Gaze for Gays: Queer Burlesque and Why it’s Important to Split Hairs

Photo: Ms. Bea as Art Deco Goddess, Shot by David Silverman.

Lately, there’s been a lot of chatter on this national burlesque list I’m on about the identification of oneself as a “queer burlesque” performer. Mostly the debate has been about whether-or-not moments of identity politics–e.g. casting only queers in your queer burlesque productions –is”fair” to straight performers. Also, a lot of the talk on the part of (I would venture a guess) mostly straight performers has been about how burlesque is a “safe place” to be a queer.

I debate these things not. Although I do disagree with a lot of it–from personal experience with being asked to de-queer my acts, requests to have acts be less “political”, and being asked to perform for crowds of largely straight men–I’m not going to get into that here. A lot of what has remained unsaid on said list, about heterosexual privilege will stay unsaid. My homo readers who are on said list who read this blog know what I mean.

I am pretty angry about all of it, but most of that has to do with a fundamental lack of civil rights and the idea of the part of most straight people that that’s acceptable or that it’s already been resolved. “Wait? You don’t have the right to marry yet?” It doesn’t have to do with performing or burlesque at all. Just about rights.

OK, so what is queer burlesque? I will take an excerpt from my own self from three years ago. This was published in the A Field Guide to Gay and Lesbian Chicago in 2006…And I wrote it–nothing like quoting your own self from a few years prior:

“Queer burlesque is an offshoot of the neo-burlesque explosion that’s been happening all around the world for the last decade. In essence, it is a revival of vintage stripping. It’s an homage to the original peelers of days-gone-by and a reclaiming of women’s bodies of all types. It’s one part Bettie Page, one part go-go girl and one part queer theorist. Now, before you go all Andrea Dworkin on me, queer burlesque, by its very nature, frequently feature acts that both celebrate sexuality and impart a political message, like feminist body art of the 1970’s. (Anyone remember Carolee Schneemann? Anyone?)”

What I want to talk about today is the idea of queer burlesque: what it is and why it’s vitally important to me to have a space that’s identified as queer.

I firmly believe that women of all sizes, shapes, colors and ages have a right to perform onstage and be recognized as their sexy selves. On the face of that statement, I’m sure many people would agree with me “Oh, yes! Everyone has the right to be onstage. Of course!”. But when it comes right down to it, many producers will only cast one woman of color, only have one “heavier” performer in the cast, and won’t cast anyone who doesn’t look a certain way.

Now, I’m not saying that queer burlesque is a Shangri-La of acceptance, that my shows are always incredibly diverse or that there are not straight producers who are the exception. But I am saying that it is more likely in a queer context that one will have a producer who is 1) a woman and 2) an actual feminist who practices what she preaches. The lesbian community, in general, is less likely to be tied to youth worship and the beauty myth. Have a question about that? Attend the Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival and look around at who is naked (hint, it’s not just who society would deem “young and beautiful”).

There is also something extremely important to me about the audience at a queer show. What I think is revolutionary about a queer audience is the idea that the visual spectacle and the entertainment presented is for their consumption. (Consumption is the wrong word…But hang with me here).

In the “real world”, it is not usual for lesbians to have the ability to engage in the privilege of being able to be the initiator of the gaze. We are not allowed to look at whatever woman we please and appreciate their beauty. In the best cases, we are made to think that we are making other women “uncomfortable”; in the worst, we are looked upon as lesbian predators. And if my personal experience is any example of what most lesbians practice on a daily basis, I would say that we subdue and bury our desire, so we’re not perceived as a threat to other women.

Either way, being the activators of the gaze has been the sole domain of straight men. In a queer burlesque show, the script is flipped on the gaze. Women are allowed to look at women, express their pleasure, and are encouraged to cheer, clap and engage in the pleasure of the spectacle and the sensuality of the show before them. At a queer burlesque show, all of the women onstage are there for their visual pleasure. I would venture to say that there is something that is revolutionary about that for the average lesbian viewer.

