The band strikes up, the red curtains whip back and it’s my cue to start my burlesque routine. Except that I am frozen to the spot in the middle of the stage and I realise I am totally naked. The lights suddenly come up so I can see the audience and it is all my ex-boyfriends sitting in rows, laughing and pointing.
I wake up in a sweat. Thank goodness, it’s only a dream. But then why are there four sequins stuck to the side of my face? Why are there Swarovski crystals twinkling away all over my eiderdown? And why is my dog covered in red feathers?
It’s not a dream, it is a premonition. I am about to feature in a charity performance with The Dollface Dames burlesque troupe and, as the Americans say, I am going to suck.
It seemed like a good idea when my friend Julia, a Dollface Dame, asked me months ago if I wanted to perform with them. I have always wanted to be in a troupe. I was flattered to be asked, at the age of 38, to join a group of twentysomething dancing and singing babes. There is life in the old girl yet!
Clearly I didn’t think it through. The closest I would get to Dita Von Teese would be as a scarecrow in her garden. I have always admired Dita for her commitment to looking like a lady, the way she is so well put together and wouldn’t even pop down to the shops without stockings, heels, perfectly coiffed hair and her face on. She is pure elegance, grace and femininity.
I am clumsy and a bit scruffy, and can’t even put eye shadow on without looking as if I have been in a fight. I am a person who can ‘scrub up well’, but people look very surprised when I do, which is rather rude. I think, subconsciously, this was why I said yes. It was time to embrace my femininity. Or at least find it and hold its hand.
I don’t want to get to 50 years old and still have scabby knees from falling over and mud in my nails. Dammit, I need some glitter in my life.
And I had seen the transformation since my friend Julia, stage name Mona Bella, took up burlesque dancing. Apart from the abundance of feathers in the house and small blisters from burning herself with her glue gun, everything she does she makes sexy. She can’t even lean over to check her emails without sticking her booty out.
She also made the burlesque world seem like so much fun – she was always coming up with a character for her next routine. We had a painter, a mourning widow, a sailor, a Greek goddess, a cheerleader, a bird and (this one really freaked me out) a nun.
Back in November, I made the commitment to be part of their show. And then I forgot about it. I didn’t think there was that much to it. I could just stand at the back of the stage behind the rest of the Dolls in a corset and swing my hips.
Apparently not. On the Monday before the performance that Saturday, Julia asked, ‘What music are you having for your solo so I can give it to the club?’ Solo? What? ‘You are not going to let me down, are you Emma?’ ‘Noooooo!’ I said down the phone, Googling ‘burlesque lessons’ with the other hand.
Yes, it was time to bring out the big guns. The Hell’s Belles Burlesque group sounded like my kind of gals, and they gave lessons. Which is how I ended up with my burlesque mentor, Jaime Rutter. Or ‘Detroit J’, her burlesque name and alter ego.
I was having severe anxiety at this point about letting Julia down and humiliating myself in front of hundreds of people.
But when I met Jaime at the dance studio for a one-on-one lesson, it was as though the heavens parted, a choir of angels started singing and it rained rhinestones as a blonde goddess descended on a glitter ball to rescue me from burlesque purgatory. I instantly felt better.
But not for long. In the dance studio, she put on some burlesquey-type music and asked me to unbutton my shirt dress and take off my bra sexily. I have been taking my bra off for decades, but faced with the prospect of doing it in a sultry fashion, I was stumped.
She then had me copy a few basic burlesque moves. At this point, I must confess that I have the flexibility of a corpse. I can’t touch my toes. As she did the sexy burlesque walk across the studio, I lumbered along behind her like a creature from Night Of The Living Dead. I couldn’t even master the hair flick. When she did it, it looked so sexy and flirty. When I tried to do it, I looked as though I was trying to dislodge something that was stuck in my ear.
According to Jaime, apart from great exercise, burlesque lessons are all about ‘bringing your sexy back’. ‘Every single woman knows how to be sexy,’ she said. ‘We have all turned on our charm when we have to. We just sometimes lose touch with it.’
It seemed that not only had I lost touch with my own sexy, it was in the witness-protection programme and there was no chance it was coming back by Saturday. How had this happened? However, I must confess that when she gave me a feather boa and some long satin gloves, I began to feel less like a Shetland pony to her thoroughbred racehorse.
‘A lot of women come to us and say, “I don’t know how to be sexy any more,” ’ said Jaime. ‘When they first come in they are nervous and shy, but they start getting into their body again and by the end of the class they have a bit more sass in their step.’
If I hadn’t had so much anxiety about the performance, I would have enjoyed myself more. But I left feeling even less confident than when I walked in.
