Imposter Syndrome

I came by this great article in the NY Times by way of Slate about something that has a ton of relevance for me as a burlesque performer.

Those of you who are already familiar with "Imposter Syndrome" will know exactly where I'm going with this.

To summarize, Imposter Syndrome is a term coined by American psychologists Pauline Clance and Suzanne Imes which is characterized by feelings of "phoniness in people who believe that they are not intelligent, capable or creative despite evidence of high achievement.” While these people “are highly motivated to achieve,” they also “live in fear of being ‘found out’ or exposed as frauds.”

"Guys, you should know that I'm not really a pilot, and have no business flying this plane."

Professionally (as in, when I'm not doing striptease), Imposter Syndrome is heavily rooted in my day-to-day. I sit expectantly at my desk, waiting for a supervisor to come by and tell me that they found out that I'm not actually any good at my job, and that I'm fired. Also, it isn't enough that I can't work there anymore, I have to also sign a form blackballing me from any other gainful employment, and oh yeah, everyone in the company is lining up outside my cubicle to punch me in the face for deceiving them.

So I need to periodically glance backward in time and remind myself that as an introvert, I've managed to scrape together a decent living introducing myself to and having conversations with people who typically want nothing to do with me. I've met with high-level business folks in New York City, shaken hands and done presentations and demos, and somehow came back with closed deals and signed paperwork. I haven't just gotten by, I've sorta thrived and gotten actually pretty good at something, got myself a nice apartment and a cool car, and one bad day every now and again won't cause those around me to see that I'm just a child in grown-up clothes pressing keys and saying words in meetings to maintain the illusion of productivity before I'm taken into custody and thrown in liar jail for being the giant con artist that I feel like I am deep down in my soul.

Burlesque is a more intense version of this.

"ALL YE GAZE UPON ME, FOR I AM A FRAUD!"

There are a lot of elements that contribute to this state of mind for me, all ingredients in the "doubt stew" that's been simmering on the back burner for as long as I've been performing. For starters, I'm one of a handful of male performers in a city where there isn't a lot of male burlesque. I've gotten a lot of work in the last 6 years based on the fact that I'm one of very few who is willing and able to fill roles as needed--I'm fairly certain that I've gotten gigs simply because I have blonde hair. The fact that burlesque is not predominantly a male artform has given me a lot of privilege towards landing gigs that might be better suited for a more capable performer, if only one was slightly more available.

Add to that the fact that burlesque is not a kind of performance that has a high level of professional recognition. There aren't all that many burlesque performers that have a self-sustaining career supported by their work in theatrical striptease. I've covered this idea in previous blog posts--while burlesque might be more mainstream than it's been in many decades, it's far from a way to make a comfortable living in the way that a great singer or actor might have the means to do. The point here is that we don't judge our own or each others' performances by any professionally accepted standard, save for feedback from the people we hold in the highest trust. Due to the way the burlesque environment is constructed, "being the best," in a nutshell, might just be low-hanging fruit.

Somewhat related to that is that the burlesque community tends to want to support its strongest members through blind encouragement rather than through objective criticism. I wrote about the worst act I've ever done a little while back, and while I could point out every reason why it wasn't a good performance, I still had plenty of people lining up to tell me how much they loved it.

"Sooo, what did you think of m--mrrrghhuuuugff..."

Mix all these together and introduce the result to a performer with my specific personality type, and it becomes pretty clear why I have a tendency to doubt my creative abilities. A big reason why I write this blog is to carry out the practice of being grateful, as gratitude is an extremely important counterweight against feeling generally undeserving.

My fellow Sir Danny Drake reminded me of how important this was earlier in the year. He was telling me that it's easy to feel like you're not doing well and to not recognize when you're making significant progress. And that's why it's important not to dismiss the compliments from others, but to simply acknowledge and say "thank you." Knowing that my instinct in these situations is to be dismissive towards compliments, I can confirm that he's absolutely right.

As with anything, practicing relentlessly creates the illusion of effortlessness. There have been times where I've performed an act so many times that, "dammit, I'm just going to go up on stage without having practiced and just do the damned thing," and it's turned out well. This happens on occasion despite my best efforts to rehearse thoroughly, and I always envision a scenario like this being the final straw for an audience already on its last nerve, exclaiming "Yep, it looks sloppy and unrehearsed. I knew that Dale Stones was a lackluster performer and now he's gone and ruined my evening. I'm going to hurl a tomato at him to express my dissatisfaction."

But you know who else feels this way? Don Cheadle.

Pictured; Imposter Syndrome in a straw hat.

For performers, I feel like some of it comes from a place of healthy humility. I realize that what I do is not a serious art form. Burlesque is fun, and it's entertaining, and it's enjoyable for so many people--but it's not life or death. If I mess up a reveal or if my dongle pops out, I probably won't do 15 years in prison.

But we MUST keep creating new art. While it's true that our art is unimportant in the grand scheme of things (this fact helps us not have an ego so big that we become impossible to be around without everyone hating you and wanting to punch you in the taint), it's equally critical to remember that what you're doing is just as important to somebody else. That burlesque act where you're dressed up as a bar of soap and are doing a partner striptease with someone dressed as a loofa? Someone out there is waiting patiently for you to do that act for them, because they've waited their entire life to see it.

