I’d like to say thank you to Jason, Todd Robbins, Alan and Bruce for such a wonderful shoot.
This is my first time on television since I did Style Me with Rachel Hunter. And boy, am I proud that I got to be the psycho nurse for EPIX Drive-in. H0w much more awesome can you get?
Red: The color of love, wine, sin, periods, shark attacks, scandalous districts, lipstick, hot cars, rare steak, southern style velvet cake and the devil itself. As I’ve said in earlier posts I’ve been called the Devil quite a few times in my life and whether it was by a Christian or a lover I can’t help but enjoy it. This set was also done by my friend Matt Schectman, who provided me with this lovely dress. I was thinking a little Marylin and Jessica Rabbit wrapped up all shiny. I discovered that Matt has some truly devilish things in my wardrobe future and I can’t wait to share them with you! But until then enjoy… XO
This fun shoot was inspired by Sophia Loren. I was thinking “Italian Widow” in latex. The photos were taken by Matt Schechtman, a hell of a guy who lets me style myself and art direct everything. I love working with him because we naturally push each other into more and more exciting and extreme kinky set-ups. You can look forward to some bondage and mummification coming your way soon. But for now enjoy this, drawn from Sophia’s all noir strip in Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow. Which I really think is an incredible Burlesque tease… So here’s mine: sans pasties because I love y’all. XO
Get friendly with your favorite book...
Meow…. Hello! Hope you all had a wonderful weekend. I realize my last post was a tad heavy. But heavy seems to be my specialty. I think we can disregard any need for pretense and dive right on in….
My last entry was specific in dealing with my gender identity. I made sure to leave out other elements of my identity to make that admission easier to digest. But now seems like a good time to come out about these other elements as well. Not only do I identify as Queer and omnisexual, but polyamourous and kinky as well. In my small world that is the New York burlesque circuit, these elements of mine are becoming more and more known… because, well, I have a lot of lovers. I currently have 1 serious girlfriend, 2 serious boyfriends, 1 husband… and 1 suitor. I find it easier to juggle men, whereas I find it takes all my energies to have a girlfriend, so I honor us both by not having more than one. All of the men in my life fulfill a different need… I have a debonair top, a role play partner, and a slave. But to phrase it like that it makes it sound like the arrangement is only for sex, which is in fact the furthest thing from the truth… each one of these people, I love. I love them so much it is nearly impossible to describe how lucky I feel to be just one person in their lives who can adore them in my unique way and make them feel known. The last few sentences read to me like someone else’s life. As I have said before, I grew up Roman Catholic, and I always felt like the life I wanted deep down was never something I was strong enough to reach for… and therefore not something I could ever enjoy.
I said in my last post that a lot of my life had been about suffering. Some of that suffering did come as result of living in the closet, some came at the hands of cruel men and women alike, and some came from my natural predilection towards being a “flower child”. Because our society as it is now has no way of accommodating people who live so freely. If you had asked me when I was young about how I wanted to live, I never wanted to marry, I wanted to live in a big house with many lovers both male and female, and adopt lots of children…. basically what I now know is an art commune. I really did and still do desire a kind of completely free existence. If I meet you and we hit it off and I fall for you, then we will be lovers. Simple. And for the most part my lovers are all friendly to each other, and in fact, the unique bond between them all has created a kind of community all its own. The Rosebud Vagina Community, I guess. I do impose structure but that is because I know not everything that is allowed to blossom organically is an accident. I make sure everyone gets quality time, I make myself available when they are having rough spots emotionally, I focus only on them when we are together, I respect their privacy, I cheer them on with other lovers, I try only to bring joy to their lives, and I never let drama take hold. They are all real, committed loving relationships…. there just happen to be many of them. I’m currently trying to figure out how many is too many… I have a lot of love you see.
When I look back over my life, I see how that mountain of love has gotten me in trouble too. I committed myself to monogomous relationships with abusive men, because when I was young and stupid I thought they needed the most love. I sublimated my love for women because it went against the church. And whenever I found myself developing feelings for someone else while I was in a monogomous relationship I would berate myself for being weak, sluttish, and unworthy of whatever jerk I was with at the time. It never dawned on me that non-monogamy was an option. The closest thing to a non-monogamous situation I had ever heard of was when my Mother told me a story about how a French lady who used to live next door to us had once proposed that my Mother stay on birth control even after my Dad had gotten his proposed “snip” so that she could still have affairs if she wanted. That mentality was scandalous. And French. Therefore doubly scornful.
