Wax On/Wax Off

I've lived in New York, Miami Beach, Las Vegas, Santa Fe and now Lafayette, CO. I've pole danced in all those places, and therefore, have gotten Brazilian waxed in all those cities. While I may not be an expert, I know a thing or two about ripping hair off of sensitive body parts.

It was the mid '90s when I first received a Brazilian wax. As a matter of fact, it wasn't even called a "Brazilian"--nobody performed that service so it didn't even have a name yet. Suzanne, a pre-Goth chick working at Salon 123 on Fifth Avenue was discovered by my friend, Kina. I had never done any waxing whatsoever so I had nothing to compare it to. She was serious and intense and reminded me of Parker Posey wearing hardcore black stomper boots under her white aesthetician coat. I was intrigued by her long, jet black hair and perfectly blunt bangs. She was also quite an efficient waxer. I was in and out in 25 minutes. Salon 123 was a converted loft on the 2nd floor with 12 foot arched windows between every hair station and beautiful, creaky dark wood floors. It was a Greenwich Village/Chelsea clientele who apparently never waxed because while the rest of the salon was fairly luxe, the waxing room was barely bigger than the table it held. I called up one day asking for Suzanne, who always booked her own appointments. Unfortunately Suzanne was out, and the following conversation was...painful:
     Me: I need to book an appointment with Suzanne. She knows me.
     Her: What is it for?
     Me: (squirming) Um...she knows.
     Her: (immediately snotty) Well I can't make an appointment unless I know how long it'll take!
     Me: It's...a bikini wax...a FULL bikini wax...
     Her: What the hell does that mean?
     Me: (extremely agitated by now) She takes all the hair off my ¥%**y!
     Her: (meekly)...well you don't have to be rude about it...
As I said: nobody was doing it and nobody was getting it done then.

Miami was the exact opposite. There were waxing salons on every block and every place offered a Brazilian...for $20. The ladies were lovely, but clearly came from the Grip & Rip school of beauty. Some were more careful than others, but practically every time I got waxed, I came home with slightly burned skin in a very delicate area. I shrugged it off: it was pretty much what I'd expect for $20.

One would think that with all the showgirls and strippers in Vegas that there'd be a plethora of salons at extremely competitive prices. Perhaps there were, but I never found them. The one place I went to charged close to $80 and perhaps to offset the cost, I was given a hot pink thong as a parting gift. I did find one aesthetician that I liked, but she had plans to move out of state in the next few months. FYI: turns out that all the professional dancers had their hair permanently removed by laser. It seems that the price of the laser procedures would end up costing less than waxing for eternity. Makes sense, but who knew?

I did not hold out any hope that there would be any waxing options in the marijuana smoking, granola eating, Birkenstock wearing City Different. I was pleasantly surprised to find a salon close to the end of our 6-month stint in Santa Fe. The aesthetician was wonderful but the price tag was exorbitant. It was enough to make me consider going to aesthetician school and opening up my own waxing establishment.

So when we got to Boulder (yet another hippie-dippie town)  I was hopeful, but not expectant. My husband thoughtfully bought me a gift certificate to a chichi spa that our neighbor said was well-known in town. I was shocked that the receptionist was so condescending, unhelpful, and resentful. I almost left before the service even began. The spa was blissful but the waxing itself was only serviceable. The second time I visited the spa, the receptionist was new with a slightly better attitude, but the wax resulted in my very first ingrown hairs. For all the time I had been getting waxed, I had never suffered ingrowns or even irritation. As well, upon closer inspection, I found at least five missed hairs. I was beyond annoyed and heading towards desperate. As a pole dance instructor, I couldn't very well sashay around with a "situation" going on down there.