So give it your best, because you absolutely deserve to be on that stage. If you weren't, you wouldn't be there. So go where you're going, and be where you are.

Performing for Largely Hetero Audiences

First of all, Happy Thanksgiving to all!

I wanted to write a bit about my experience with performing for crowds comprised mostly of straight men, as I've had a lot of unique and strong feels about it. Mostly excitement, but sometimes terror. I'd like to take you through that emotional process and where it all originates.

Women's burlesque performance is generally more well received for new audiences, due in large part to the socially-reinforced way women's sexuality is available for public consumption. Women are expected to be looked at and appreciated, regardless of the gender makeup of the audience. Both men and women will watch in adoration at female striptease, as it is acceptable to do so. I'm here to write about what happens when a male burlesque performer presents to a crowd of new, straight-ish people, because the reactions are often much, much different than the reactions that naturalized, familiar burlesque audiences display.

Such as leaning-accented casual indifference.

I was a bit on edge for a recent gig with Brandy Wine and Polly Surely of Rogue Burlesque, as it was the type of setting where burlesque didn't quite seem to fit the programming. As I alluded to in a previous post, this was a high-energy party where DJ's from around the country were gathering to drink and dance. We went down into the basement, which was its own party-hearty room, complete with dim lighting, beer spilled on the floor, poor sight lines, and every formality spared. I'd say it was an audience with an 80/20 man-to-woman ratio.

Needless to say, very few folks in the crowd were acquainted with burlesque. After our host for the night started explaining burlesque etiquette, you could absolutely hear the sarcastic chuckling. While I knew they were probably picturing a club-esque strip show, I doubted they were ready to factor me into their expectations. As I mentioned way back in the second paragraph, the onlookers were pretty amenable to seeing Brandy and Polly perform. When I stepped onto the floor though, there was an audible groan from many of the males in the room. I would estimate that about 1/3 of them immediately turned around and walked out.

In that moment, I saw a clear picture of what scares straight men about male burlesque. When I teach my class for new male burlesquers, I like to gradually introduce clothing reveals and let people opt out of ones they aren't (yet) comfortable with. To their credit, the guys in the class are usually willing to jump right in and do all of them, which is fantastic. I'm guessing that the mental re-configuring that happens when a group of men who have never met before begin to accept that they're about to be nearly naked in front of one other, they move past the head-space that my audience at this gig was stuck in. In essence, they were frightened.

Usually, the screaming is internal.

Since performers tend to draw energy from the audience they go on for, I can tell you that when this happens, it's often demoralizing. To that end, it manifests itself in a few different ways: In struggling to cope with the fact that they might have to watch another man strip, these men will usually show signs of physical discomfort--heads down, arms folded, groaning and audible commentary. James and the Giant Pasty of Boylesque T.O. (based in Canada) told me that at one show, a group of men in a bar lashed out and called him a faggot, which is the ultimate show of insecurity through aggression.

There was a point early on in my performance career where a reaction like this would have ruined me. Thankfully, I've had enough practice with the "show must go on" frame of mind that I'm usually able to compensate for situations like this. As a general rule, I focus my broader moves on the people who are having a great time, and I focus my specific audience work on the individuals who look the most uncomfortable.

Or in a pinch, anyone who is currently shrieking in terror. 

During my act, one man in the front of the audience buried his face in one hand in disbelief, as if one errant gaze upon my glittery pecs would turn him to stone (see what I did there?). I walked up to that one guy in the crowd, put my face about half a foot from his, waited for him to notice, and then gave a wave and a curtsy. He laughed just a little bit, and it got such a rise out of the crowd around him. I find that if you go for the hardest nut to crack, your success in getting the audience to join in the fun will have a ripple effect, and can often noticeably change the mood of the room.

Following from that, I'd like to talk to you about what happens after a performance like this. Due in large part to fragile masculinity (#masculinitysofragile if you're so inclined), straight men tend to conflate male burlesque performance with homosexuality or flirting. While it's not always a negative thing that some men will give feedback after watching a male burlesque performance, it can absolutely be derived from a place of awkwardness or insecurity. Picture any of these after a performance;

"I'm not gay, but....that was a good show/you were funny/I've thought about kissing a man/etc."
"Do you get a lot of gays/women/men hitting on you after you perform?"
"I saw more of you than I wanted to see, but you were pretty cool to watch."
"You were good, but you should work out more." (Lucky, thanks for sharing that last one)

"Look bro, I'm not gay or nuthin', but, uh....good
 job, there....dawg. Did I mention that I
 reeeeealy like the ladies?"

Some of you reading this will recognize these experiences as your own. But while icky on the surface, they can be a good starting point for having a strong, valuable discussion with a new fan about burlesque, body norms, and expectations around performers from the same/opposite sex.