When I was 17, I moved here to New York to pursue classical acting, and while I was at school I became friends with a girl from Switzerland who blew the dust off of many dark and dangerous thoughts I had long assumed dead. Funnily, now she is a very well known Burlesquer by the name of Roxy Diamond. But to get back, in the same way that my Mother had thought the French lady next door was trouble, so was Roxy. Roxy was and still is confident, sensual, exotic and free. She was not non-monogamous but she never judged others for it. That was what opened my eyes. To be in the company of a woman I respected, who I thought of as the ambassador of class and excitement, who never judged anybody. She never hated women. Though we were both roundly judged, she didn’t give a shit and went on living how she pleased… and she yanked me along for the ride.
I had a real nightmare for a boyfriend at that time, and I was very depressed. But Roxy had gotten me into Dita Von Teese… looking at her picture, I saw things that appealed to me, things I knew. Camp, artifice and power. And so I can honestly say that my 16″ waist and 6″ heels saved my life at that point… the only thing I had worth getting up for was hooking into my stocking and roll setting my hair. The feminine discipline Roxy had enlightened me to was something I could lose myself in, only to find myself being better and stronger. This wasn’t the only thing she showed me. She also gave me my first copy of The Story of O and Venus in Furs… She let me peek at her copy of the Satanic Bible, while I feared for my soul. Roxy taught me that if you’re strong enough, you can have your cake and eat it, too, even trussed up in leather from head to toe while you sit on a human chair and eat it off your fabulous human table.
Roxy in her furs and glory...
Roxy also taught me that being a woman of sadistic impulses didn’t make you bad as long as you were responsible about them, and about communication. Something my mind has a hard time grasping to this day. When I desire to punish my slave, I always mentally bump into old, tired ways of thinking that urge me to judge myself… but then I remember that I am not evil, I just enjoy doing horrible things to people, when they have made it clear that is what they want. Because loving people the way they want to be loved is endlessly delightful. Because love is beautiful, because real love is consensual to some degree, and aware of how it improves the quality of life of each lover. Because people are strange, and wonderful and deserve to be seen honestly and without shame. Because even when you’re beating someone, the love you have for them can be pure and innocent. Not that innocence matters.
For me living multiple relationships many with heavy BDSM qualities, Burlesque, and growing a harem of men are all of a piece. I view these things through a nostalgic lens, as following in the footsteps of women who sought to bring knowledge, feeling and joy to the world. Women like Roxy, The World Famous *BOB*, La Belle Otero, Violet Gordon Woodhouse, Theda Bera, Lola Montez… the list goes on and on. These women live(d) how they want, they’ve inspired and entertained many, they’ve become legendary sources of scandal and joy. They bring balance to the world with an injection of both feminine and androgyne power. I may identify as more male, but I understand who gives life, the kind of life that makes life worth living. Women and femininity provide the hidden source of immortal energy that stimulates the fantasy consciousness of the world. Who wouldn’t want to respect that, honor that, worship that, impersonate that? That, of course, is a rhetorical question, history has shown us: not most people, including most women. Only up to certain point is self-directed behavior to be tolerated. When “wild” women become too much of problem, then burn them, put them in institutions, rape them into submission. These are the facts, sad but true. I hope everyday that I will hear less annoyance in the voices of people listening to the plight of women, but until then I can take comfort in confronting them with the most powerful artistic rendering of a woman I can create. Some have argued with me that I play too much with stereotypes, or that I have become safe in my art. But to that I say, “Look at my life, it’s all a part of it”… The power I try to embody on stage is not something I just put on anymore. For better or worse, I live it. Because that is the natural evolution of life as art.
