Male Costuming; The Big Differences

I used to kind of suck at sewing.

I suck a little less now, mostly because I learned a few things along the way out of necessity. People like Malice in Wonderland, Ricky Lime, and even Chip Rocks's mom helped to teach me a few things about how to make and assemble passable costuming. If we played "Oregon Trail," I wouldn't volunteer to be the tailor for the party, but I still feel infinitely more capable than I did when I first started burlesquing--and I am fairly confident that I would not die of dysentery. For that I am grateful.

While dudes typically don't have intricate costuming needs, the most successful burlesquers I know have a working knowledge of how to put outfits and costumes together. Not only that, but the truly great performers like Luminous Pariah know how to make them jump right out at you. Sequins, glitter, rhinestones, and the like aren't often a big part of what makes a dude look masculine on stage, but being under the lights requires you to make yourself more noticeable, and you do that in any way you know how.

This isn't to say you don't play to your strengths when and where they are. One of my earliest memories of costuming as a performer was driving down to Northampton, MA to be a part of Hors D'oeuvres's Bon Appetit Burlesque. During the drive down, Jack Silver, Chip Rocks and I were learning how to sew tear-away red, white, and blue boxers for our "Presidential Undress" number. Also, I was sick that day and had to request that we pull over so I could throw up the entire drive down. But we made passable costuming, and we still use those same boxers half a decade later.

With some help from our good friend Duct Tape.

When Anja Keister came down to Boston to sit on my amateur showcase as a guest judge, she gave a lot of the guys feedback that I didn't think to give out before;

"The audience shouldn't be able to tell what brand of underwear you're wearing on stage."

Come to think of it, she was absolutely right--it's distracting as all get out. While not specific to male striptease, it is something men are generally less aware of. And that's only one bit of advice I wholeheartedly agree with.

So glitter, makeup, and sparkly accents notwithstanding, what are the huge differences in costuming?

Pasties. or nipple coverings, are a massive point of debate in the grand scheme of male costuming. Not for women, mind you--women are, for one odd reason or another, required to have them in order to perform burlesque (though I have seen a few legal exceptions here and there).

But a lot of men do consider wearing them, mostly out of principle. And it's important to know why this is an important consideration.

"Sometimes it just accentuates the character or story I'm portraying (like, of course a leprechaun would have gold nipples). But there are also a few producers in New York who require men to cover their nipples, since the law requires women to, to create an equal playing space" Lucky Charming told me.

Lucky Charming

And since male burlesque is a cornered market here in Boston, I realize that I've enjoyed the privilege of inadvertently setting that standard, having learned about men covering their nipples only just last year. Ergo, it never occurred to me that I could be overlooked for a booking in someone else's show because I don't wear nipple coverings.

It's absolutely a critical consideration though. When coming from a place of fairness and solidarity, why should we be asking that women cover their nipples when men don't legally have to?

"WAIT STOP, I FORGOT TO PUT ON PASTIES!"

Makeup is another point of distinction that I find interesting. When I [Daytime Dale] worked at a television news station many moons ago, I first got to watch a male news anchor do makeup. The process was fascinating. Anyone experienced in theater knows that this is a requirement when the lights are on you, but stage makeup versus looking natural are two extremely different things. With that said, most men never learn the difference, and I only really became remotely aware that there was one by having the dual experience of working in TV and then moving into stage performance.

But men's makeup isn't super elaborate in burlesque, unless there's a particular character that calls for it.

Nailed it!

The makeup I tend to do is minimal, which might be more of a natural-looking attempt (as opposed to the loud, flamboyant makeup that lots of burlesquers prefer). Since Luminous walks this line pretty well with his own makeup choices, I asked him to tell me about where his inspirations come from.

"Ever since I was nine I've enjoyed playing with eyeliner. My eye was a slow evolution to what my look is now. It's been the same for about 5 years. I dig it for stage shows and change it up a little for photo shoots. It's part of my gender bending agenda," he told me.

One of the first things I noticed when I met Luminous for the first time was his uncommon use of fake eyelashes, and it's something I've begun to really associate with Lumi's brand--he tends to wear them above and below his eyes, which is a distinct look.