I've learned that for every 20 dudes in an audience I perform for, one or two will come chat with me afterwards and will be completely awesome to talk with. After this gig, there were 3 guys that came to talk to Polly, Brandy, and myself, and wanted to reiterate that they had the best time at the show. While they were each initially confused about how to react, all of them individually had the wherewithal to figure out what they appreciated about the performance, what questions they wanted to ask, and the enthusiasm about discovering us and our scene afterwards. It was awesome.

For me, having just a couple people telling me what a great time they had makes it 1000% worth it. Bringing new people to future shows helps bring burlesque more and more into the mainstream, which benefits us all. I also love when other men feel inspired enough from burlesque to want to try performing themselves, as it's a major disruption to the power structures that influence masculine negativity (and bolsters our solidarity with our female counterparts).

And that's pretty rad.

Pop & Pasties: The Placement of Pop Culture in Burlesque

I'd like to do something a little differently tonight. Usually, I write my own material, but I thought I'd be lazy and outsource my originality for this post. In all seriousness though, I'm always curious to know what other performers are thinking, and I had been bugging my good friend Lucky Charming to write something for me on the topic of pop culture in burlesque performance.

Lucky Charming

To preface the discussion, I'd like to talk about the kind of relationship me and Lucky have. I had met him shortly after he attended Alternatease in Boston a few years back. Sirlesque had invited him back to do a show with us, and although I didn't get the chance to see him at Alternatease, his reputation did precede him in my mind. When he did end up coming back to Boston, he absolutely blew me away with what he brought to the stage ("Party in the TSA," if you're curious). Since then, we've had him back to visit and he and I have become fast friends.

As a 4-time GLAM Awards nominee and the creator of "Cootie Catcher," a one-man show which he's brought to Fringe festivals both in the United States and Canada, he's got plenty of credibility and mileage as a performer. Plus, I really appreciate his viewpoints on many topics, and wanted to highlight this one in particular. So without further ado, Lucky;

Over to you, hotshot!

Merriam-Webster defines burlesque as “a literary or dramatic work that seeks to ridicule by means of grotesque exaggeration or comic imitation. : mockery usually by caricature.” In the 19th century, these parodies typically targeted the theatre, opera, and other popular pastimes for the upper class. However, in the era of burlesque that we find ourselves in now, the caricatures that we see are more likely to depict figures that are more broadly consumed by the masses.

I’ve only been a member of the burlesque community for three-and-a-half years, and in that time I’ve seen hundreds of routines that portray superheroes, super villains, video games, and cartoons, and delivered in a way that is more of a tribute than a travesty. I see this as merely an indication of how our society has evolved; patrons are more interested in paying for performances that bring them to their happy place than those that are going to challenge them and remind them how chaotic the state of the world is. And I can’t say I blame them. 

That said, I’m a firm believer that burlesque is meant to challenge, as well as titillate. In it’s time of origin, being naked was enough to spark the senses. Now, a simple strip is nothing special. Naked people are everywhere…movies, magazines, you name it. I firmly believe that burlesque in general needs more than just nudity. If you simply dress up as a popular character and strip to make people squeal, you’re doing a disservice to your audience, your character, and your talent.

Yeah…I went there. (UNPOPULAR OPINIONS, ACTIVATE!)

...and stylishly, I might add. Photo credit; Christopher Gagliardi

By making any pop culture reference in your performance, you’re taking a risk in alienating your audience. Unless, of course, the entire show is a reference to a certain piece of pop culture. If someone purposefully attends a “Bob’s Burgers” tribute show, it’s reasonable to assume they’ve watched at least half of the existing episodes. But if you stick a “Bob’s Burgers” act into any old burlesque show, you can bet that a large percentage of the people aren’t going to get it. And they might be pissed. And the have every right to be. 

The audience wants to be in on your jokes. They want to laugh and cheer for you and with you. Don’t block them out by being too specific. To make such a move is naive at best, and arrogant at worst.

There are plenty of ways to pay tribute to the pieces of pop culture that bring you joy that don’t leave too many audience members behind. The first person to come to mind is Franki Markstone, whom I shared the stage with this summer in Orlando. She performed a delightful number inspired by “Harry Potter”. Aside from her use of the movie’s theme song (with segued, appropriately, into Heart’s “Magic Man”), a dress in the colors that fan’s would recognize as Gryffindor’s, and a strategically placed Golden Snitch, there was nothing super specifically Potter-ish about it. Most humans will recognize “Harry Potter” in this day and age, but on the off-chance they didn’t, it was still a beautiful, well-performed striptease that the whole family can enjoy.

Pictured; wholesome, family-friendly entertainment. Photo credit; Jenna Cumbo, Village Voice

This pleased me on so many levels. There was enough of a wink to the Potter fans to keep them happy, but enough dazzle that if you didn’t get it, it didn’t matter.

Oh, there be players that I have seen, and heard others praise and that highly**, who brought an act as a particular sci-fi character to a general burlesque show…a character I was very familiar with, I might add…and through referencing the most minute details of this character’s storyline, completely lost 90% of their audience within the first ten seconds. They cheered anyway, but I was infuriated on their behalf.