I was recently reminded how much all this honesty with myself has changed me. I went on a few dates with a new suitor, who disappointed me by treating me like a piece of livestock. A dumb animal that made annoying noise, that was too curious, and too clothed. After he roughly handled me… I was even sadder. It dawned on me: he hates women, or at least resents them. I realized then why he was so frustrated with me: my autonomy was a problem. I never felt shame, or that this was my punishment. I just felt sadness, because I realized there was nothing I could say that would make him realize he could trust the words coming out of my mouth. That I was smart enough to understand what I was saying, and that I was strong enough to bear those convictions. Poetically, he later called me “the Devil,” which makes me laugh because he’s not the first (and I know not the last). But what continued to depress me was that he meant it. He feared me, and when I have so much love to give I find that soul crushingly tragic. Because loss of a lover, even when you have a harem, still hurts…
The universe offered up to me an overt and delightful joke in response. I randomly selected Boccaccio 70 one night after said date, and skipped along until I got to Fellini’s contribution. Watching Anita Ekberg has always been spiritual for me, but her performance in the film as the quintessential seductress and Devil made me laugh til I had a stitch! Really, we are all that little man wedged in her bosom. We can either fight it, drawing her wrath, or we can accept it and, along with it, whatever love she wants to throw our way. And yes, also some wrath. Of course now I have a tribute act in the works, because when magic happens, I just say yes.
I will close in saying I have read many books on non-monogamy. I have a habit of being overly analytical about life. But the one book I always come back to because it has helped me the most, the one book I read once a year, is not really about the topic at all. It’s about women, all kinds of women, old women, fat woman, ugly women, smart women, legendary women who lived ferocious lives. This book, my favorite book, is called Seductress by Betsy Prioleau. My experience in reading it is not entirly dissimilar from my relationship with Roxy: a warm, intelligent, sensual hand guiding me without judgment to my free-est self. I highly recommend it!
XO
Some classic moves- some belly dance moves- just a fun “workin the foot lights act” <3
My new tattoo an homage to balance...
And I’m BACK in New York City! Amazing what a month away sequestered in a small town focusing on your art will do, how it will change you. This retreat more than any other in my past has drawn conflicting elements together that I truly thought were forever at odds. I spent countless hours doing research alongside my mother, mapping out the acts I will develop for the next 3 years. I have never worked in this way before, but for some reason rather than feel stifling it felt freeing to know what I would be sharing with the world. I felt ready to accept a direction, because it felt organic to accept it. Which is something I’ve never felt before. I have always been an extreme personality…. yes its true. I’m either fully immersed in something or I symbolically kill it because I can’t stand it. I’m either completely in love with something or someone, or I can’t remember it or them because I’ve blocked it out. Slash and burn. All or nothing. Commit or die. That has always been what has driven me as human being. But rather than make life simple as you think it might, it has always caused me a great deal of panic and pain. When you don’t know yourself because you have not been allowed to, how really can you commit to anything? How can you make an informed choice without the essence of self knowledge? That has always been my conundrum… But ever since I came out of the closet 2 years ago those black and white feelings have begun to transform into something much more forgiving. My heart and mind have become accommodating to my soul. I no longer look in the mirror and see only half of what I should be, and an ugly shapeless half at that. My identity as a “Polyamourous Omnisexual Gender Fluid Queer” is there staring back at me now, a strongly male feeling androgynous being in the body of woman. “It” is inside me, not he or she… but the freedom to move back and forth at will, sometimes within seconds.
Sitting alone at night in my bedroom growing up I used to wonder if I should get a sex change, because as I used to tell my Mother ” I feel like I’m a man inside”… I had ferreted out articles and Date Line specials on the subject as young as 9 and I was scared: did I really want to say good bye to the trappings of the female sex? I thought even then boobs and vagina’s were fun! Women were pretty! I wanted to be pretty even though I felt like a boy. I thought “if I have a sex change and become a man I will be frumpy, I won’t have boobs when I grow up to wear in dresses, they will lock me up for becoming a man and then dressing like a girl.” I hated growing up, because no one could ever see the real me, boys thought I was a girl, and girls thought I was a flat out freak. All I ever wanted to do was put on on a red dress and be Jessica Rabbit and then take off and be acknowledged for my masculinity. But growing up where and how I did, you had to choose- boys had to biological boys, girls the same, and sexy girls were whores. In my mind I kept thinking what is the use of having a vagina if you can’t be a campy over the top sexy girl?! That’s like giving someone a slice of the most delicious cake in the world and then telling them “don’t eat it, and whatever you do DON’T SHARE IT!”