Jaime told me I needed to go home and find some music that made me feel sexy, and then she could put together a routine. What kind of burlesque dancer was I? Neo-burlesque? Classic burlesque? Or did I want to be a character and have some humour?
Jaime told me to stop focusing on what I can’t do and turn my attention to the positive. So while my lack of flexibility might mean I creak around like a robot, I do have great rhythm (a youth spent on many a nightclub dancefloor will do that for you) and a sense of humour, both of which I could use.
So I decided that for my solo, my character was Eve in the Garden of Eden. That way I could also have props, which is a way of feeling less vulnerable on stage. I would have a fake snake, some apples and a tree to work with. By my next lesson, Jaime had a whole routine for my music – Eartha Kitt and then Goldfrapp for when I bite into the apple and turn into Bad Eve and start taking my clothes off.
The routine was quite brilliant. Once I had suggestively removed my clothes, I turned my back to the audience, took off my sparkly bra, grabbed two apples and turned around with them strategically placed before me. Once the fear of letting down the Dollface Dames had gone, I even started feeling a bit sexier. However, the actual removal of your clothes burlesque-style is an art. Burlesque is all about the tease.
‘It’s the same in life – you don’t give everything away,’ said Jaime. ‘You retain mystery. Leave a bit to the imagination. It keeps people coming back for more.
‘Burlesque is for women any age, any size, any shape. There is something sexy about every woman. If you are curvy, rock the curves. If you are busty or if you have a booty, show it off. Really accentuate whatever you love about your body.’
I was not loving my cellulitey bottom being reflected back at me from every angle in the walls of mirrors. And I wasn’t sure the audience would enjoy me jiggling it in their face. But then Jaime introduced me to my new best friends and one of the burlesque dancer’s secret weapons: Capezio dance tights.
Ladies, they are amazing. Tightly woven, they hold in everything in, smooth out cellulite, and if you strategically pull them you can give yourself a butt lift. Another trick they use is something called TANtalizer, a bronzing lotion by Lorac which covers all imperfections and makes your skin look incredible.
Jaime had given me everything I needed for my performance – I just had to be able to execute it. Every spare moment for the rest of the week was spent practising. Dancing around in my underwear for the first time felt a bit odd, especially as my only audience was my dogs, but rather excitingly I could at last introduce my fingers to my toes without bending my knees.
On Saturday, I woke up in a sweat after my nightmare. Things were not helped when I tried to do a dress rehearsal for Julia, forgot what I was doing halfway through and ran off and hid in a cupboard in shame. I still hadn’t made my tree for the garden and it was much harder trying to attach giant palm fronds and foliage to my Ikea lamp with my carefully applied long red nails.
By 8pm, I was tottering down Santa Monica Boulevard, huge tree in hand. At the theatre, the dressing room was a hive of activity. Half-naked and naked women of all shapes and sizes were clustered around the mirror, warming up, doing the splits and sitting around chatting. It was like school but more friendly, and with a lot of feathers and glitter.
Julia had advised me not to watch the rest of the performers, but as I was on after the interval I couldn’t resist. This was a mistake as it obviously made me even more nervous.
Burlesque isn’t about competing – it’s a supportive sisterhood – but as I stood backstage I was so scared I was dry-heaving. Not very sultry. My tree kept veering to the left like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
Julia was in the wings, dressed as a blackbird and giving me encouraging hand signals. My legs were shaking I was so nervous. I tried to remember Jaime’s advice – be confident and have fun. It helped that a burlesque audience really gets into the performances. They whoop and holler, and catcall. Well at least they had for everyone else . . .
The curtain went back, the music started – show time! Time to give ’em the old razzle-dazzle! Suddenly, my alter-ego and secret burlesque persona (Penny Tration) took over. I strutted, I flicked my hair, I arched my back and popped my booty – even when things went wrong.
Instead of winking and throwing my apple cheekily to an audience member, I launched it like a missile at his head and he had to duck. And I totally forgot my routine between taking off my second satin glove and twirling my snake.
Although I am clearly not a natural, there was something freeing about dancing around in my sparkly pants and bra with a devil-may-care attitude. And I got a lot of whoops and wolf whistles, and rousing applause at the end.
Afterwards, I was buzzing but that might have had something to do with the tightness of my corset. Back in the dressing room, I got a lot of sparkly hugs and I could understand the allure of being a burlesque dancer.
Penny Tration may have hung up her feather boa, but I take a bit of burlesque with me wherever I go. I wear mascara and lip-gloss every day, I have some new underwear just for me, I strut in the supermarket and sometimes I can’t walk through a door without striking a pose. And after I did the washing-up the other day, I found myself taking off my Marigolds with my teeth. # Source: The Daily Mail
