It's normal.
The fact that seeing women dance around in nothing but their underwear is something we as a society are completely comfortable with frightens me completely.
Don't get me wrong, I know that a lot of women get paid a lot of money to strip off and dance and have nothing against that at all – in fact, I'd be stupid if I didn't think they were over the moon about it sometimes – but that does not mean it is OK.
Like if a lawyer was paid to walk around in his underwear, would that make it right?
Why?
Because a lawyer's profession is different to that of a dancer? Or because I used the gender pronoun “he”? What if a male dancer was prancing around in just his underwear? What would you think of that? I bet a lot of people would think he was gay. Or maybe they'd just think him a bit “girly”.
As if “girly” would equate to the showing off bodies and prancing around in the nud, and not just to describe people who identify as girls.
Yes, I am making a feminist post. Why? Because it's necessary.
When I walked into a club on Wednesday evening, the last think I thought I would see was a woman's hoo har on stage. And that is what I saw.
No, believe it or not, I was not whooping and running around like an uncontrollable youth, I was disgusted.
Is that really necessary? No it was not. She was doing the splits. In the air. In leggings so see-through, that everyone who was looking could see everything.
Everything.
I then noticed that behind her was a guy. He was dressed top to toe in black. A black cap, a black t-shirt and a pair of baggy black jeans. I thought he was a body guard; maybe he was up there top stop someone going up and grabbing her. Whatever.
No.
He was the male dancer. And he had on about five times the clothes she did.
Allow me to set the scene: a sports' bra which was not quite a sports' bra at all but more a stretchy bra with no support, paired with some calf length see-through leggings. That was it. Why? Because she was a woman.
His dancing was different too – of a different style. He moved. She didn't. She bent and she twisted and she stretched her legs all different shapes but she barely moved her feet at all.
The guy on the other hand was all over the place. Moving with the music. Jumping up and down. Moving his way around the ring, like a dancer traditionally would do.
As far as the clothes went, the most the guy's did was his top fell down slightly when he did a hand stand.
And then he jumped up and pulled it down.
God forbid we see his stomach.
And don't get me wrong, it was not
their fault; they are just paid to do what they need to do. It's our
fault, mostly. The clubs give us what we want and we appear to be
happy. Well, I for one was not happy. I wasn't happy in the
slightest. I'm not even happy now.
Angry feminist blogger!
Alas, here I am, in my flat, ranting
about skantily-clad women dancers who are out there right now having
a whale of a time in front of thousands of people – men and women –
my age who are totally enjoying themselves.
And I am writing a blog post. At half twelve. On a Friday night.
Who's the sad one?
Well, I know which one I'd rather be.
Let me know what you think? I'd really
like to know.
Love,
Benjamin x
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