And thus began my epic conflict of extremes. I put myself through my own version of finishing school where I studied the female icons I thought performed glamour the best. I belted my waist at night starting in the 5th grade. I taught myself how to run in high heels up and down our steep driveway. I was born with a deep voice, and I deliberately trained it higher to more effectively be perceived as girly. Because I thought “I was born in a girls body, and I’m going to be the best damn girl ever”. Feminizing myself became my obsession- and then one fateful day I stayed home sick from school and flipped on the Donahue Show. There they were the most beautiful women I’d ever seen, like old time movie stars. They were conscious of every move, their gestures delicate, their backs straight, their long legs encased in sheer hosiery, their feet tucked into gloriously tall heels. They had on the kind of make up that makes most women think “well, she’s that kind of… you know what”. They had long provocative bouncy hair, or tall ornate up do’s like you just don’t see anymore, they were unafraid to be painted and sexualized. They flirted with Donahue himself, breathy answers and coy glances, it was was performed seduction by a group of professionals. Then our housekeeper knocked on my door to check on me and and I asked “have you ever seen such beautiful ladies?!” and she watched for less than a minute and said “those are not ladies those are men dressed as ladies, annnd I don’t think you should watch that.” Just like that my whole world was turned upside down. They were better at being ladies than any ladies I’d ever seen. And I knew then that whatever I decided to do with my body, I would be one of those ladies… So I trained harder. I obsessed more. Then I became a 6th grader.
When I started junior high everything changed. I earned a nickname for no reason other than I started parting my chest length blond hair on the side rather than down the center. It fell coquettishly over my eye… and I therefore became a “slut”. I was the only slut at that point, though there would soon be many others for similarly minor offenses. That was when I started to get angry, I put on all that fake girly stuff because I liked it but also because nothing has ever made me more happy than to see a beautiful woman. I wanted to put that on like a costume a share it with the rest of the world, to bring joy like a goddess. If I was going to be abused for it then what did I have? I had nothing. I had unresolved conflict. I had self loathing. I was empty.
Now I didn’t know what to do or to be. I couldn’t be what I wanted. The harassment was unbarable and terrifying. So I decided to live as not what I wanted to put on as a gift to myself and the world but as what I am. A masculine male being. I chopped off my long beautiful white blond hair and began dressing as a man. I accepted my title as a freak. Because at least the bullies left the freaks alone. And I stayed that way for many years. Into high school, I continued dress, act, walk, and talk like a man. Unless I got the occasional itch to dress like whore. Then it was on with the dominatrix boots and the tall black gloves. But I never tried to be feminine again. If did decide to dress as a female I let my masculinity hang out, I didn’t try to make it easy for anyone… because I hated them anyway. Because the world is extreme too, black or white, up or down, gay or straight. No one would ever listen to me, every one has always told me I had to choose, or they have tried to steer me in whatever direction makes them most comfortable. My little finishing school experiment was very effective, I come off as feminine without effort and I cannot tell you how many times I’ve heard “but your soooooo feminine” from people who just wanted me to be a girl or oppositely “your pretty macho” from (mostly) guys who have trouble accepting my female body. All of those comments hurt, each one like knife, cutting me up into easy to swallow pieces.
And so I did that too, I began to hate my body around 14. I cut myself, I burned myself, I starved myself, I beat my head against walls till I was dizzy so I could fall asleep at night, I stapled myself as a pass time, I put myself in horrifically dangerous situations for fun, and tried to commit suicide twice. I was a MESS. A hot mess to be sure. Now I’m glad I lived, 25 was a major mile stone for me- because at 15 I really didn’t think I’d live to see it. The only way I made through was because of acting. I had been a dancer my whole life, but I began acting in high school and that was my ticket to freedom. I could play men on stage, and when I cast myself I frequently did. I could play draggy campy vixens without consequence and I always did. Playing Cherry in Bus Stop was me at my happiest moment- playing a role made famous by Marylin Monroe a commonly accepted female drag artist herself. Me at 16 with my curvy body, my high heels, my tits all pushed up, my big painted on lips, my roll set hair… I was in heaven. But at the end of the night it always had to come off… and I was alone again with my anger and my conflict.