Luminous Pariah

For most men who want to appear masculine on stage, the general consensus is that some foundation, eyeliner, and a bit of blush is usually sufficient. I once had someone help me do a really elaborate sweeping blue cat's eye tapestry for my Aquaman character, and it was pretty magnificent (as opposed to Jason Momoa's goth undersea prince look). But for me, that's not the norm. More often than not, I find my makeup choices typically find me doing variations on masculine characters. The most extreme makeup I've done is either male old guy or male dead guy.

Truthfully, I don't feel super knowledgeable or capable as far as makeup or costuming, but I do recognize that it's an ongoing process. As with anything, you learn more the more you do it. When I had to have liquid latex done all over my chest in Cirque of the Dead two years ago to simulate an open chest wound, I found out the hard way that I reeeeeeally should have shaved my small tufts of chest hair first. The kind of pain that comes from removing bonded latex solidified with dried fake blood is something you never forget.

I was feeling good before that, anyway. Photo by Scott Chasteen.

I will give me and my guys some serious credit for one thing, though. We seem to have come to represent all tear-away clothing in Boston. While I've definitely gravitated away from the all-of-a-sudden-naked reveal of tear-away pants in exchange for a more sensual, ground-grinding pants reveal, it's clear that many of the performers I work with know that Sirlesque has 15-20 pairs of the things, and that we are constantly making more of them for ourselves. I've also hand sewn tear-away shirts that break away in a variety of styles and fashions, and it certainly feels like a skill that I've worked to develop. Add to that, it really does feel like a true point of distinction in costuming, and comes with its own theatrical style that isn't super prevalent.

And I'm sorta proud of that.

Get Those Dollars Out

Since I came into burlesque in the Boston, I'd noticed that there was a very distinct performance culture here. Boston burlesque performers tend to be more theatrical, tend to bring the strange into the mainstream, and are generally group-oriented in how they advertise. It wasn't until I started performing outside of Boston that I began to realize that we had a very interesting stance on tipping, which is hardly reflected elsewhere.

I had been performing about 3 1/2 years before I was a part of a show where the patrons were asked to tip the performers.

I was definitely a little confused when I'd first heard the host setting that expectation with the audience. I wasn't against it per se; I did have a rudimentary understanding that making any kind of money as a performer was and always would be a hustle. I had worked restaurant gigs since I was 16, so I full well understood how tipping worked. I just had never been party to a producer linking that to performance.

As an integrated part of burlesque performing, the concept makes perfect sense. If the performer really blows your socks off, you throw them a bit of extra money to show your appreciation. Ergo, your performance can have an influence on how well you do that night. That's capitalism, baby!

"I mean, I thought that's how we were supposed to fix the economy."

It reminded me of the one time I accompanied a friend of mine who was about to be married to a strip club. The biggest thing that stuck out to me about the way the strip club's economy worked was that every part of our visit was commodified. There was a cover charge when you entered, you were expected to have smaller bills to tip the dancers, buying drinks had its own set of permissions and rates, and individual women were soliciting separate engagements from the patrons.

In this setting, it seemed to me that the actions of the performers were directly tied to whether or not a patron was luring them over with money. Initially, this seems like a different thing from burlesque performance entirely--you're expected to have a set of specific choreography with movements that comprise a routine. In order to have the right punch, your act has to be rehearsed and well timed. If you're collecting dollar bills every couple of seconds, it's hard to imagine that you can execute a planned set of dance moves. It would have to be more improvisational.

I performed at a gig recently with Brandy Wine and Polly Surely of Rogue Burlesque, and it was a paid event where tipping was encouraged. Although the crowd was a room full of drunk DJ's who were mostly dudes (I'll talk about performing for hetero males who are only experiencing their first burlesque show in a later post), there was a strong element of loud-crowd dollar-chucking appreciation, which has a slightly different feel than the whole "pass the basket in church" sort of tipping I had been acclimated with in other burlesque shows. It felt kind of like that scene in Magic Mike where Matthew McConaughey rolls around in dollars wearing a cowboy hat and a thong. It was a gritty kind of party atmosphere--which I kind of loved, not gonna lie.

Don't pretend you haven't seen it.

Because I was doing a routine that I had done about 40 times before, I felt like I had the ability to change things up when needed and accommodate the dollar bills being thrown around near me. I knew that I could skip one of my flourishes with my hat and instead bend over all sexy-like while scooping dollars up and stuffing them into my waistband. You know, the kinds of things that the layman associates with striptease.