After two short flights of stairs, I opened the door to Waxing The City. I peered down the long, bleached hallway, and the receptionist welcomed me with a greeting and a smile. I asked if they took walk-ins and she replied sincerely: "we try to". She asked me if there was at least 2-4 weeks of growth (to which the answer was a firm "yes") and then went to see if anyone was free.  The waiting room was bright and pleasant, and before I could even settle down with October's Allure, I was asked to fill out an information sheet. There was a thorough checklist asking if I were on certain medications or pregnant, etc. It was professional and very appreciated by this particular client. Summer came in to introduce herself and lead me to a room. After explaining what she wanted me to do (again, very much appreciated because it left no room for wondering how much clothing to take off or which way I should face on the table), I requested a pillow because I was battling a mild attack of vertigo. She returned with a bolster normally used to prop oneself up in bed. I was grateful not to have to lay flat on my back.

Summer, a genuinely kind woman, chatted easily with me as she worked adeptly with the hard wax. The temperature was perfect--I never felt in danger of being scalded or skinned. She rolled up a towel to support my injured hip and I relaxed into the table. She revealed that she'd been an aesthetician for 13 years and had, up until recently, been traveling to Texas twice a month to work there. Clearly she was in demand and excellent at what she does in order for her company to fly her around, rather than merely hire another waxer. She worked quickly yet unhurriedly, casual in manner but extremely professional. Before I knew it, one side was bare and she was leaning in with her tweezers and lighted magnifying device.

Waxing The City has three tiers of "cerologist", their own term for waxing expert. The tier determines the pricing but is not necessarily an indication of expertise--it only means the amount of time the cerologist has been working at Waxing The City. When I checked out, I noticed there was no line on the receipt for a tip. Summer told me that tipping is not allowed, but that if I were happy with the service, they would like it if I would recommend them to a friend. I hope a blog counts!

A word of warning: Summer only works at Waxing The City in Boulder two days per month. The rest of the time she's in Denver. I really lucked out!

Glass Houses

When I first got interested in pole dancing, I spent countless hours at the computer watching YouTube videos. There were endless amounts of vids out there ranging from the novice to the industry dancer/semi-professional (there weren’t any real professional pole artists at the time like there are today). I was fascinated by each and every one of them. I identified with the beginners and loved watching them work out the same tricks I was trying to work out. I was in awe of the advanced dancers and favorited many of their “blooper” videos. My husband had to force me to turn off the computer and get into bed at night.

As I took more classes and learned more technique, somehow my views began to shift. Now that I knew what I was looking at, my eye became more critical. I gasped when I saw girls kick up into inversions, or monkey feet during pole climbs. I groaned out loud to see "wrong" arms, "wrong" legs, "wrong" music. (Yes, yes, I know I sound like a truly awful human being, but I'm trying to be really honest so stick with me to the end, ok?) I was tacitly vicious, for I never spoke my thoughts out loud, nor shared them in written comments. I sat smugly at home in smarmy judgment. (Can you see where this is leading?)

One evening I attended a student showcase at the studio where I took classes in Nevada. The registration deadline to perform had passed by the time I started at the studio, but I was a regular in the mornings and learned quite a bit in a relatively short period of time. It was very easy for me to be upset that I had missed the deadline. My friends consoled me, patting me on the shoulder and reassuring me that there would be another chance to perform soon. But inside, I was silently relieved, almost giddy really, that I was in the audience and not up on stage.

Which leads me to the turning point in this little story. I stared wide-eyed at a dancer who was attempting to sit up onto the pole from a headstand. She was clearly stuck and struggling and I was embarrassed for her. I glanced around at the audience, which consisted mainly of friends and family of the dancers.  I watched a woman clap her hands over her mouth, her own body twitching as if she wanted to jump up onto the stage to help the upside-down girl. A glance in the other direction brought me to another audience member muttering "come on, you can do it..." It seemed like everyone was cheering her on. No one looked away as if it were a humiliating scene not to be witnessed. Everyone was on her side and everyone wanted her to succeed.