Flash forward to me coming out, my first step as real living person. Not 3/4 in the dark, not half dead to myself and the world… It was only the beginning. There was till the issue of polarities to figure out: did I want to transition? Did want to keep my vagina? Could I fathom myself as a drag artist? Did I have the guts? Was any of this really necessary? Was I crazy? What WAS I? Now that I was out and I had the freedom to choose what was my choice? This was the first time in my life I tried keep my extreme impulses at bay, I didn’t want to rush into anything. Now that the cat was out of the bag I wanted to enjoy exploring what was to be a major life choice. I lived as man, I took a male name… I met with FTM’s frequently… all while performing Burlesque. I did my face for the stage, but off stage I was Max. I met with Buck Angel in a LES Cigar Bar to talk to someone who had been my hero ever since I saw his photo in a doctors office when I was middle school. And it slowly started to dawn on me as much as liked the world affirming my masculinity and acknowledging that truth about me, I liked performing femininity better. I liked the put on, the ritual, the discipline of drag most of all. And so rather than schedule my mastectomy last year, I scheduled myself a breast augmentation. Because even though I don’t identify as female I’m proud of my body, I’m proud to present femininity to other females, I’m proud to tell a part of both our stories because putting drag on is a means to do such a thing with joy.
That was what I was missing: Joy. So much of my life had been about suffering whether it was loudly, angrily, or quietly. And while I was home this trip I sat alone in my bedroom at night as I did when I was young and I found kinship. I happened across an incredible documentary called “She’s a Boy i Knew” an extremely honest and deeply felt film about one persons journey to find themselves as female, a lovely woman named Gwen. So many questions she asked were ones I’d asked, so many fears were the same. But how she feels now, after making her choice gave me comfort- because I too feel that way. Because I am not alone, and I’m not crazy. At least about this one thing any way.
I had a good laugh too, when I visited my doctor for my yearly physical. The same doctor I’ve had for almost 12 years, and she said “you’ve evolved beyond gender, your glowing, and it all makes complete sense”. A nice thing to hear a doctor say, especially when you’ve been expecting an insanity diagnosis your whole life.
XO
It’s been so loooooong. I won’t lie I’m embarrassed. Allota good that does anyone though. It seemed fitting to me to put forth fresh material as part of a solid re-commitment to my writing. It is the new year after all. Also the end of the world so even better.
This is one of my favorite shots of Sovvy because she IS a unicorn <3
Hello again....... Photo: Andrew Brucker
So. I’m sure you have noticed I have been missing recently… IF you read these that is ; ) But there was reason (besides being crazy busy), I had had an interesting experience with regard to living so openly on the Internet. By that I mean twitter/Face Book/here… and so on. I can’t get into the experience itself out of respect for others privacy. But the whole ordeal really put me on edge. Made me draw back from the computer…. and regard it with hurt/frustration.
I live my life very openly. I try never to edit myself…. that is a huge triumph/luxury for me. I was prior to this incarnation very fearful about sharing myself, deeply angry about always having to lie to make others feel comfortable. I also didn’t grow up caring about the Internet. I was WAY too busy being super goth, painting pictures of crucified women, and watching old tapes of David Bowie and Iggy Pop. So when I grew up and found myself and my voice… the Internet seemed like this playground where I could be completely honest. No more lying just to keep the boat steady, no more silence when I really did want say something, and I could find other people like me. IN FACT those people would want to find me through it! The whole concept was so delightful to me… but then I encountered the concept of sub-cultural etiquette and the web.
The expirience has made me evaluate just how much I’m sharing, especially where. People have said to me “you should keep somethings for yourself”…. But that sentiment is actually strange to me, it insinuates I share everything, or that by sharing the result is a less special expirience. I have my secrets…. those I never tell. I have things that ARE really just for me, or just for my slave, or my other lovers. But what I share, I share willingly with an open heart. Because to me, when I share about this strange wonderful life I live I affect change. When I speak openly with joy about who and what I am it can possibly change the minds of people who would seek to view me as less than them. To me sharing is a humanist act. One that I owe myself….
But where sharing intersects with the privacy others, especially when there are prexisting rules is an area that deserves a great deal of meditation. Do you change the foundation of yourself to suit such etiquette? Do you say “fuck off”? Do you do penance and try to find a happy medium? In my situation I chose the third option. I realized that my openness cannot interfere with my relationship with a subculture or the people in it out of respect. I respect others in whatever life they choose when it involves a certain lifestyle role/rule… I strive to respect that always. I ALSO respect myself, and live within those boundaries while still sharing myself in the very way I have fought so hard for. The way that brings me the most joy.
