My girlfriend leaned over the table during brunch at the Pork Store recently and stared deep into my eyes. "Baby," she said, "when you're out there looking at all those boobies today, just remember that they're fake. And when you're petting asses and sticking money in G-strings, just remember that those bodies, unlike mine, are going to be saggy and horrible-looking in a few years."
Not exactly our ordinary breakfast conversation, but then again, it was no ordinary morning. I was about to embark on a whirlwind tour of some of the city's notorious gentlemen's clubs, and that gloomy Sunday seemed perfect. What better day than the Christian Sabbath to burn some cash on sex, right? I finished my eggs, said a little prayer, and hit the streets to find some heathens — I mean, strippers. I knew exactly where to go.
THE SEEDY START
By the time I got to the corner of Market and Sixth streets, it was raining like hell, and various shady-looking characters were hogging every dry spot in sight. Despite my burning desire for a nip of whiskey, I decided to abandon my preparty bar plans and walk directly into the Market Street Cinema.
I passed through the mirrored doors, paid the cover charge, and found a seat at the foot of the catwalk just in time to catch the next act.
I don't know if the girls or the DJs pick the songs, but the music fit the sad spectacle like a latex glove. As the opening riff of the Smiths' "How Soon Is Now" filled the club, a young girl stepped out onto the stage. Sexy Susan (or Luscious Lucy or whatever the DJ-MC had decided to call her) strutted down the catwalk in her fuck-me pumps, looked at her scant audience, and made her way to the pole. She swung around it with one leg and rubbed herself up and down before finally climbing to the top, where she hung for a full minute before sliding to the floor with a thump. She then stood up and beelined toward me.
"You look shy," the stripper whispered as she squatted in my face and began tugging at the elastic rim of her panties. From a distance the girl had seemed rather pretty, but up close her jagged teeth, stretched belly, and hollow eyes bespoke a street-style homeliness. She made me uncomfortable, and I knew the only way to shoo her off was to produce an embarrassingly small tip. So I dug down in my wallet and threw a buck by her feet. "Uh, thanks," she said. "Do you, like, want a lap dance or anything?"
"No, I'm OK. But I think that guy might want something," I said. She took my money and walked across the stage toward a scary-looking dude waving a five-dollar bill around in the air.
The young girl finished her set with a clumsy attempt to sync her body movements to Nine Inch Nails' "Closer." She humped the pole, stumbled down the walk, and finally bent over for a spread-eagle encore. She then picked up her seven- or eight-dollar tip stash and took off. I was blown away. This girl had just showed us the holiest of holies for less than it takes to fill the gas tank on a moped. This was, presumably, her daily routine. Was it worth it? I felt too guilty to ponder the question. As soon as the young stripper was out of sight, I pushed all sympathetic thoughts out of my mind and bolted. Next stop: the Crazy Horse.
HAPPIER HOUR
I didn't expect much from the Crazy ...
Nothing else about the trip to Crazy Horse rings true in this article either - I don't believe that this guy ever went there, don't know why he wanted to write this phony made-up bunch of crap.
Oh, and 1 basic rule to follow with strip clubs - if you don't want to go, don't go - you won't have a good time. But anybody who did want to go to a fun, relaxed strip club could have a very good time with the really cool, fun sexy women that work there.
The author's last line speaks volumes. I'd suggest that there's more polite ways to come out than to write disparaging fiction about straight strip clubs.
Specifically, the "where did that come from?" observations of Crazy Horse. "Weird old men roaming around the lobby". There's not much of a lobby at CH. A foyer, one wall of which is solid glass to the outside. There's no door to the stage area, and the bouncer doesn't play host. And to reiterate the other comment: Crazy Horse is closed on Sunday til 6pm.
Very strange article. The world of the strip club customer (and that of the clubs themselves) can be very fascinating. However, throwing around this kind of fiction totally ignores the potential for great journalism. Or even adequate journalism.
1. You are correct! Going to strip clubs when you don’t want to go, when you’re not drunk with a group of friends, or just plain old-and-lonely is a bad idea. That was a key part of the story. The clubs felt sleazy mainly because “the really cool, fun, sexy women” who worked there had to crawl all over dirty old men for money. I was not drunk or desperate enough to ignore the oppression. I felt sorry for them and guilty that I was seemingly there to buy their attention. Very subjective stuff.
2. Businessmen don’t go out on Sundays? They never wear jeans? The people I saw at The Crazy Horse sure looked like businessmen to me. They were mostly dressed in casual-type suits (except for the weird dudes in the foyer, who mostly wore sweat pants) and they all had enough money to drop on strippers.
3. What exactly is a businessman anyway? A guy who does business? Nearly everyone fits that description. Also…I didn’t say the guy in jeans was a businessman. He wore glasses, New-Balance tennis shoes, and a pair of dirty-ass jeans. I could tell they were dirty because he sat four or five seats down from me.
