, Trojan, but I do appreciate that your heart is in the right place. I know there are women who are concerned about their own ‘freshness’, and I have no doubt that they’ll buy your product. And perhaps it will, as you hopefully suggest on the back on your box, “increase their sexual confidence”. But it seems to me our attentions would be better focused on assuring them that there’s nothing to be ‘unconfident’ about. In your attempt to encourage women to be safe with their vaginas and also to pursue pleasure, you’ve done something revolutionary, Trojan. But by buying in to the throwback fear of ‘smelly’ vaginas, you’ve also given women one more (ridiculous) reason to doubt the cock-worthiness of their own cunts. Two steps forward, I suppose, and one step back.

I really do applaud what you’re trying to do. And I’m totally going to be all over that vibrating cock ring, once I find someone to share it with. But you’ve gotta rethink your relationship with vaginas. My “freshening” philosophy is quite simple. Women (and men) should be expected to keep up on basic hygiene and keep their sexual organs free from infection and disease. But beyond that, our partners should be thrilled for the chance to engage the healthy set of genitalia that we’re offering them.

It’s like this, Trojan: I have a vagina. It has its own taste, texture and smell. If you don’t like it, don’t fuck it. But don’t expect me to Lysol it out for you.

I still believe you and I have a lot of good times left to come. But if I have my way, none of them will involve ‘freshening’ with anything other than a good, hot shower.

Jx