[**Shakespeare reference. Hamlet. Didn’t get it? Now you know how it feels to be alienated. Not so fun, huh?]

On the other hand, say you are performing in a show that pays tribute to a popular entity. It is safe to assume that the members of the audience are serious fanatics, and are anticipating a plentitude of inside jokes that only their fandom would get. In this case, by all means, go niche or go home.

But wait! Before you get down to business…do me a little favor. I’ve seen a lot of characters from film and television portrayed on the burlesque stage, and I notice that many of them have fallen into a formula: 

1. Dress up as the character

2. Pick a song that makes some joke about the character

3. Strip

4. End in a reveal that consists of some other joke about the character as depicted in a crotch piece.

Perhaps I only find this tedious because I, too, am a participant in this art form, but even if you have the most stunning costume imaginable for an act like this, it still has great capacity to feel…dare I say it? Lazy. Most pop culture acts I’ve seen are severely lacking in context. I love that this character is stripping, but I want to know why this character is stripping. I’m game to see Darth Vader naked, but like…why is he taking his clothes off in the first place? And even more importantly…why is he still breathing and functioning after he takes that breast plate off? Doesn’t that help keep him alive or something?

Please excuse me: I’m going to use myself as an example here, because I am fully aware of my own arrogance and not too proud to admit it.

After my first couple of years in burlesque, I decided to cut back on the nerdy shows. I appreciate them so much, and love being in the audience for them, but with the way my own career has progressed, they often cost me a pretty penny and I get minimal mileage out of them.

That said, when someone is producing a “Doctor Who” show and they ask you personally to play Captain Jack Harkness…you can’t really say no, and you definitely can’t fuck it up.

Jack Harkness, for those who aren’t familiar, has plenty of reasons to take his clothes off. He’s hot. He’s charming. He’ll unzip his pants for pretty much anyone, regardless of gender or species. He’s the slutty pansexual dreamboat that I’ve always wanted to see on the screen. But I didn’t want to build my act around that alone. Again: context. 

There is an episode called “Bad Wolf” where Jack gets teleported into a futuristic reboot of “Extreme Makeover”, and two droid stylists zap his clothes off with a defabricator ray. Jackpot. I had a character. I had a motivation. I had an arc. The pieces practically pulled themselves together, and I quickly had (what I believe to be) one of my strongest acts to date. I wish I had more opportunities to take it out, but I don’t want to shove obscure sci-fi references in anyone’s face without their clear consent. Do you understand what I’m saying?

The arc is something that I think gets dangerously neglected with popular characters in burlesque, often because we feel it is implied. But just as an audience needs to see a character change between the beginning and the end of a movie or play, they should see how your character develops in a burlesque routine, whether it’s a recognizable character or not. Otherwise, it’s just pretty. And while most of us do burlesque partially to publicly claim our own beauty, many of us also want our audiences to have boners for our brains. Let’s keep those brain-boners coming, kids!

Trolling Cold-Email Marketing Solicitors

I've discovered a new passion of mine, and it is glorious.

Recently, I've been getting a slew of cold emails from marketing people who think I'm some important business executive, usually soliciting me for advertising and/or website optimization. If the cold email is patently baseless (e.g. wrong website, wrong employer, thinks my name is something it's not), I've been rebutting them in a supportive but critical way.

Let me explain.

Dale Stones' alter-ego in real life works in sales, and understands what goes into the cold-sales process. On a daily basis, he sends out emails himself in order to secure future business. When I receive emails from people in the same position, I always give them the attention they deserve, especially since I may find some usefulness regarding the content within. But sometimes, a rep sends me an email and gets it so dreadfully wrong that I can't help but respond in a comically critical way. Here's a recent one I got;

Email #1

I sent along a photo, too;

I'd be psyched to get this in my inbox.

In the email, the guy got my company wrong, didn't know my name, and had a complete misunderstanding of what I do. Frankly, I'm not sure how he made the connection to me from the bistro he wanted to sell to. Truly mind-boggling.

Here's another one;

Email #2

I've also attached the photos I sent back;

This is the photo that features a tool prominently.

What I found fascinating about this email was that the guy sent me an email asking about a site that wasn't even close to the website I actually curate. That's truly bizarre, if for no other reason than because misspelling a website on the internet is dangerous. Almost everything re-directs to porn. Since I am not porn, I thought it might be a good idea to give this guy in particular a very loose correlation to what he thought he was searching for.

Also, he obviously did not do a google search for my website, as Sirlesque's search results are damned specific. He would've seen a bunch of mostly-naked dudes and said "yeah, these guys definitely know a lot about search engine functionality. And also butts. They know a lot about butts."

Instead, he did a search for a website that sells transmissions. These things only mildly overlap.

I believe there will be more emails, if the past is any indication. Stay tuned for additional coverage--this is my new favorite sport.

Also of importance; I have not received any responses to my follow ups.

Why I hate the term "Boylesque"

"So...what do you guys do?"

"Boylesque."

"What is that exactly?"

"It's like burlesque, but with men."

"What's burlesque?"

"You know what? Fuck it, we're strippers."