The Internet is a very powerful thing: some of my idols have found me on it to tell me they enjoy my art… AND I get into trouble on it. OH life.
Stick with me dears… I have fun topics on the way- including:
1. Traveling to Vegas for BHOF!
2. The interesting adventure of breast augmentation
3. HOT HOT shows
4. Redecorating tips for the lifestyle BDSM enthusiast
5. Farmers Markets vs. CSA’s and strippah recipes!
6. Falling in love with Ayurveda
AND MUCH MORE <3
Very sexy exciting times I do say! I promise to do my very best to stay out of trouble ; )
XXX
Mme.
Okay. Yes. I sat through the entirety of Burlesque. It was worse than I thought it would be. Which is really fucking amazing, I mean I thought it was going to be painful, but it was beyond…. a true horror show. I watched it with the slave, we wanted to see if was worth possibly doing commentary on for a new project of his. And while being a source of comedy gold: I will never forgive Steve Antin for making such a huge self important, poorly researched, confused, sexless piece of music video crap.
I was very inebriated while we took it in, so I was more than a little belligerent. I kept yelling “I DON”T UNDERSTAND, THIS IS WHERE THEY SHOULD BE TAKING THEIR CLOTHES OFF. WHY ARE THE LIPSYNKING?! THIS IS DRAG?! WAIT IS CHER RUNNING A DRAG BAR?! THAT MAKES ALLOT MORE SENSE! WHY ARE THEY ALL SO BITCHY!? I WANT BOOBS! SOMEONE SHOW THEIR CANS YOU ASSHOLES!” This is the problem with the film. Despite its supposed understanding of the art of the tease, when we first see the dancers they are already in their lingerie. Which they never take off. Which is of course not burlesque by any definition. Though it is cabaret dancing. But that movie was already made (and way better). By introducing us to the girls already half naked, you loose some tension. By never showing anything beyond a bra and panties you loose any erotic arch at all. Also further confusion was brought on when Cher sings a number describing each of the girls as though they’re harlots on a bunny ranch. And also by the fact that they do perform all dances while lip synching which is far more tethered to Drag Queens, than to the likes of Tempest Storm. Oh did I mention there are 15 numbers in the film? Yeah 15 BOOBLESS numbers.
What this looks like to ME is Christina THE SHOW. Can I see some boobs please?
There are the vague nods to the classic Burlesque aesthetic and over the top female personalities in acts like “But I’m a good Girl” and “Guy What Takes his Time”…. Which we don’t get to see the entirety of because the film keeps cutting back and forth between acts and Xtina’s riveting daily life. So never once do we really see her build the kind of relationship with the viewers that is so characteristic of the art form. The nods are laughably minimal and can really be summed up in one good eye roll while the newly be-wigged Xtina flirts from behind a feather fan. THAT’S IT FOLKS. Oh actually I take it back, there is ONE strip in the show. Performed by Cam Djigande. Who to seduce the apparently Christ like figure Xtina disappears and reappears from behind a set of french doors, until he’s totally nude. With a box of Famous Amos covering his dick. Yep.
I wanted to give the bare minimum of back ground to make my case. Because in order to wash the terrible taste of idiocy from my mouth I put on a movie that changed my life the first time I saw it when I was 12. Strip Tease.
Yes yes I know its NOT a great movie. Though it IS fucking Citizen Kane when compared to Burlesque. What Strip Tease gets right is: raw sexy feral female sexuality. OH and Demi shows her cans! Burlesque with all its hyper modern Rob Marshal-esque cutting never allows us to just enjoy the sensual nature of the dance. You get the sense that in Anton’s mind as he was story boarding he was saying to himself “and 5-6-7-8 boom and cut, and stick it, and cut, and hair flip, and cut, and swish, and cut… and work it girl!” But Strip Tease gives us long uninterrupted takes to just drink in the sexual deity that is mid 90′s Demi. She prowls that stage, she tempts, she girates, and she does full on classic strips including: a suit strip, a chair dance, a boa strip ect. All classic tropes of the burlesque vocabulary. True she is an exotic dancer, she does do some poll work, and she is of course sans pasties. But the formula is there on full display. You start with at least a little, work your way down to less, and make them beg for it.