I sat in my bubbling hot shame, wishing someone could have heard my previous thoughts so they could slap me hard across the face like I deserved. There I was, judging that dancer for not having the "perfect" sit up from a headstand, when I didn't even have the balls to even get up there to dance! I thought about all those videos I watched and all those girls I had criticized without ever having the guts to post a single video myself. It takes a thick skin to put a video up on a public forum like You Tube or Facebook, or to compete or even participate in a student showcase. Not only do you have to bear the opinions of narcissistic jerks like myself, you also need to allow yourself to be vulnerable to the process of creation. Those girls had the courage that I didn't, and until I found the stones to put myself out there like they did, I hadn't earned the privilege of uttering one single word--unless it was a word of unconditional support.

Several weeks ago, Boulder Spirals hosted our very first September Student Showcase. The girls did everything themselves, from choosing music to choreographing to rehearsing. I was ecstatic that girls brand new to pole opted to perform. Some asked me if you had to be advanced to dance in the showcase. I told them that the showcase was for any student who wanted to perform. If you had something you wanted to express, then you were welcome to do so, regardless of whether you were doing Russian splits or simply walking around the pole for four minutes. We were lucky enough to have professional pole artist, Holly 'Honey' Miely, close the showcase with a breath-taking, stellar free-style routine that left the audience on their feet, screaming and clapping. Stunning? Yes, absolutely! But it was no more impressive and inspiring than our incredible and courageous girls who signed up to perform in the Student Showcase.
Bravo, ladies, bravo!

DollHouse, dollhouse, doll house, the doll's house?

DollHouse, Dollhouse, doll house, the doll’s house...it seems like you can’t spit these days without hitting a pole studio with one of those names. How do I know this? Because I am co-owner of one and the spit is hitting the fan!

Ms M and I christened our studio, DollHouse Pole Studio, from Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll’s House. We saw Nora, the heroine, not only as a frivolous self-centered woman who is second-class to her husband, Torvald. We recognized glimmers of her self-realization, which are the roots to empowerment, whether the form it manifests is socially acceptable or not. We wanted to champion her innate understanding of her sensual power over Torvald, rather than vilify it. Every woman’s journey to find her strength is unique and Ms M and I make no judgements on the different routes taken. The concept for DollHouse Pole Studio was never about ‘objectifying women’ but giving women a safe environment to explore those paths. Our dolls aren’t fragile or helpless or only to be viewed from behind a glass case. Our dolls are courageous, brilliant, able to laugh at themselves, and always ready to encourage one another. This is the DollHouse that we hoped to create.

Before opening our doors in March, Ms M and I did a quick internet search and discovered one studio with a similar name residing in a town several states over, as well as a burlesque troupe located in another coutry. Six months later, two more pole dance studios have cropped up in the US with names almost exactly the same as ours. Again, those other studios were nowhere nearby, but suddenly we were uneasy. Had we been unknowingly sucked into the collective consciousness of pole studio owners?! Here we’d been mistakenly believing that our identity was unique, only to find that we were as common as a Prius owner in Boulder.

We sat down and did a lot of soul searching. We didn’t want to be lumped in with the other dance studios, nor did we want to be necessarily associated with the zillions of xxx venues that use some form of ‘doll+house’. Our business plan changed, grew and expanded, and we clearly saw that we, as a studio, had to follow suit. As Summer drifts contentedly into Autumn, Ms M and I would like to invite you to embrace the transitions that fill the air. We recently put up 8 new stainless steel PoleDanzer poles; we are currently stocking our shelves with new apparel and new shoes; we’ve got new classes, new teachers, new apprentices; and soon we will be offering a brand new Teacher Training Program.

You see, we realised that we are unique, regardless of what our name might be. Our identity wasn’t tied in with words. We saw that the studio was no longer a tiny idea that we birthed earlier this year.  It had grown and matured before our very eyes, due to the love given to it by you, our clients. It is your commitment to yourselves and your support of us, that fuels the studio.

Without “you” there is no “us”.

Please help us celebrate our new name: Boulder Spirals!