It's always a conversation like this that happens with a distant friend, a great aunt, or that one time with the general manager of Uno's that makes me a little bit frustrated. It's not that it's at all problematic to own what you do at a very base level ("I'm a stripper. What of it?"), but it's annoying that the name which the community has unilaterally selected to represent our discipline does nothing to convey what it is I do.

"Do you know what we do? No? Me neither."

So why do I hate the term "Boylesque?"

Initially, it makes me feel uncomfortable to hear the word. When a medieval-looking character on HGO's Contest of Chair Sitting ends a quip with "And don't you threaten me, boy!" It's always meant as condescending. The very fact that the NYC Boylesque Festival uses the name of the discipline in the title sounds almost to me like it's an activity at a carnival, or a male version of whatever it is that Honey Boo Boo does.

Building on that, it makes it sound like the participants are juvenile, or possibly actual children. It has a playfulness to it that goes beyond the burlesque prerequisite of not taking one's self too seriously--it makes the participants sound almost vulnerable in some way. "Boylesque" feels like a hobby that you might share with the one cool uncle who understands, but not your parents, and definitely not with your crush because they might laugh at you when they walk by you in the lunch line.

It also does nothing to circumvent or advance the awareness of non-traditional gender roles. You don't have to be "a boy" to do male burlesque, and you shouldn't ever have to be in a position where your discipline decides an aspect of your identity. I might be called a painter because I paint, but I'd be wary of calling myself or anyone else "a boy" because we perform a discipline commonly referred to as "boylesque." In a world where we would all ideally be respectful of gender pronouns and self-identity, the word "boylesque" pigeonholes the performers within and blurs the lines between "sex" and "gender."

Savannah-based Jack N' Thacox appreciates the distinction. "Male burlesque performers must maintain and embellish a socially constructed gender role. Otherwise you are doing drag or genderfuck. I like to be put in a box. I am a man, I am a stripper, and this is my fringe."

He continued with; "My main concern is if this topic is left unattended, the category of boylesque lends itself open to drag performances, when boylesque is an undermined form of entertainment whereas drag is ubiquitous."

Jack N' Thacox

While male-bodied burlesque comes in many styles of execution, I often perform the sub-genre of masculine, comedic performance, and frequently do masculine straight strips as a way to balance out my repertoire. I would hesitate to describe any of these as "boylesque." I often prefer to identify what I perform as simply "burlesque," and allow any follow up questions to proceed down that avenue.

"Oh, I've heard of burlesque. Is what you do different than female burlesque?"

Now this is a good conversation. The answer I often give to the above question is "no, not really," and here's why; while I was taught the basics of burlesque by a female-bodied troupe, the fundamental principles of what it is are identical. There's a required element of striptease, there's often a story, a character, a comedic element, and various amounts of clothing reveal and nudity. and frequently some amount of dance or showmanship. I could be wearing a dress, though I'm usually not, and I may forgo the occasional postures and movements that you'd call "feminine," or I may include them as a specific part of my performance narrative.

I spoke with Mr. Valdez, a performer from The Brotherhood of Burlesque as well as Peaks and Pasties in Colorado Springs, CO. "I feel it promotes Segregation in a community that is supposed to be all inclusive. Tigger put it best at BHOF [Burlesque Hall of Fame]....he had said something to the effect of....why do we have to categorize burlesque, boylesque, queerlesque, draglesque. Why can't we all just realize that we all roll with the same gang?"

Mr. Valdez from The Brotherhood of Burlesque and Peaks and Pasties in Colorado Springs, CO

In essence, there's no difference at all, and I take umbrage with the fact that so many people feel the need to categorize what we do by painting the nursery baby blue with their gender-restrictive taxonomy.

On top of that, the word "boylesque" just isn't sexy. There isn't anything that makes me feel attractive when I'm identified as a "boylesquer." Striptease can certainly be dorky and naive, but it's such a cockblock (to use the pejorative objectively) to ensure that anything you do on stage can't be powerful, sexy, and commanding. Kevin Harrington, one of the graduates of my burlesque amateur showcase, said that to him, the term "boylesque" represents "dudes licking lollipops, taking off their school uniforms, and acting like jail-bait."

If I had the option, I'd rather be referred to by an emcee as an "attractive man" instead of as an "attractive boy." One of those is empowering, and the other one might cause Chris Hansen to show up on your doorstep.

"Hi there, why don't you have a seat. So, you came to a show to see boys?"

I resent the fact that I have to type in "Boylesque" as a label on Blogger to increase the amount of clicks this entry might get. I resent the fact that "King of Boylesque" is a BHOF title that gets awarded to the best male-identifying performer every year, and is the verbal personification of a dollar-store tiara on the head of a seasoned, accomplished performer. I especially resent that the term "boylesque" seems to indicate a special kind of vulnerability when used in marketing. Truthfully, the word just kinda creeps me out.

NYC-based producer and performer Viktor Devonne told me that he agrees "that intrinsically there's not a lot of difference between dude burlesque and lady burlesque but I don't see a lot of lot of folks who use it negatively." Viktor doesn't mind that people use the term freely, and a bonus is that it "looks good on a poster."

