As I stood in the dark, yet perfectly lit club with a surround sound that would put any movie theater to shame, surrounded by unclothed women of all shades of brown, I thought…
Strippers are magic. They’re the fairies of womanhood.
They’re silent odes to our bodies. Examples of unrighteously heightened confidence. Spirit animals. Fantasies. Magnetic beings that nearly all the world wants to see/experience at least once in their lifetime. And, they can fly, too (kind of).
I’ve never been fond of convincing, and this article is everything but an attempt to. However, I wanted to share the evidence behind my claim.
So, here’s to the magic of the night.
note: this piece is not for comparison. it’s simply one to help you understand just how magical strippers are. while all women possess magic in my opinion, this is a different kind a magic. a rare magic. and, i want to talk about it, because, though i have my own bit of magic—it’s not that source of magic. that’s what makes them so special.
their confidence
most women can’t stand the idea of passing a mirror. they avoid their reflection at all costs because at some point they stopped being the person they believed themselves to be. while that saddens me, it reminds me of the resilience of dancers. even when the feelings are heavy and the world is too much, their confidence consumes them the second they enter the room full of patrons, prepared to spend their savings on a wild, inexplicable night with people you don’t see often in the real world. with the fairies.
their heads are high.
their shoulders are squared.
their noses are in the air.
their breasts pierce every space they enter.
their hair is laid.
their mind is made up.
their mission is clear.
their core + arm strength
when we speak of athletism, please be sure to involve the midnight ballerinas in the conversation. the ones who can climb to the top of the pole, effortlessly, as if it were running to their mailbox on an early fall evening.
i’ve taken the pole classes. i commend every woman who has decided to make a career of climbing it, because it’s not a simple task. the strength it requires isn’t mentioned enough.
in addition to climbing, they’re focused on moving their bodies, staying on beat, not falling, and putting on an unforgettable performance.
it’s as if it comes natural to them. as if they were meant to be there. as if that’s where they belong. as if that was written in their plan all along—the magic. the strength. the bravery.
their ability to move parts of their bodies that are questionable
i honestly didn’t know all of those parts could move. and so effortlessly. and so beautifully. and so strategically.
their flexibility and ability to move certain muscle groups leave me stunned track after track.
right cheek.
left cheek.
both cheeks.
clap.
thighs and legs.
heels clicking together.
on the knees, both cheeks moving.
the combinations are endless. and so are the possibilities. as i watch them in total control of those big beautiful cheeks behind them, i’m reminded of the wings of fairies. how breathtaking they are. how in control of them fairies manage to be.
their ability to perform all night
the stamina is unmatched. walking around in their fairy booties for 3-8 hours with barely any breaks and a demanding audience… they deserve a reward of some kind. maybe a record in the books.
i’ve heard so many women joke about their troubled area in the bedroom—specifically when riding the horse.
“i’ve got a good twenty seconds in me.”
“ten ups and downs and i’m getting off.”
“don’t even ask me to get on top, because i’m not.”
“i need to get in the gym on leg day.”
“i got up there and embarrassed myself.”
the narratives are endless and hilarious. quite honestly, i imagine a stripper could ride a man into the sunlight and still be on top at sundown. their legs are endless stakes that are not opposed to endless movement for the overall plot.
it’s almost as if they are the impossibles.
did i mention they fly?
if they climb high enough and the drinks are good enough, you wouldn’t be imagining it. it would be happening right before your eyes. i will not be explaining any further.
they are most active and alive at night
when the world is sleeping and unable to experience their powers.
like vampires.
and wolves.
and witches.
and ghosts.
and the rest of the world’s special creatures.
while the world is up, alert, and working… the fairies are sleeping. when night falls, they find their way to their respective posts and make magic.
their contagious spirits
i’d like to call it their fairy dust. they sprinkle it along the club floor, sure to lock everyone in their trance. all of them have it. i imagine it’s in those little pouches they carry around on their wrists.
i’ve never saw a mad man in the strip club. their too focused. too enthralled. too enamored. too consumed to speak much. do much. move much.
nobody’s worried about anything or anyone in the strip club… no one but the dancers they came to see and the money they came to spend.
the strip club nurtures a carefree, judgment-free atmosphere that many more spaces should adopt. the objective is clear. either you’re a fairy or a fan. either you’re paying or picking up the money on the floor. it’s simple and understood.
the sexual nature they exude and encourage
i’ve never left a strip club not ready to tear my man down. women leave the strip clubs with throbbing centers. men leave the strip clubs with rock-hard shafts.
i’m certain women have gotten the best sex of their lives from men who have left the strip club prior to entering their sacred walls.
i’m just as certain men have experienced fellatio in a ridiculous fashion after a night with the strippers from the pretty girl on her knees.
there’s a true, relentless yearning that follows a night in the presence of midnight ballerinas. there’s nothing like it.
the second-hand liberation.
the sex appeal.
the confidence.
the music.
the atmosphere.
the feminine energy.
it’s all so invigorating. so fulfilling. so addictive.
the way they smell & feel (good all night)
i’ve never met a midnight ballerina that didn’t smell like she bathed in silk and rinsed with chamomile. should a dancer ever have a class on feminine hygiene, i will be the first to sign up. not because i need to but because i want to know what they know.
i want to know:
how their pores aren’t overflowing with sweat after hours of performing.
what deodorants are best for their line of work.
if they use dusting powder on their bodies.
their body wash.
their preferred method of cleansing.
how they manage while on their periods.
the lotion
the body oil
all the things, because at the end of the day—we’re all just girls.
their silent yearning that makes you empty your pockets and find an ATM for more bills
there’s no need to explain, but... i want to make it rain like april showers in the presence of dancers. i never feel like i have enough ones (although i have plenty). i never feel like i’m paying enough. throwing enough. yet, they’re still grateful. still grinding. still gyrating. still pretty. still pursuing. still paid. still sprinkling their fairy dust all over me. just happy i visited their part of the world and allowed myself to experience their magic.
After reading this I am very interested to see how a paranormal midnight ballerina fairy story in Huffington would play out.
Loved this article! I have always been mesmerized by the strength and beauty of a midnight ballerina. The agility and just utter core strength needed for the skill is so interesting to me. Moreover, the utter visuals are like you said, fairylike. Glitter, color, hair accessories, corsets, skyhigh heels. Their style and femininity can be so explorative, playful, and out of the box.