Could the average Penn student tell you how to set fire to your nipples? No? Well, it's probably because the average Penn student is not a seasoned ex-stripper like author Lily Burana, who now writes for GQ and Spin magazines.ÿIn Strip City, Burana moves us across the States in her final epic journey to discover the culture and history of stripping. She weaves a compelling yet true tale, showing us the upside of the constant pageant of strip clubs. Burana takes us all the way down to the nadir, stripping (ha ha) away the glitz and revealing the harsher reality of the business.
It is not the tales of drug abuse or low pay that hit home. It's Burana's past. Though returning from a hiatus, all is forgotten as soon as she hits the stage of the Pure Talent School of Dance for a refresher course. Naturally, as the only school in the country dedicated to professional exotic dance, it is taught inside a strip club. (Perhaps Bio 101 should meet at Wizzards.)
Burana takes the stage name Barbie Faust, after casting aside Summer, Angel and Cherry. Since she escaped unscathed the first time, Burana feels that a final year will not be too difficult for her. However, as the book winds its surreal way through American strip clubs, one gets the sense that strippings Barbie-pink tentacles are taking hold again. Burana cannot escape the fact that stripping empowers her, and that she makes good money. Seriously good money--as much as a $1,000 dollars a night for dancing. The problems come when she deposits it. How many bank managers like receiving that amount of cash in ones and fives? Burana reveals that all strippers say they're waitresses, with the world's biggest tips. She should name Revlon's next nail varnish color "I'm Not Really a Waitress," a hooker red.
Stripping is a facet society that many don't like to talk about and that its members defend to the death. Ironically, Burana's sister is a Methodist preacher who notes that while Burana can criticize her world, she won't let anyone else do the same. Burana tells us how some strippers, who inject heroine between their toes to avoid track marks, end up with abscessed feet, unable to put on the requisite high heels. Her co-workers help her by spreading cocaine and lidocaine on her feet to ease the pain. This is one of the more touching moments in the book, when all the taboo is laid out and covered in sequins for the world to admire.
The exposure to a world never seen before from so deeply inside is fascinating. Yet in a world in which society expects women to accomplish the most they can, it is disturbing to see a successful journalist drawn back so fully in to a world where the depth of a tan counts for more than the depth of a thought, and a lack of cellulite is more important than a degree. Burana illustrates the total high that comes from being completely adored by an audience, even if the audience consists of grossly overweight, sweaty, depraved men. In essence, she becomes the first sociologist to work in a iridescent, bubble-gum pink mini dress and glittery mules. This book is a sobering eye-opener for many OCRS and Penn students.
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