Oooohhhh She makes me shiver in my stilettos. Mouth watering.
Another a key distinction is, in Burlesque the bodies on display are uniformly of the Maxim variety. Which of course we all know to be a false representation of what the neo burlesque movement stands for. The new burlesque that cropped up in the early 90′s was and I believe still is about embracing and sexualizing all body types- but especially ones that we might think of as confrontationally female. And there again Strip Tease shames these cheap imitators. Demi’s body though surgically enhanced is fully female, thick, and juicy to the point of vulgarity. Like having a fire bath. Seeing a woman with such an archetypal build be so uninhibited and sensual is powerful. Its overwhelming. Its as some theorists have said: female drag. A hyper representation of feminity where its performed, not inherent. (My favorite theory for obvious reasons!)
Yet another thing that Strip Tease gets right, that Burlesque fails to include are the audience members themselves. In Strip Tease you get a look at some of the dudes that roll in…. some of them are both emotionally and physically moved by what they see…. some act out…. some embarrass themselves. In Burlesque you may get a quick glimpse of a couple enthralled by the lip synching. And though at modern burlesque shows you see more couples than men in rain coats, each audience member is there with their own set of expectations and frequently/hopefully emotional reactions. The audiences of burlesque shows are just as much of an attraction as the shows themselves… some very interesting and lovable characters show up: sometimes for years. I especially love some my audience members who have seen me from the beginning…. what a lucky thing!
That brings us to “Make it Happen”. The only thing I have to say about this film is: when asked what this salacious art form is…these girls dancing sexily, the proprietress responds with “it’s rooted in Burlesque, but we take it way beyond the traditional stuff…”. Which I accept and can cope with. Now the idea of taking the art beyond the “traditional stuff” is an entirely different conversation… I personally feel like my journey as a strip teaser has led me from being VERY non-traditional/extreme to being a devout traditionalist/provocateur. But I respect that the film didn’t try to re-engineer the deffinition of an artform simply to suit itself. Otherwise, not very good film- I will always prefer Flash Dance in the genre of “girl just wants to get into dance school and is willing to take it off and learn about herself to get there.”
XXX
Mme.
P.S. I will also say I had a second round of Striptease while in the bath with Ms. Syre and I highly recommend such a viewing. Though you have to get your own hot porn-star girlfriend.
Detail: I miss my custome corset. It's time to tight-lace again.
When last I left you (breathless, I’m sure), I was describing my new exciting living arrangement for you. Having a live in slave, especially one as cute and charming as mine really has its perks : ) BUT a slave more so than most is imperfect; they have smartly decided to give themselves over to someone like me who can help give them direction and reshape them so they exist beyond concerns for their troublesome imperfections. To me its as much about gifting peace of mind as it is getting my bathroom cleaned by a naked man until it gleams. ALSO there is the parallel benefit of having a willing beast for my sadisitic impulses…. but that’s for another for entry >: )
I have found that the motif of most of my rumination lately seems to revolve around attention to detail: whether (as in part 1) I’m really listening to my desires, taking a true inventory of my needs, thouroughly knowing both my fetishes and my kinks, or having the astuteness of perceiving the same things about others. Atention to detail seems to be my answer for everything…. I see it most plainly in my slave: when he dosn’t listen, or gets distracted, does a sloppy job: shame/pain is the result. I empathize with him, I feel that same way myself if I ever don’t really follow through on something. With my other playthings I’ve noticed the same motif, the more detailed/personal the flirtation…. the more I seek to know their motivations and pre-empt their desires: the more fun we both have. In all areas we both win. Now this paragraph is devoted to the human aspects of this motif… but what led me to this meditation was really much simpler.