A Doll Dances

Change prickles the air all around me and I squirm uncomfortably. I’ve been trained to cultivate balance, to inhale and exhale, but I fail miserably as I dart from one activity to the next. I don’t feel like I’m breathing at all and my eyeballs ache from tension. I can’t concentrate and I want to throw something hard at the wall. There’s nothing that I am able to control and so I feel helpless. And I hate feeling helpless.

I’m playing a waiting game. Waiting to hear back from so-and-so, which effects the decision I’m waiting on from so-and-so, as well as waiting for work to be done, for choices to be made, for actions to begin. And so I am biting my nails, gritting my teeth, and pacing. Back and forth, back and forth. Still, I cannot make anything happen yet.

I search schedule after schedule of dance studios. I want to take class and work and sweat. I need to get my endorphins to release. If I’m going to have to struggle mentally, I might as well do it physically, too. But none of the times work out for me and I end up frustrated and irritated.

And so I dance alone. I choose music that is moody, indecisive, yearning and melancholy. It reflects my simmering kettle of emotions. There’s not enough heat to boil, but there is enough to agitate. My anxiety is tangible, leaving a flat metal taste in my mouth. Perhaps it’s related to the lead that I feel in my chest. I force my hands to uncurl from the fists they are automatically making and begin walking around the pole. I let the music move my body. There is anguish in my movement, tense recoil in my muscles. I don’t worry about the tricks, but I push my lines further and further. The angles that I normally make become more elongated as I reach as far as I can away from my center. I don’t think. I just am.

A Darn Good Post from A (Male) Guest Bloggist

Why every woman should take pole fitness:

Ok, to start this off on the right foot; I’ll just get it out there that I’m a guy, and no guy has any business ever giving women advice or telling them what is right. Just the fact it comes from a guy means its bs and he’s obviously wrong. So stop reading now.

I said stop reading.

Ok, if you’re still here you don’t follow instructions very well. I am going to voice my opinion anyway and likely be damned for it. So read at your own risk.

I’m a guy who loves to study women. Yes, in every creepy weird way I love to try to figure out what makes them tick. I know there is no answer; I know any answer is subject to change at any moment but for some reason it is all fascinating to me . I love the 1001 ideas of “what a woman really is “ inside every woman’s brain, all at the same time and the huge gap between those ideas and the reality of what women actually do and actually are. Women have a self-image that is constantly shifting within American society and their own personal self-image that is sometimes in direct conflict with society’s view and somehow in the moment it’s still the right way to be.  Sound confusing. I’m guessing it is and I’m only peeking through one window, who knows what’s really going on? 

So I guess I had better get to the point. Every woman should take pole fitness. Why? Look most women in the United States are constantly bombarded with images of what “sexy is” and why they are not. You allways having some short coming being pointed out to you by some magazine or commercial. You have to have “X” to be more perfect. I’ll let you in on 3 secrets. First, every guy knows the sexiest thing is confidence.  It’s just that simple. When you are confident everyone wants to be around you. Second everyone can be confident. If your not born with it you can learn it. Get naked, look in the mirror and say, “This is what I have!” and be truly happy with what you have. It’s freaking special there is only one of you in the universe, and there will never be another. Which brings me to secret #3: someone out there thinks the worst part of your body is more than just awesome but likely has some fetish about it. 

Years ago all women thought huge asses were bad. Now thanks to J-Lo and Kim Kardashian, anyone with a huge ass now carries it with tremendous pride. And if you missed the memo, get out there and be proud of your huge ass, ‘cause most men love it. One personal example, my own wife is a 99.5 pound Asian (who have their own fan club following them) was living in South Beach. She loved the attention of being the "the token Asian girl" around all her gay friends, BUT; when she got pregnant (not a little preggers, I mean the two, maybe three chins and the funny waddle going on) the Latin guys went crazy. It was the first time she had guys whistling at her walking down the street. When she thought she was at her worst,  there were still guys more than willing to flirt and be, what I would call, our normal idiot selves. The reality is: for every body type there is some group of men who would put you on a pedestal. Did you know there is a fetish for almost every part of a woman, and usually it’s some part they try to hide? The muffin top is the Holy Grail to some men, the flabby part on the underside of your arms, drives some men nuts. Hey-- you with the crooked toes, there is a group of men dying to kiss and honor your feet. Really, all us guys are not that hard to find, you just have to learn to be confident with what you have and suddenly you will find hundreds of them. And like your friends say, don’t take the first guy who loves your creepy toes, there are others out there. (Trust me, really!)

