I left the strip club industry in 2021 a broken human. Years of being treated cruelly by my managers finally caught up on me, and one day I just couldn’t take it anymore. I felt like I had been ripped apart limb from limb, but no one could see the scars but me. I felt like a ghost of my former self, desperately trying to recall what memories of mine were true and what were lies. Had I imagined the whole thing? Was it all my fault? I’m clearly too weak for this industry. Too sensitive. Perhaps my first strip club manager was right, and I really was “fucked in the head due to having an abortion.” Or maybe another manager was right when she said I have a “victim complex”. Regardless of the reason, it was clearly my fault. “The other strippers here have no issues with us, it’s always you. You’re seeing things that aren’t there. You just want to be a victim. Don’t you see how badly strippers in America have it? You should be grateful for how we treat you.”
After leaving the industry, my self-esteem plummeted. I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror most days because I was so angry at myself. I remember wishing that I had just kept my mouth shut, my head down and dealt with the bullying from management. “The other strippers have no issues with us, it’s always you.”
But one day, a wee voice in my head told me “It wasn’t just you. Think. Think. Remember.” This was when the first cracks in myself blaming narrative began to form. I started thinking of all of the times I would sit in the changing rooms and vent to my fellow strippers about the bullying we endured from management. It wasn’t just me who had an issue with them, others had shared their disturbing experiences with me. We all knew we were being unfairly treated. But we either felt we had nowhere to go for help, or we had been so groomed into submission that there was a sense of “this is just the way things are in our industry, we can’t change it.” But there were those of us who dared to think we could change it. And I was one of them.
The more I recalled how other dancers were just as fed up as I was, the less I blamed myself for the end of my stripping career. And one day, the narrative in my head flipped entirely from “I was too weak to handle being a stripper” to “my managers were too weak to handle my rebellious nature.” I stopped blaming myself, and instead started to process the fact that I had been abused by my managers.
My self-esteem began to return, and with that came the realization that I did not deserve the way my managers had treated me. None of us did. I had witnessed countless other strippers being abused. I had watched my friends fall from the grace of being our managers “favorites” once they dared to challenge their authority. I have seen time and time again what happens to strippers who dare to stick their head up and say, “your treatment of us is wrong.”
I saw the most intense example of this power dynamic played out when 19 dancers were fired from Calendar Girls for trying to collectively bargain with management. When they fired those dancers, they lit a match that fueled a fire in me. It fueled a fire in the dancers, too. And they created Fired Up Stilettos from those flames. And on March 9th, 2023, I was invited by Fired Up Stilettos to speak alongside them at parliament demanding justice for strippers. During those speeches, I heard countless stories of abuse from strip club management. The very abuse I had been told I was imagining. The very abuse I had been told I should be grateful for.
Listening to these disturbing stories was confronting, but it was also extremely validating. As we recalled the seemingly endless stories of abuse after abuse, all I could think was “how fucking dare they tried to gaslight me into thinking I was the problem. How fucking dare they do this to us. How fucking dare these scumbags make money off of our labor whilst also traumatizing us in the process. FUCK THIS!”
I was invited to join Fired Up Stilettos that night, and finally I no longer felt alone. My anger wasn't drowning me anymore, for now I had an entire community helping me to navigate the trauma. I had people around me to validate that what I had gone through not only really happened, but it was worth kicking up a fuss over. Not only that, but these bad asses wanted to fight to create change. Enough was enough, it’s time to transmute our anger into action. It’s time we do something. And so, we did! We protested, we pole danced on parliament grounds, we started a petition, we gathered signatures, we hosted fundraisers and strip club takeover nights, proving that strippers are more than capable of running their own shit. And as of recently, we handed over a submission request alongside our petition to parliament demanding fair working conditions for adult entertainers of Aotearoa.
I had to take small breaks when reading the submission because it was all so confronting. The most difficult section for me to read was my own story: I was assaulted by a client while dancing in Ōtepoti. I was diagnosed with PTSD as a result. I started dancing in Tāmaki Makaurau a few months later. I called in sick due to having an immense PTSD attack and was fined $250 for a “no show”. The submission recounted this experience; noting that the club had profited from the violence I was subjected to.
My abusers made money off of my trauma.
My abusers made money off of my trauma.
I can’t even begin to explain how sick this made me feel. I felt like I was burning from the inside out. I wanted to tear my flesh from my bones. I wanted to rip my eyes from their sockets. I wanted to scream like a banshee. FUCK. I am so tired! But instead of taking the anger out on myself, I paused. I remembered the skills I had been taught in therapy for processing my anger in a way that doesn’t cause harm to myself or those around me. I got up and started shaking my arms and legs. I started dancing like a mad woman. I had to let the adrenaline run its course. And after a few moments, I felt grounded enough to continue reading.
I don’t even have the words for how well researched and articulated this written submission is. I am beyond proud of everyone who helped bring this to life, and I am honored to have contributed to even a tiny part of this beautiful mahi. Months' worth of research went into this, and it shows. While it was a very confronting read, it was also inspiring. It reminded me what Fired Up Stilettos are fighting towards. It reminded me that I wasn’t alone in my abuse. It reminded me that I am so fucking brave. Strippers are so fucking brave. Despite the abuse and gaslighting we have been subjected to; we won’t go quietly. We will fight back. We refuse to let this behavior carry on. I do not want any dancer to go through what countless others and I have been subjected to, and that is why it is so vital this petition be taken seriously.
I have been accused of having a “victim” complex, but I am not a victim anymore. Not anymore. I am a total fucking bad ass. I am inspired to fight for change. My managers saw how rebellious and passionate I am. They saw someone unafraid to challenge authority. They saw that and they knew they had to crush it out of me. And they tried to, oh how they tried! And for a moment they really did almost silence me. Their tactics almost worked, but nah! I’m too stubborn. I’m too determined. And I care a fuck tone about my community.
It’s been one year since I joined Fired Up Stilettos. Reflecting on everything we have been able to achieve within that time, I feel immense pride and joy. I hope that FUS can be an example of how powerful we are as people. You are never too small to inspire change. Your voice is powerful. You are powerful. And there are people out there who are going to be afraid of that power. They’re afraid of it because it means they can’t exploit you. I’ve learnt the best way to protect that power is to find others like you. Surround yourself with those whose passion for collective change burns as brightly as yours.
I am honored to have been fighting alongside FUS.
A massive thank you to everyone who has supported us on our journey.
Justice for strippers!
Burn the fucking Patriarchy.
Vixen Temple xx
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