Viktor Devonne, Director of the White Elephant Burlesque Society.

He also told me that he "dislikes 'boylesque' being used to indicate any requirement for society's decision as to what "masculinity" is." Indeed, the word presents a classic "point-counterpoint."
Outside of Boston, I've heard the word "boylesque" used as a catch-all for genderfuck-y performance. While I won't presume to champion nor disparage the term on anyone else's behalf, I also don't quite identify with it. To put it on a spectrum, I feel a lot closer to "male striptease" than "boylesque," and "being a stripper" is usually the plain-speak categorization I defend myself against when speaking with the uninitiated. I also don't speak for others who claim that style of performance for themselves, but the general feeling behind the word feels the same to those whom I've asked.

So despite the fact that the term "Boylesque" is an oft-critiqued, unstable categorization for an otherwise all-inclusive performance medium, it doesn't seem like a word that's going away. It's marketable and it's novel, not to mention unique-sounding, but I do believe that without the restrictions that come arm-in-arm with what the word implies, we can only become a more inclusive and expressive community.

The Decision to Crowdfund A Burlesque Show

Everyone has to decide their own standards. You have to decide what your art is worth, who you're willing and unwilling to work with, and what subject matter you won't touch. I'm generally pretty fluid about what I'll allow and do, but there's something in particular that I've seen a lot of in the last year in the burlesque community in particular, and I feel very strongly about my stance on it.

I will never ask people to crowdfund my burlesque.

I know this is going to be a divisive point, so I'm going to be dramatic and start a new paragraph. The cornerstone of my argument is that I don't feel that my audience or society in general owes me anything to see what I'll create next. Self-promotion is one thing, and fans can certainly chose to follow you if they are a fan of yours. I don't object to that, as it's voluntary and doesn't cost anything. You can certainly argue that contributing to an artist's GoFundMe or Kickstarter is voluntary, but the principles differ; Once you take their money, you have a responsibility to give them a good art/performance/product, and I firmly believe that people should only pay once to have to do that.

Of course, many people disagree with me.

I can understand the need reach out to financial supporters. If artists didn't do that, we wouldn't have had The Renaissance. When I say that I wouldn't ask for anything I produce to be crowdfunded, you might interpret that as "his opinion of his own work isn't strong." You would be right, to an extent. As far as burlesque goes, I see it as a low-cost, low-risk art form. Much like my journalism degree, I don't feel that expanding on my burlesque performance via an influx of dubiously-sourced cash is something that will yield any appreciable outcome. Besides, I feel that the gritty, approachable, sometimes rude demeanor that typifies many of my favorite burlesque performances is so far removed from high-budget spectacle that a budget boost would only serve to alienate my audience.

Still, I wanted to know where the other side sits. I spoke with Jade Sylvan, who is one of the producers of "Spider Cult: The Musical," slated to launch in 2016. This show is a spin-off of one of the shows I enjoyed being a part of for three years, "Revenge of the Robot Battle Nuns." They recently did a Kickstarter to get funding for Spider Cult, so Jade's perspective is local to the issue.

Photo credit: Caleb Cole

Dale Stones: "Okay. How do you feel about crowd funding in general?"

Jade Sylvan: "It used to gross me out when I was younger, but honestly I wouldn't have been able to do many of the projects I've done over the last five years without it. I had to get over my ego of thinking I was "too good" for crowdfunding and put the project first."

DS: "What changed your mind? Anything specific?"

JS: "Literally, not having the money to bring what I loved into creation. For instance, with Spider Cult, we knew we wanted to bring it up to the next level production-wise from what people in our community are used to doing. To do that, we needed money that we literally didn't have, because shows performed at a certain level will only generate income to sustain that level, even if they're very successful. You need a boost to grow. Businesses have bank loans. We have crowdfunding."

DS: "So how do you justify what projects should ask for prefunding?"

JS: "It's sort of an intersection of (1.) how much I (and others) believe in the project, and (2.) necessity. If there is any other way other than crowdfunding, I will generally take that route to get something made. On the other side, if it's a project that is strictly a vanity project that I don't expect or see others having any interest in, I will not crowdfund for that. That's where the responsibility comes in. When you involve others, you are responsible to them to some degree."

DS: "Do you feel that the effort is sullied a bit by other artist or people who ask for money who maybe don't have the same discretion or standards you had? Like the potato salad fund guy?"

JS: "With Spider Cult it was part of the discussion from the beginning, when we realized how big we wanted this to be. Basically, we decided we could do it on a shoe string and have a shoe string show, or we could see if enough people cared about it to bring it up a level and get involved."

DS: "What's the goal, once you have the money? I mean, having funding is all well and good, but what's the expectation that people should have for what they purchased?"

JS: "In this case, it's a show that looks and feels like it had a budget. {wink emoticon} More than that, though, a big goal is to give the members of our community a chance to showcase their abilities at the production level I think they deserve."

DS: "Like, more marketing, vocal coaching, paying them more, what are the interim goals? If that's not classified information, of course."