Which brings me back to the point: you need somewhere to practice your confidence. There is no better community than a place where other women are just learning to move their bodies in that same way, too. Did your mom really teach you how to walk in heels? When did you ever practice being sexy? Where do you practice the wink and the partial lip bite (god that’s hot!). Where do you get to practice saying, “This is who I am and screw anyone who disagrees.”?  Pole studios are the only place I know of where women can learn and practice these things, plus get in shape, and make some great friends. A pole studio offers all this and more.

Look, as a guy I have a vested interest in seeing women be happy. The happier women are surprisingly the more things in the world are not my fault and I get to have more fun. So there is no reason for me to lie or make dumb suggestions.

I’ll be brutally honest. Your mom lied. Bad girls do have more fun.  Society lied--there are no barriers or lines in the sand. You can be a great mom, a dirty slut, and a successful businesswoman and not be a bitch. You can be a dom and a sub in any situation and change your mind at any time, and still be in total control. We think in black and white terms, yes and no answers. We all know reality isn’t that simple, and neither are people--especially women. We are moving towards a society where roles are not defined by genitals and where you put them, and it’s going to be as confusing as hell for a while. So put on some lipstick, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

There are skills you know you don’t have. There is a level of confidence you wish you could attain. A pole studio is a fun safe place to practice, play, succeed and even sometimes fail. When you do occasionally fail you will have tons of support on how to get back up and try again.  Gyms and diets are about making a new you. Pole fitness is about finding the you that is already there and just helping you believe in her.

One class is all it takes; trust me you will get hooked. 

A Dancer of a Certain Age

The first pole dancing videos I had seen on YouTube was of TaraKarina, the Vertical Ballerina. I remember being shocked to discover that she practiced 9 hours per day. As I took a closer look at her information, I realized that she was in her early twenties at the time, and that she was using pole dancing as therapy for her agoraphobia. I justified that I couldn’t possibly devout more than a 1 hour class per week, due to my husband, my toddler, teaching Gyrotonic and Gyrokinesis, as well as ordinary day-to-day household stuff. I protested that I was very, very busy, but the major factor that prevented me from swinging around the pole for hours on end, was the fact that I was fast approaching the big 4-0, and my body simply wouldn’t allow me to do so.

For my age, physically I was in moderate shape. Before my pregnancy, I had a strict and demanding yoga practice. Three days after learning I was already 9.5 weeks pregnant, I was in a scooter crash that left me bed-ridden for several weeks. The baby was fine, but I was going mental. I had gone from daily Mysore practice and teaching 3-5 yoga classes a day, to laying still and watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathons. I recovered, but never had the opportunity to regain all my strength back. So when I began pole dancing, I was not at the peak of fitness and my endurance was extremely low.

There is a tremendous excitement in learning anything new, and pole dancing is no exception. Many self-taught pole dancers tend to rush into learning new tricks, as there is no one there to stop them or correct them. I was fortunate enough to have a pole studio nearby and their curriculum only allowed for 3-4 spins per week. When we moved and I started at a different studio in a whole different part of the country, the instructor who taught the one class I could regularly attend saw that I had solid fundamentals, was fairly flexible, and was light enough to invert easily. She excitedly began showing me how to flip up, and unfortunately, her teaching relied heavily upon repetition. I don’t think she once asked me my age, but later on, I figured out that she was at least a decade younger than I was. She meant well, but I suffered my first injury with her that lingered for almost 4 ridiculously long months. I kicked myself for being so stupid. I had previous completed a certification in beginning pole dance and I used to regularly remind my yoga students to always listen to their own bodies, not push too hard, and to leave any ego at the door. I was properly chastised and hung my head in shame.

