The Stripper Hates You is a stripper blog like no other. This time, this working girl speaks the harsh truths. At 24, this Detroit dancer kicked off her blog with a post that read, in part: "After three years of stripping I decided it's time for me to catalogue every dumbass, numbskull, pee-brain, Napolean, dumbfuck patron of the strip club I encounter." And, she does. When she's not hanging from a pole, she's studying journalism at Wayne State University, and she answered these interview questions from her laptop at the club where she works to pay her tuition. In this latest installment of my Fast & Dirty interview series, I peeked behind the curtain and into the mind of a "Detroit-native pole-spinner" who goes by Josephine Hutchins.
Reverse Cowgirl: Why The Stripper Hates You?
Josephine Hutchins: I started my blog to exact revenge on the douchebags who regularly tried to humiliate and exploit me. There's an unspoken rule that johns and sex workers are supposed to follow: "You don't tell on me, I don't tell on you." As far as I'm concerned, the minute a john decides to push my boundaries or rip me off, all rules are null and void.
My original plan was to post the full name and a description of any jerk that pissed me off too much. Did he try to steal my clothes? Try to get a discount? Try to touch me without my consent? I would document it all on the web for the whole world to see. Perhaps the wife of John X. Doe from Hazel Park, Michigan, is wondering where all her husband's spare cash is going. Oh, look! There's a whole page on the internet about him, a whole page describing what an abusive asshole he is. Busted!
For the past couple years I've been regularly meeting guys at work who think they are the god of all things sexy. But they're not. Most of them are beer-bellied old men who are deeply deluded. My goal was to clear up any misconceptions they had about themselves.
Customers ask me the stupidest questions. Do I get turned out when I dance for them? Do I think they're hot? Do I want them to take care of me? Do I think older men are attractive, because, you know, all women think older men are attractive? I just want to scream at them: NO NO NO! I don't like you! In fact, I hate you! The stripper hates you.
Anyway, after a quick talk with my attorney, we decided that maybe it wasn't the best idea to out the jerks I meet in the club. Go figure.
The blog has since evolved into a place for me to vent my anger. My anger at customers and at the industry in general. I can't really call up my best friend or mom and have a bitch-fest. So, the blog exists. I'm surprised people have responded so positively to it.
RC: Is being a stripper in Detroit different from being a stripper elsewhere?
JH: I haven't worked in other cities, so it's hard for me to say. Most of the clubs--and there's over 50 of them--are located on the gritty outskirts of downtown. The vast majority of them can be found on a stretch of the notorious 8 Mile Road. Most of them are shot-and-a-beer type places with cheesy names and cheesy decor and cheesy managers.
It's hard to work here, I can say that. Almost full-contact grind dances are the norm. They cost $20 a song. They've cost $20 since the 80s, by the way. The price of gas, the price of groceries have gone up since the 80s. Hell, the Feds even raised the interests rates. But has a lapdance kept up with inflation? Noooo. The expected contact sure has increased.
I work in a club, one of the only two clubs downtown, that is located central to GM's world headquarters, Compuware's world headquarters, three casinos, a football field, a baseball field, and a hockey arena. My club is owned by an immigrant with a really inspirational story. A dishwasher to millionaire type story. He's one of the city's most scrupulous real estate investors. He'd purchase old warehouses from the city, barely rehab them, and rent them as lofts. He owns a couple bars, too. I suspect his titty-bar is just a big playground for him. I rarely say this about club owners and managers, but I do have a great deal of respect for him.
Detroit's been good to me so far. I've worked through a Superbowl, a World Series, a baseball All-Star game, several international auto shows, and several Stanley Cup playoffs. I've danced for an owner of a baseball team, several CEOs, an important politician, and some professional athletes. Oh, and I met Patrick Swayze in a hidden bar downtown.
Detroit definitely makes for an interesting setting. It's a man's city, that's for sure. Detroit makes people feel and act tough. You get instant street cred if you're from Detroit. One of the de facto slogans is "Welcome to Detroit, hope you survive." The city can be violent and scary. Some people even allege the mayor hired someone to kill a stripper. I think suburban men think their penises get bigger when they cross over into the city proper. It makes for a unique regional mood.
The whole metro-Detroit region is socially backwards. Divided. There's the Jewish suburbs, the Chaldean suburbs, the black city, the white suburbs, the rich suburbs, the poor suburbs, the suburbs for managers and engineers, the suburb for union members. But everyone--and my club is literally the only place I've seen this happen--intersects at the strip club. For a brief second, everyone is united in their love of naked women.
RC: You've written: "I love stripping. I hate working as a stripper." And you've written that your idea of a perfect strip club would be one with no customers. Can you explain?
JH: I do like stripping. The lifestyle fits my personality perfectly--I maintain some pretty radical politics, I live in a barely functioning city, I might as well have a non-traditional job. And it is empowering. Using something as basic as sex appeal to manipulate people is empowering. Oh, and raw cash is pretty empowering too. Knowing that I could leave work tomorrow with a big, fat wad of cash is pretty damn empowering. Once in a while there'll be a moment at work when I swear the planets align or something. The moments when I'm just on top of my game: when the customers laugh at my jokes, pay me for my time, shower me with singles on stage. I can't describe it--it's a Shakespearean tragedy without the tragic ending. Curtain opens, Josephine kills Duncan, Josephine kills Banquo, Josephine makes BANK. Curtain closes.