The delight and wonder produced by great attention to detail is easiest seen in physical objects where the eye can employ its natural instincts. While I was at home visiting my Mom, this became more clear to me than it ever has before. Though I think I may be a little slow coming to this realization, I think it’s one we frquently forget as a race. My Mother and I were sitting at her computer in her beautifully appointed/detailed store (it’s been staring me in the face my whole life), and we were enjoying the most recent tapes of the Dior Couture S/S shows 2011. My Mother and I both have a huge yen for fashion, but specifically Chritian LaCroix and Galliano’s contributions to the House of Dior. (This was before the anti-Semitic rant, mind you). We were ooohhing and ahhhhhing and squealing with delight. “Look at those gloves! They’re a dusky rose!” “That graduated dye effect is TO DIE FOR.” “Oh its so late 40′s early 50′s.” “Oh my god, oh my god, look at her shoes!” “Oh now they trained her to walk like that, what a great period element, that’s how all the girls back then posed!” That’s what it’s like to be around my Mom and I. She was so delighted to see these creatures wobbling down the runway in frocks that were so amazing it was hard to perceive them as real. But she didn’t just focus on the dress, she was studying the shoe and accessory choices, the hair and makeup, everything down to mannerisms of each model. Receiving and reveling in that much detail is just second nature to her. My Mothers abilities in this realm are second to none.
She also is wonderfully supportive of me both in my personal and professional lives. We have fun talking about my acts and costumes as they develop. So for fun I showed her the primary source of inspiration for all my acts: the legendary Dior Anniversary Haute Couture Show Spring/Summer 2007. It’s LONG. And therefore 10 times as fabulous. Galliano was asked to go all-out for this show, and he delivered, of course, in the grandest way possible. A perfect fusion of the Parisian fashion philosophy and the Orientalist aesthetic that permeates Galliano’s work. As a story it reads: “Beautiful Parisian woman travels to Japan and is adopted by the height of aristocracy, and brings all her treasures back to Paris where she is now the quintessential exotic confection.” Here are some of my faves:
The classic Dior haute suit reinterpreted with origami overtones...
Sculted black Dior evening gown with black laquer/gold leaf Orientalist detailing
Equal parts French Marquise and Japanese Empress in the Dior-niverse
Picking a “Top 3″ was HARD. There were at least 55 looks in the collection… so obviously we were able to lose ourselves in the experience. We continued with the ooohing and squealing… but around the 35th look we were silent…. every now and the pointing emphatically at the screen if the camera were to zoom in and show us some bit of exquisite bead-work or embroidery. And then my Mother let out this huge quavering sigh, as if she was going to cry (my Mom’s a tough bitch, she doesn’t ever cry)… and she turned to me and said “its just SO beautiful, it’s so moving, I feel like I’m somewhere else”. I’m sure to some it may seem silly that a dress and some makeup could spiritually transport a well-educated woman to an emotionally vulnerable place. But that for me was the proof in the fantasy pudding. When art is good, it’s good up close, it’s good far away, BUT it’s better under scrutiny. When art holds up under intense micro-devotion it succeeds in an even greater capacity to sweep the devotee out to the ocean of passionate fulfillment and satisfaction.
When I was first getting started in my fine art career (when I was 12), I understood this. I was a painter then. And the artists that qualified to me as masters were those whose brushes created mini-masterpieces across every inch of the canvas. It wasn’t something executed by a technician, it was something only a visionary could conjure. It was their signature style, it was THEM on a canvas. Now, in stark contrast to that early understanding, I find I frequently fall into bad habits: “Oh, this costume piece is ripped. The audience won’t know.” “It may look like shit up close but from far away they’ll get it.” Its the Burlesquer’s conundrum… when you have limited means how do you create such immersive visual expierences? Should you? The answers for me are…. learn new skills, learn how to drape, sculpt, and pleat your way to a couture experience. Because, yes. Yes, I should care if I really take this at all seriously. Because I want to have that effect on women like my Mother. I want to move them to tears. And if this is the answer then let it be my guiding philosophy. Because I’m never satisfied unless I go all the way with something. Extreme is my middle name.
Here are some more looks from the show I just couldn’t not share ; )
Dior sculpted alligator pencil suit. This to me is day wear. I get turned on just thinking about wearing this in a session. Fashion boner.
Dior, whether its the pearl flower details, the fans in the hair, or the cascades...you had me at Haute.
Perhaps the best-known dress from the show: The Crane Dress.
Another jaw-dropping reinterpretation of the Dior Suit Set.....it's so beautiful it hurts. Good hurt.
Stunning Geisha inspired makeup (Dior 2007) Fun Fact: I used to perform my Burlesque only in Geisha drag. Geisha disciplines are among my greatest obsessions. Remember this, as there will be a test ; )
XXX
Mme.
