A Decision to Choose

11 years ago a baby was born into the stripperhood on a New England beach. One of the mothers, a raven haired kinesthetic artist, named her Cinnamon. A day and an hour old enough to do the job, Cinnamon just wanted to have fun. In a life full of choice, Cinnamons decision to dance had come from her struggling ability to maintain a conventional lifestyle, an affliction diagnosed but untreated. It gave her the option to start work at a time that was in sync with her condition, and be drunk enough to be social, despite her underage status. The Police chief of this particular beach was the son of two judges, and most certainly not about to send his favorite dancer to jail. Unaware of the difference between employee and private contractor, and not having the option anyway, Cinnamon quickly filled out a form she didn’t know the name of and bought her first pair of 7” platform stilettos, patent red, from a costume shop for $30. Fueled by various forms of fun, Cinnamon was living a life of independence, where all her choices were exactly what she wanted to be doing at that time. It cost her $35 to work, and throw a couple bucks to your friend the dj, that’s how the club pays him. This all seemed very fair, management was nice, and even overlooked late fees, when Cinnamon was too hung over to show up on time. Not showing up to work simply because you’re too sad, and, well, just don’t wanna, was slapped on the wrist with paying for your missed shift, and not the threat of unemployment. As Cinnamon would hone her dancing skill, and make decisions based off wanderlust and seasonal economic changes in beach clubs, Cinnamon would grow into Rain, and would be off to the greatest adventure of her life. I write to you now from the perspective of Dahlia, a seasoned stripper who has seen the holes in the walls of this country that are deprived of choice and necessity breeds poor decisions, facilitating exploitation. I am in love with stripping as a form of art, and though I can rarely bring myself to stand tall in 8” rhinestone covered Pleasers, I will always identify as a stripper. Targeted by men with dollar signs in their eyes and greed in their touch, I have fallen prey to the abuse a patriarchal society would deem acceptable, freedoms fought for that enabled them to express their opinions of me, used to take away my own freedom. I reject this. I reject this with the core essence of a person deserving of love and respect. I reject this as a person with the right to pursue happiness. I reject this as a person who grew up in the state of “live free or die.” I reject this as a person who takes this state everywhere she goes. No, I will not whither in the dimly lit corners, my soul crushed as I relinquish the only thing I have ever loved with the bright burning passion of the sun. I will be the growth I want to see.