But the best part of my job, the absolute best part, is being surrounded by so many hilarious women. When I worked in an office, if too many independent-minded women made friends, we were called "clique-y" or "catty" or "acting like high schoolers." But my fellow strippers and I, we have inside jokes. We know everything about each other. We have so much solidarity--it's absolutely inspiring. There's such a cool range of personalities--over 100 of us--and we all get along and help each other out. As much as I resent stripping, knowing that I get to hang out with tons of cool women keeps me coming back.
Yeah, the dancing part is fun. The music part is fun. The smoking and drinking part is fun. Having over 100 beautiful, witty, and diverse women as best friends is really fun!
But the customers, they just ruin it for me.
I'll be dancing on stage, just kicking ass, and the guys are just staring at me, mouth-breathing, drooling, and, FUCK, I have go talk to those guys? It's so hard to act interested in them. They're boring. No personalities. They voted for Bush and they like golf and Led Zeppelin is their favorite band. They're totally interchangeable. Once you've met one titty bar customer, you've pretty much all of them. Very little variation between them.
And they always disappoint me. Is it so much to expect that people treat me like a human?
Yesterday, I approached a gentleman who looked promising. Nope! Before I had a chance to introduce myself, he smacked me on the bum and asked me if I'd like--and this is a real quote--"to get away from these creeps and let me eat your pussy." I was astounded. This man implied in one sentence that everyone else was a creep but that kind of comment wasn't creepy at all, that I would actually find him attractive, and that my time at work was worth less than my time with him.
Would he say that to a woman in the office, I wonder?
I guess I'd like my job more if the customers had any idea how to hold a conversation. I suppose that's why they go to strip clubs, though, because they don't know how to talk to women. My problem is that I feel like... no, I know... I'm better than the customers. It's pretty pathetic when you have to pay for the attention of the opposite sex.
If I had my way, work would involve lots of dancing and hanging out with my coworkers. The customers would only be permitted to smile pleasantly and hand me money. They'd be fined heavily for speaking their inner-dialogue. Huge fines for tongue waggling!
RC: In one post, you say stripping makes you go a little crazy.
JH: That's a really good question. It's like a chicken versus egg scenario. Was I crazy first? Or did the strip club make me crazy?
After only a year of stripping, I became really suspect of men. No patience for cheesy pickup lines in bars. Oh, and I really can't stand old guys. They're just gross. Beer bellies? Gross! Bald heads? Even grosser! After four years, my preference in guys really changed. I like 'em young now: 18, 19, 20, 21 max. Too young to have been corrupted by the sex industry at least.
I've developed some intense personal space issues. I don't like to be touched AT ALL without my consent. I don't like to be stared at. I don't wear revealing clothing. I don't like to be the center of attention at all. I rarely talk at gatherings. I'm very quiet and reclusive. I just want to be left alone. I hate to admit this, but sometimes I have anxiety attacks. I had one in class last week. I had one on stage two weeks ago. All these guys staring at me. Why weren't they tipping? Was something wrong with me? And my hands went numb, and I could barely breathe, and it was so hard to finish that set. It was terrifying.
And sex. I can pretty much rule that out. I feel like most guys aren't attractive enough for me. And if they are? They better be damn good in bed or sex with them will be just like giving a private dance. And women? Well, most of them aren't gay. Needless to say, my interest in sex has pretty much flatlined, and I've pretty much ruled out most of population as worthy enough to sleep with me.
It's really difficult to articulate, but I feel like my personal worth is literally tied to a monetary value. I work out every day. I weigh 110 pounds. I have a 34C chest. My sex appeal is what makes me money. If I don't stay as sexy as possible, I won't survive. And I'm really starting to resent it. I don't like working out and watching what I eat. There's too much pressure.
RC: On your blog, you wrote about what a semi-indie stripper peels to. What are the best and worst stripper songs in the strip club?
JH: If I had my way, strippers in Detroit would never dance to anything by Kid Rock. Kid Rock makes old guys feel young and hip. It's absolutely hilarious to watch how excited the guys get when a stripper dances to a Kid Rock song. Kid Rock's "Cowboy" is an anthem for the midlife crisis set, I swear. Buckcherry's "I Love the Cocaine" must be destroyed. I know you like to think we do, but most of us don't do coke, guys! Sorry to disappoint! T-Pain's "I'm N Luv (Wit a Stripper)" should die a slow, painful death.
My favorite songs to dance to regularly change. A few I'll never get sick of are: "Add It Up" by the Violent Femmes (it makes me a surprising amount of money), "Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others" (so appropriate for the finicky customer) by the Smiths, "Dirty Little Mind" (when I'm feeling corny) by Jackyl, Rage Against the Machine's "Sleep Now in the Fire" (when I'm feeling political), and "I Just Threw out the Love of My Dreams" by Weezer/The Rentals (for my moog-y moments).