Like glitter!

I was chatting with my friend Honey Pie, who I had performed with at a show a year or two ago where tipping was encouraged. The show itself was more of a "buy a $20 ticket, drink a ton to help us hit our bar minimum" sort of theatrical experience which was hosted by a character contributing to the performance, and so it wouldn't have made a ton of sense for people to leave their seats, approach the stage, and fling dollars at the performers.

"I feel like there is a time and a place for it. I have done shows with tipping but it has always been more of a Go-Go set in a night club than a show done in a theater where most of the patrons are sitting down watching a show," Honey told me.

"And I think that's where I don't feel like tipping should happen in Burlesque shows. Most of these shows patrons are paying more money to sit down and take in the beauty of the theater and performers. I myself don't want someone throwing money in crumpled up balls at me or walking up to the stage handing me money while I am up there working my ass of on the hours of choreography I have practiced and the time I put into making that costume look good for you. Sit back, drink and take in the show! I also don't like to see it while I'm taking in the sights of a performance on stage. It's distracting and takes away from the performance art," she said.

Honey Pie

Honey made a great point about gogo dancing, which, as I've learned from doing shows outside of Boston (most prominently D20 Burlesque in NYC with Anja Keister and friends, plug plug!), is pretty much the standard in-between and intro activity for burlesque shows. A dancer can make a good amount of tips doing largely improvisational choreography as a component of a burlesque show's program. But I would hesitate to call go-go dancing a burlesque performance. 

Burlesque, like any other artform, needs support from the patrons to continue. Burlesque fans and show-goers should have extra opportunities to support the performers they enjoy (aside from ticket revenue), and I think that having a gogo set or two and having a basket at every show is a great way for performers to continue to fund their costume, travel, and meal costs.

It's the "stuffing dollars into my underwear" aesthetic that makes me feel a little heeby-jeebly about performing certain engagements. It's a different implication entirely, which stems from what the average person might picture in club-based striptease--I've seen audience members get tossed from burlesque shows because their actions were clearly influenced by strip-club culture. Taking it a bit further, tipping mechanics have a great impact on proper boundaries, which are an inseparable component of burlesque striptease. Generally, most burlesque performers don't want you stuffing money into their clothing pieces, and won't hesitate to let you know it.

Tipping performers is a great thing, although I don't particularly like having to work it into my performance piece. Deciding what kinds of tipping mechanics work best for you in your own performances is a good thing, and I'd encourage you to share your own best practices with me.

The worst burlesque act I've ever done

While I always try to be positive about what I write, I thought it would be interesting to single out the worst burlesque act I ever did as a way to reflect. I wanted to write down everything I learned, and to remind myself about some basic fundamentals of act-writing all of which I completely overlooked that one embarrassing time. Then, I figure I can glance it over while I'm in the creative process the next time I'm wrestling with writer's block, and re-learn how to not suck. Seriously, it was a bad frigging act.

The gist of it was that I had created this Russian soldier who I think was supposed to be guarding the border of Siberia. I had a full, long coat, and one of those fuzzy Russian hats, and really just had a ton of gimmicks that I carried out, all while set to some up-tempo techno song pulled straight out of the discount bin that someone else picked out for me. I think what happened was I just executed a long list of offensive stereotypes in costume, and while I had plenty of enthusiasm behind the individual movements within, the act overall made everyone pointlessly uncomfortable.

I'm on the right. That is indeed shame on my face.

The act ended up getting cut out of the last two nights of a four-night engagement, and looking back, I'm truly glad that happened. In the act, I pantomimed heavy drinking as a way to propel the story along, I played Russian Roulette in my underwear, and finished the act getting caught with my pants down (literally) as invading forces ruined my moment of vulnerability while alarms and gunshots went off in the background. Because I didn't really have any sort of previous inspiration for creating this monstrosity, I took any and every idea offered and cobbled all of them together into a performance which really didn't feel polished or rehearsed. And I think I was going for funny when none of it was.

That, and a litany of other mistakes.