4. I did not lie, exaggerate, or make anything up. You are correct in saying that the Crazy Horse is not open Sunday at noon, that it does not open until 6:00pm. I guess I should have said “late afternoon” or “early evening.” When does mid-afternoon happen anyway? Wouldn’t it literally be around six o’clock?
5. Do you really think I’m stupid enough to write about a place I have never been to? I went twice.
6. There is no difference between a lobby and foyer.
7. There is a door leading to the stage area at The Crazy Horse. The doorman led me to it.
8. I didn not use metaphors in my story.
9. We are all part gay.
Tell your co-workers down at the Horse I said hello,
Justin
To Justin's editor, you need to check this guys facts more carefully, a piece littered with errors and so clearly biased is embarassing to the SFBG and yourself. As far as it being 'fair and fun' I must disagree: Justin is denigrating the ladies (and men) that work at these places, and their patrons. His opinions shine through clearly while facts are ignored or made up; far from fair in my opinion.
I'm not an employee of Crazy Horse and I'm not any of the other posters - prove otherwise if you can. I've been a patron of the place for a couple of years and, since I never go when I'm not in the mood for the strip club experience, I always have a good time.
I don't see the point of writing an article from the perspective of somebody who doesn't want to go to the place - that's just weird and pretty worthless, it seems to me, unless your aim is to create an attack piece.
I find it rather chauvinist on Justin's part that the opinions, thoughts, etc of the female dancers were never solicited, while the male dancers at Nob Hill were, but then there are all these conclusions made about the "oppression" of the female dancers. Having had actual conversations with actual dancers at Crazy Horse, I can tell you that many are quite articulate and have lots of thoughts about their profession. Some have other careers, some are students, but they are all an interesting group of actual human beings, worth talking to as opposed to being saddled with this "oppressed" assumption.
I bet this article would have been a lot more fair and fun if the editor had written it.
You are right about a number of things.
1. I should have talked to the female strippers.
2.I should not have suggested that all the people I angered were actually the same person, and that that person probably works for the CH. I have no way of knowing that.
3. As an opinion piece, my story was indeed biased. To me, the girls seemed oppressed. Whether right or wrong, I felt sorry for them. That's all I intended to convey.
I'm sure I would have had a great time at those clubs under different circumstances. The story was about how I felt on one given day. I'm sorry that you did not like the things I said. You have all taught me a valuable lesson that I will carry with me on future assignments.
Thanks for your input.
-Justin Juul
Oh dear!
How sad! I always expected so much better of the Guardian. This was an extremely poorly written and obviously biased article. Its journalistic standards are about the same as one finds from extreme right wing commentators such as Rush Limbaugh, Ann Coulter, or Pat Robertson. It was clearly written with a specific agenda in mind, poorly researched and very clearly the view of one extremely opinionated writer. Is it possible that the references to "the Christian Sabbath" and "said a little prayer" in the second paragraph provide some hints to Justin Juul's undeclared agenda?
It's not that Justin is not entitled to his viewpoints or that the observations he described in the article do not occur in strip clubs, it's just that they represent only one extreme. In consequence they do not provide a balanced or representative assessment of the situation.
If Justin had done his research properly he would also have discovered that alongside those dancers that do indeed fall victim to the dangers of working as a stripper there are many who do not. They are smart, frequently educated and self possessed women (or men) who have made a conscious choice, manage the lifestyle risks and make a very respectable living in a perfectly legal occupation.
It is interesting that Justin's multi-point rebuttal of comments about his article was attack oriented and full of unsubstantiated accusations about the identity and affiliation of the writers. Such tactics are unbecoming of a serious journalist. They are however typical of a bigot whose position has been identified as extremely questionable if not downright indefensible, and interprets any criticism as a personal attack.
For the record, I have no affiliation with any of the establishments mentioned in the article, nor do I have any affiliation with any other business in what is sometimes called the sex industry. I have however been a customer in many strip clubs around the world which has given me a perspective based upon experience orders of magnitude greater than Justin’s.
To compare and contrast I would refer you to the commentary of Scott Simon on NPR’s Weekend Edition Saturday, February 10, 2007, “What's in a Name? A Face? A Sexual Orientation?” URL: [link]
Refer especially to the final topic on the demise of Anna Nicole Smith. Now that is a classy piece of journalism.
In conclusion Mr. Juul if you wish to be considered a serious journalist then I suggest you learn the ethics and skills of your desired occupation. You have certainly demonstrated that you do not possess them at the moment.
Furthermore, to the editors of the Bay Guardian: “Shame on you!” Where are your editorial standards? Guardians of what specifically I may ask? Certainly not of our revered “San Francisco values” which are reviled by right wing pundits. By allowing such an article to be published in your name you have called into question the validity of the very existence of your publication as anything else than yet another example of the gutter press.
Yours, sadly disappointed
Watcher.
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