Far be it from me to discourage people from getting turned on in their pants areas, but the most depressing thing about this story about a Rick’s Cabaret opening near DFW International Airport is not that Dallas will be home to yet another strip club, but that that whole world–you all are coming to the Super Bowl, right? wanna rent my apartment for the week?–will be greeted in February by what has got to be the world’s most snooze-worthy present iteration of human heterosexuality.
Yes, all of the things you would think would piss me off about strip clubs continue to piss me off–objectification of women, power imbalances, etc.–but the thing that gets me more than anything else these days about the whole mainstream stripper aesthetic is how downright boring and reductive it is.
Strip clubs are the sexual equivalent of saying your favorite band is Train. It’s saying, “Yes, I can’t come up with anything I might like better than this ubiquitous schlock that dictates I and my partner(s) look and behave in certain limited ways.” It’s saying, “Man, that ‘Hey, Soul Sister’ song is some really deep shit.”
This is kind of a reason I love feminism and being a feminist. Eventually, you realize Train is a crappy band and start listening to really interesting things. You start thinking outside the box when it comes to the bedroom (haha! oh my but I am funny.) and see that there’s more to both female and male sexual expression than glitter and Kid Rock songs. Allow me to mix a metaphor: feminism means you don’t have to get off to ‘Drops of Jupiter’ every night.