I switched to another studio, a little wiser, a little older, and a lot more cautious in my body. I took a lot of beginner level classes because they gave me a chance to heal, as well as develop my strength in a regimented way. Most of the other students were around college-aged, and because they were young and unburdened with injury, they eagerly devoured new trick after new trick. They never had the need to warm up, nor did they ever learn the actual technique of a move, but rather the gross instruction of how to get into it. I winced every time I saw one of these girls fling themselves into an inversion and kept waiting for a cry of pain that never happened. I was amazed. It was the raw power of youth that protected them from getting hurt. Was I perhaps more than a bit jealous? Oh yes! I would fondly reminisce about the “good old days, twenty years ago”, when I could do those kinds of gymnastics without a second thought. (Or when it didn’t take 3 full days to recover from 1 evening of drinking…) But I was also grateful for where I was in my life, in the use of my body as an expression of dance.  I clearly saw the distinction between how I did a fireman spin, for example, and how a younger girl did hers. I was building technique whereas she was impatiently waiting to perform the next trick.

There is an integrity that exists now in my almost 43-year-old body, due to the safe progression I’ve exposed it to while learning how to pole dance. My dancing is slow, controlled, and well…mature. I know which muscles to engage and which to relax. I’ve experienced enough in my life to know to use the grace and power in an arm gesture to tell a story, rather than rely on the wow-factor of a big, splashy trick. I no longer suffer the big injuries that come with improper technique, but do occasionally become afflicted with the little injuries that happen when one gets older. These I accept as nature, instead of something I've tried to do against nature. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t watch a fantastic pole video starring a phenomenal 20-something year old and feel the dull slap of envy. When I was younger, I would probably have desperately wished to have been her. Nowadays I'm pretty happy with how I am, but I do wish I had her ability/agility. I am not afraid to tackle the advanced tricks--I'm just prepared that it will take me a lot longer to nail them.

Right now I am struggling with the Plus Sign, a move that my 19-year-old friend performs with stunning ease and a lightening bolt of pizzazz. I’m taking my time with this one and I’m fine with that. I don’t care whether I get it tomorrow or by the time I’m 48. I have no time limit or expiration date.

My Gripe About Grip

Fact: The human body has millions of sweat glands, and more than half of them are located in the hands. When the body becomes agitated – through physical activity, extreme temperatures, or stress – the sweat glands release sweat to help cool the body back down to its optimal temperature range.

General Observation: Women new to pole often confuse the combination of adrenaline (which results in sweaty palms) and lack of pole-specific strength with the obsessive need for grip aid to stay on the pole.

Time and time again in studios all over the country, I’ve seen well-intentioned instructors supply a brand new student with every grip aid possible. In my humble experience, unless the student has the medical condition, hyperhidrosis, or excessive sweating, it’s not that she lacks grip in her hands, it is usually that she lacks strength in her hands. For example, I was helping out another instructor who was teaching beginners and one student kept complaining about her sweaty hands. The Wonderful Teacher gave her a grip aid. New Student tried the one spin that they had previously been taught, and declared flatly: “It doesn’t work.” When I asked New Student to wash her hands, I took the opportunity to clean her pole. I was shocked by the extreme sticky-ness.  I wrapped my hands in a baseball grip (with the towel between my hands and the pole) and easily pulled myself into a pole pull-up from a dead-hang. New Student returned from the bathroom and happily finished her class, but I’m sure she now firmly believes that she will need “professional strength” grip aid in order to pole dance.

Unproven General Fact: If you were to continue to practice pole dancing with regularity, you will get stronger in your body and in your hands, your palms will get dryer, you will sweat less and therefore, your natural grip will improve.

DollHouse Pole Studio carries two kind of grip aid at the moment: Dry Hands and Grrrip. Dry Hands is a liquid that dries to a faint white, slightly chalky substance. The website makes the claim: “So effective, it actually repels water.” The Grrrip spray is advertised as a “Dry non-sticky and non-tacky grip and hold enhancer.” Both are available for use in class, as are Wet Ones wipes, spray bottles of water and alcohol, and microfiber towels.