1 - I relied heavily on props and gimmicks.
As an early burlesquer, I learned that creating an act required there to be a reason for getting naked. This is not necessarily a requirement, as removing the reason creates a different kind of act, known as a "straight strip." Since my only other solo act until that point had been me in a sandwich board collecting signatures, I was determined to do something comedic and theatrical, but all I kept thinking was "what other items can I introduce to fill in the time?" This was a huge pitfall, as it would have been a much better act if I had simply allowed myself to do a sexy, simple, striptease.

2 - I let other people decide key parts of the routine.
I needed help creating this act, and I reached out to anyone who would help me. While not normally a bad thing to ask for help, I was entirely uninspired--I would have been better off declining to perform than to put up something I didn't feel was my own. A fellow performer picked out my song, a woman I was dating chose the theme, and suggestions about my costume came from all over. Since other performers are inspired by different things, there's no way of telling whether or not someone else could have taken this kind of act in a better direction. I'm betting anybody else could have, as I didn't even have the confidence to sell it.

3 - I didn't workshop it effectively, and I didn't allow it to be critiqued.
I ran the act for a few people, and they mostly reported confusion. This was certainly a red flag, and they had told me to omit a handful of things which didn't make sense. I cut out the part where I took a shoe off and banged it on the ground angrily at nobody in particular, and a segment featuring me doing I-don't-remember-what to a set of nesting dolls. I'm actually glad I cut those bits out, because the rest of the stuff I didn't do (such as pick a better song, cut over-utilized dance moves, and remember that it was supposed to be a striptease), and it was kind of like cutting moldy pieces off of a fruit that really should have been thrown out.

Seriously, I would have made better use of my stage time if I had just repeatedly punched myself in the face for 4 1/2 minutes.

...or had someone else do it.

But I'm glad I did the act. If it weren't for me hearing the reluctant applause, the feedback from the producers, and the decision to ultimately cut the act from the rest of the run, I wouldn't have gone back to the drawing board with such determination. I decided later that week that I needed to make an honest decision--I needed to figure out if burlesque was something I really wanted to continue with.

At the end of it, I decided that I was going to keep performing--but under a few conditions. First of all, I wanted to create acts that were truly mine, scenes that I could be inspired by. Secondly, I wanted to cut out anything superfluous that didn't fit with the acts I wanted to create. Last, I wanted to make sure I rehearsed as much as I could reasonably rehearse, and in front of a variety of fellow performers for the critiques they could offer me.

Also, I decided that I never wanted to get on a stage impaired.

No matter how spectacular the bender turns out.

Looking back through my first year of performance in burlesque, I realized that I had been coasting. I was passively making the decision to get on stage, and although it still scared the hell out of me each time, I had discarded that feeling time and time again because I was too uncertain of myself to have the courage to embrace it.

At a show the Sirs and I had done with Rogue Burlesque three or four years back, the adrenaline I had was cancelling out the alcohol I'd been drinking. So I drank past the point I should have. I got on stage for the finale, an although I believe it went well overall, I went straight to blackout when the show was over. I don't remember anything past being on stage, and a group viewing of the film the week after the show was pretty embarrassing. My fellow performers were nervously telling me in a half-serious tone that I needed to not be drinking when performing, and I knew they were right. So I never did again.

I took myself through the creative process from the pen-and-paper stage all the way to the nervous jitters before the next show, all the while following through on my new method. I brought that new solo act to the stage, one which allowed me to pay strict attention to the fundamentals of striptease. I kept it painfully simple, focused on what I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it. That act was called "Dapper Dale," and as of today, it's the most requested act in my repertoire.

"Dapper Dale"

When I debuted that act, I met another performer in the crowd who I hadn't had the chance to meet before. Belle Guns told me that was the first male burlesque straight strip she'd ever seen, and that she absolutely loved how sexy and dignified it was. She and I are still friends, and I look up to her as a performer and as a fellow blogger--I credit her and The Rambling Onesie as the biggest influence for me creating my own burlesque blog. I think you should check it out.

The big takeaway from all this for me was that I needed to experience the failure of what I created in order to eventually realize what it was I wanted from burlesque performance. I wanted to figure out what worked and what didn't and why. I still see myself as being on that journey, and I feel like I'm only getting better at creating enjoyable content for the people that buy tickets and support this crazy dream.

I've also learned to feel great about hearing critiques. You definitely don't get better without people telling you what just ain't working, and I'm very thankful for that.

Belle Guns and I.