JS: "All of the above. More budget to spend on training, costumes, special effects, original music, payment for actors, marketing etc"

DS: "Maybe even a bigger venue?"

JS: "Possibly in the future, but we wrote the play for Oberon."

DS: "Thank you!"

I believe that Spider Cult: The Musical has only the noblest of intentions. I loved being a part of the original production that this project has spun off of, and I enjoy supporting the arts as an attendee when I'm not the one performing. Community support is incredibly valuable, after all. For many people, acquiring the funding to put on a show is the most humbling part of the process, and is something that is made easier through anonymity, or at the very least, from behind the internet curtain.

But I also believe that a big part of being a burlesque artist is taking risks, especially financial ones. If a faceless crowd is assuming that initial risk for you, your performance-based risk-taking and creativity aren't going to be at their highest. You're safe, after all. If people pay for your venture (which is different than an investment, because that money is owed back) and have to settle for whatever you decide to provide them to tide them over before (or indeed, IF) the show is produced, you are inevitably going to interpret that as "free money" on some level, as the debt has already been settled in your mind. And since the audiences in the burlesque scene are often overwhelmingly supporting, the whole situation might appear lavish and superfluous.

Nothing lavish nor superfluous to see here.

That, in turn, creates another set of problems. In this list of "14 Potential Issues with Corwdfunding," item #11 on the list  cites what I think is the most important issue; Accountability. Crowdfunding simply doesn't allow visibility into how that money is spent. You could theoretically pocket every dollar once you hit your goal and churn something out with the same rate of spend as "The Blair Witch Project" and you've essentially defrauded your backers. I say "defrauded" because if you did create a low-cost show relative to what you asked for, then you didn't need to ask for the money in the first place.

If I'm going to create a show, I want to assume the financial risk involved in that show's failure. Asking people to pay twice to see something is unfair, unless they're actually seeing it twice. If they contribute more than the cost of admission, they may even be paying three, four, or five times to see a show with no guaranteed standard of quality. I believe that decision should only be made one time, and it's when you're telling people what the price of the ticket is.

Although there isn't time to get into the issue of who should be producing a show and why, I feel that a series of shows should be able to snowball cash as a way of building up the coffers within a business. In Sirlesque, we budget based on what we can pay and save up money so that we can afford to put on bigger and better shows in the future, and that's also a way to insure ourselves in case we have a bad turnout and still need to pay people. On top of that, if people are going to see a show that you've put on repeatedly, you can use that to gauge whether or not a similarly-themed, larger-budget show would be palatable for your audience.

Sometimes, the tech required to look at your own butt on a screen is expensive.

A great example of a show that did this is the Slutcracker. Over 7 years ago, Sugar Dish put together a show that is now a mainstream Boston institution. She has a lot of pride when she talks about how the first run of the show used found costuming, and that now the Slutcracker sells out over a dozen shows a year. It's the classic bootstraps story, and it shows us that anything can be produced to greatness with enough patience and perseverance.

I believe that being transparent with every transaction surrounding burlesque performance is not only important, but crucial if burlesque is to succeed. Sure, if people are willing to give you advance money over and over again, you and those people may feel comfortable with what is essentially an enabling relationship. But such is the plight of the artist--getting rich doing art is nigh impossible. The audience needs to be entertained, and the full time artists needs to not starve.

So I suppose the only difference is the variance of each artist's guidelines.

Sirlesque: The Sexy Origin Story

Since I often refer to Sirlesque's beginnings and occasionally get asked about how my merry band formed, I thought I'd do a blog just about Sirlesque's origin story. It's also my own origin story, and my first real crack at performance since leaving college. I'll give you some background on who Dale Stones was before burlesque, as it's all very much a part of the picture.

Hint - I was a very different person with very different habits.

Father Stones frequently encouraged me to become a rock musician. He was a die-hard Beatles fan, and occasionally listened to odd, eclectic music like Billy Idol, Kate Bush, and The Birthday Massacre. Since I had an aptitude for music which I discovered around middle school-age, I picked up guitar and learned songs that played in my home by hearing and repetition. As many astute fans have pointed out, these kinds of songs frequent my burlesque repertoire.

For placeholding purposes, let's assume this is my dad.

My dad frequently encouraged me to start a rock band, spend time with other musicians, and to do anything I could to use my evident musical talents to perform. I had a few opportunities to play and sing in front of crowds (most uniquely in co-founding my university's Irish Student Union and mc'ing two Irish Heritage social nights. I played and sang Irish folk songs between sets for other performers, told Irish jokes and proverbs, and generally attempted to make the events fun for attendees). I didn't really know where or how to attack my performance compulsions aside from opportunistically, and frequently let my introversion get the best of me.

While I decided not to pursue music as a career, I did go to a school with an active theater guild, and ended up landing the lead guitar part in "Tommy" in my sophomore year, which ended up being awarded to me when the original guitarist quit the production with one week until show time. Despite the obvious time crunch of learning a 30-song musical score in 7 days, I still remember how exhilarating that whole show felt. I knew that if I got the chance, I'd do the next possible thing I could to replicate that feeling.