When I was in grad school, it was interesting to me that when I mentioned the “gaze”, some older feminist professors poo-poo’d me. They seemed to think that we were “beyond it”–or at least they wished we would be. The traditional notion of the gaze is the idea that women have been (in art history) the subjects of art and not its creators. Hell, the Guerilla Girls were pushing this point in the 1980’s NYC art world when I was a teenager dreaming of the day when I could be a revolutionary artist. It’s been around for a while. But what I haven’t heard too much about (and perhaps it’s because I haven’t read a scholarly paper since I got my MFA) is the notion of privilege of gaze for gays. (Gaze for Gays! I love it.)

The last point about queer-burlesque-and-why-it’s-important-to me–and then I will step down from my soapbox–is that as a femme, I reserve the right to be as feminine and over-the-top as I wanna be. I find something extremely political and empowering about being a sparkly diva and being so gorgeous and sexy onstage that even the straight men drool–and then being in-your-face about denying straight men the fantasy of “having” me. I love the power dynamics of being able to deny privilege that is expected. And flipping the script on what lesbians are supposed to be. About being all that I am and saying, “Plus, I’m a big old queer.” It does something for femme visibility, it makes the usual into unusual and–to borrow from my feminism 101 professor–it breaks down the blocks in the wall of hegemony.

And I love that.

What’s at Stake

I shot this photo last night in the studio, during rehearsal. I took the photo to remind myself that the reason why I’m doing everything I’m doing right now (re: day job) is to have more time to work on my art.

Yesterday, I had a great rehearsal with Faustina. We worked on both of our acts for the Guilty Pleasures show. It was nice to have one on one hanging out time with her. I really enjoy her and working with her. (Her style is so different from mine–I enjoy her feedback.)

Saturday night was amazing. The show at Uncommon Ground is really great. The venue is outstanding–they provide fancy craft service and free drinks for the performers, the pay is by “envelope” which works out to still more than most other shows in town pay, and the sound/staff are friendly and cool–and the women in the show are the best. Every time I do that show, I come home with a huge smile on my face. It is high quality and classy, which are two things that I strive for.

Today I have to go to work and work on a major event–an awards ceremony for young leaders–for next Saturday. It will be a hurried and engaging day. At the end of the week, it means that I’m going to get to meet and network with 35 of the best, smartest people working on race & poverty issues in the City. Some old friends are in the bunch, too. I’m really looking forward to seeing an old fellow activist next weekend.

But there are moments in both worlds that are poopy. Last week, someone told me that the feedback from one of the venues I worked with recently was that we were not the right fit for their venue. That in and of itself was fine, but the person went on to imply that the owner thought I was too old and too fat to be doing what I am doing. And then went on to insult some other girls–saying that so and so “could stand to lose a few pounds and trim up”– in town who I’m not exactly close to, but STILL. It was not right.

And there was also a moment at work a few weeks ago where I was walking into a meeting with my supervisee, talking about something performance-related and the other colleague already in the meeting was like “What are you talking about?” I replied that I was talking about my “performance career” and this person sort of wrinkled up their nose and asked “performance career?” with this sort of snide and snobby tone that made me feel about 12″ tall. (I find this person to generally be haughty, dismissive and full of themselves, but again, not right.)

In these particular moments, I have this out-of-body experience of not feeling right. Like something about me is gross and just wrong. I know that this probably is not the intended effect of these peoples’ comments, but I wonder if people even think about what they are saying before they say it. I have worked on not taking it to heart–and I definitely have enough supportive people in my life who contradict these messages–but damn. Irritating on the best days.

Luckily, the effect is no longer than I question what I am doing or think about steering off course. That ship has sailed.

So, I took the photo last night so I can remember why I’m doing each piece of what I am doing. As a daily reminder of the joy of performance and the complete bliss of working with such talented women. And to remind me that I have to move through those moments because of what’s at stake–the idea that I have that any woman can find her internal strength and sexiness through movement. And not just that we have the ability to do it, but that we have a right to find it and feel that.

Maybe I’m being little dramatic about it, but I think that’s a vitally important lesson.