Did a little digging and found a photo (swipe for it) of 2014 me, awkward, dorky and just completely exhilarated after seeing the first ever burlesque show I’ve been to at the Slipper Room in NYC. I was trying to follow my witch momma, @veronicavarlow ‘s footsteps, yet I barely had enough cash to properly tip and C strings seemed like some sort of inexplicable sorcery to me that made me blush, but I was struck. The goofiness, the glamour, the dancing, the music, the artist sketching all the acts, sitting in the corner at an old piano. It was so New York, so magical, and I was in the middle of it, although I kept telling myself that I didn’t belong.
Six heavy years later, I’m in San Francisco, dipping through backstage curtains, decking myself in rhinestones and latex, shimmying until I can’t breathe, I’m happy to announce that when you feel at home in a space, no matter how much you try to rationalize the opposite, you did indeed find your place. I tried to tell myself I was too big, awkward, talentless and boring to do burlesque. Thank FUCK that didn’t stick! It took six years but I’m so grateful I drowned those thoughts in tequila one steamy summer night last year and booked my first class at @fishnetfollies . Here’s to making 👏🏻 magic 👏🏻 happen!! 2020! Yes!! MOIC photo to indulge my vanity.
This post can also be understood as my coping mechanism to fight Aquarius season doomsday apathy, but eh, fuck it. Let’s get sentimental y’all. Tell me a story. I’m listening 👂 - 11 minutes ago