For place holding purposes, let's pretend I actually got to be Pete Townshend that one time.

A great friend of mine and an equally talented performer extended me a helping hand two years after college. He was about to move to a place in Watertown (a suburb of Boston) and was looking for roommates. I was first on his list of people to ask, and without considering other options, I immediately said yes. As Ricky Lime would come to find out, this haphazard approach to large life decisions would ultimately contribute to Sirlesque's formation.

Shortly after getting my first job in Boston as a waiter, I met Jenny Jewels. She was a fellow server, and often showed up at the terrace bar we both worked at after performing, usually wearing fun-colored wigs and outrageous outfits. She always encouraged her coworkers (me included) to come out and see her perform, and one Thursday, I made the firm decision to go.

I was a bit terrified of what I might discover, so I invited the man who would become Ricky Lime to come with me. Neither of us had performed or even seen burlesque before, but I needed someone to come with me to help keep my shy little self on the level. While I continued to be nervously observant, he fit right in and was eager to participate in the role of an active burlesque patron. After the show, he wanted to meet all the performers. He wanted to get involved in a show. So they let him--he debuted as an extra in Rogue Burlesque's show "The Quest for the Golden Pasties." He was a litigator in a courtroom scene, and Dixie Douya suffocated him between her breasts. I was in the crowd, and I was impressed at what a good show the whole thing was. I was proud of him.

Terribly, terribly proud. Way to run a stage, buddy.

After the show, Ricky asked the ladies if he could be in their next theatrical production. He was eager and ready to take any role they had. Instead, the resounding response was that he should start his own burlesque troop and have it be just dudes. It could even be a brother troop! Naturally, he burst from the back of the Oberon, came up to me immediately and said;

"Hey dude. Do you want to start an all-male burlesque troop?"

As was and always had been customary, I gave it the typical amount of thought and pragmatism.

"Sure! When do we start?" I responded immediately.

Now, we never had to endure a formal tryout process, as we were the forerunners of our niche in the community. Everyone makes rookie mistakes, and ours were on full display in front of crowds who had never seen male burlesque before--it's probably why we flew under the radar for a couple years. We certainly didn't have that experiential edge granted by dutifully assisting and volunteering before we took the stage ourselves--though we all brought a variety of performance experience to the medium from a variety of places.

But we got to enjoy a quick month of preparations involving a two-hour-long burlesque fundamentals class taught by the Rogues, which resulted in Ricky, myself, and fellow co-founder Dexter Dix attaining some degree of stage-readiness. We set up a photo shoot with "Stuff" magazine, and got a full-page write-up complete with a glorious photo of all three of us in our matching boyshorts. At the end of March, we had our debut as a part of the Rogue's "Winter Sextacular" and each did our first solo act on stage.

There was no turning back.

...unless the choreography told us to, that is.

Although we had done a professional photo shoot in a studio prior to this, the resulting photos remained the property of Stuff Magazine, and we weren't allowed to use them for our own professional promotion. Not having any alternative at this point, we all set up a self-run group photo shoot in a borrowed hotel room and spent a lot of time learning about posing, camera-appropriate faces, and the nuances of the iPhone's camera countdown timer. While the photos were serviceable on a base level, Ricky did have to Photoshop out the occasional awkwardly-placed electrical outlet.

You'll notice this photo is suspiciously devoid of wall outlets, among other things.

There's one in this photo that didn't get the treatment. Man, these photos....

Our name was an unexpected happenstance. Polly Surely's husband had mentioned to Ricky Lime at a party that we should have a pun-based name, and thought that "Sir" was a good spin to put on the word "Burlesque." Further than that, individual members could call themselves "Sirs." The idea was so good that we incorporated it into every aspect of our business, from our email addresses (I'm sir.dale.stones@gmail.com, in case you wanted to send me electronic mail), to our welcoming of new members (knighting them as "Sirs"), and even our meeting-appropriate pronouns.

For the longest time, the only work we had was given to us by Rogue Burlesque, who continued to help us workshop our dancing and presentation. We even based our production process and business practices off of theirs. I'll never forget two notable quotes from about the 3-year mark of us performing in Boston, the first being from Fem Bones of the Slaughterhouse Sweethearts.

Fem had been brought in to Rogue's "Film Strip" show to do an act where all of the ladies dressed as popcorn kernels, a chance meeting that I had talked about on the blog before. After working with her for a few shows, she told me; "For years you guys were Boston's best-kept secret, like toys that only the Rogues got to play with."

Lilly Bordeaux told me while preparing for a show at Club Cafe that we "used to be the adorable little brothers that were always around, but at some point, [we] suddenly became...hot."

These were quotes that stuck in my mind about how Sirlesque has leveled up over the years. I firmly believe that Fem was referring to us as an undiscovered group because until that point, we weren't quite show-ready. I'm certainly a far cry from who I used to be, even from only 2 years ago, and the confidence and body changes that resulted from that self-reflection and the hours of performing experience were principally what changed me and my guys from "dorky" to "smoldering." I'm happy with my progress and the progress of my group--and I like that we keep learning and improving.

I can't wait to see what's next.