When necessary, I will direct Level 1 students to use the Grrrip spray on their hands if the normal cleaning, then drying with a microfiber towel does not suffice. Grrrip is probably the most mild commercial grip aid that I’ve encountered. While it keeps your hands “dry”, it still allows you to practice spins. Some overzealous students will reach for the strongest grip aid and then tear the skin off their palms during spins. I usually will go no further to intervene. (Ah, but there was the time I bought Football Receiver gloves for a student who professed to being “super sweaty”. I also bought for her liquid hair spray and shaving gel just in case the gloves didn’t work…) A little FYI for those who think I sound like a Dragon Teacher: once you progress to learning aerial holds and moves, then I’m all for grip aids!

So here are a few tips that might help enhance your experience in pole class:

1) Wash your hands before class:

New students, no matter how clearly it is stated in our website, will inevitably come to class with lotion on their bodies and therefore on their palms. I understand the aridness of the climate—I used to live in Santa Fe, NM and Las Vegas, NV before moving here—but please, please, please, wash your hands and rinse thoroughly before even touching a pole. Even though you can’t feel the lotion on your hands, the minute you start to perspire, it’ll be all over your pole. You will not be able to properly grip, you will be upset, and you will walk away erroneously thinking that pole dancing is “not for me”.

2) Clean your pole:

Hold a white hand towel open in your hand and spray the alcohol solution into it. Then wipe down your pole. There are two reasons why we ask students to do it this way. One, if you spray directly onto the pole, the mist gets all over the floor and if you’re wearing 6-inch heels, that is the last thing you need to be worrying about, and Two, the alcohol will also end up drying out your palms to some extent. If you’d rather not share towels, please help yourself to Wet Ones. When your pole is free of grit, wipe it dry with a microfiber towel. Mary Ellyn Weissman of Empowerment Through Exotic Dance recently introduced me to these little pieces of heaven. They miraculously add a touch of tackiness to chrome. I’m not sure how, but they work!

3) If you use grip aid, please read the directions:

I like Dry Hands. It’s my brand of choice. I’ve used many different grip aids and have always come back to Dry Hands. It’s not perfect—it will definitely wear off and you will have to reapply especially if gets very hot in the studio. How to use: a) shake the bottle, b) pour a nickel-sized drop into your palm, c) gently pat your hands together as if you were politely clapping to get the product on both palms, d) LEAVE IT ALONE FOR AT LEAST 20 SECONDS. Dry Hands needs to air dry or else it will not work. I’ve seen impatient students rub and rub and rub their hands together and then jump on the pole. Guess what? It’s no longer on your hands anymore—you’ve rubbed it away. If you need to reapply, go back to Tip #1 to get the best results.

Personally, I think there is good reason why grip is so challenging for new polers. They are not yet conditioned to the rigors of pole dancing and must move safely through that process. They must gradually build up muscles and work on dance vocabulary to get to the advanced tricks. Sweaty hands are nature’s way of telling us to slow down and be present before looking towards the future.

Does Size Really Matter?

The first time I held it in my hand, I was laughably inexperienced, but I remember thinking:”…eh, what’s the big deal?” I wasn’t terribly impressed considering all the hype. When I had it between my thighs, I was honestly frightened. It didn’t feel right or substantial. It actually felt…dangerous. I immediately jumped off. I was definitely not a fan of the 45mm pole.

In the United States, the commercial poles that are available are of 2 different diameters: 50mm and 45mm (apparently in Australia, the 38mm is popular, but it has yet to debut here).  The industry standard is 50mm, which means that in most clubs that feature exotic/erotic dancers, the poles measure 50mm in diameter.  Years ago, when the only girls who knew how to pole dance were industry dancers, it made sense that the poles that began to pop up for recreational use were the same as the ones in the clubs. As pole dancing began to creep into mainstream society and competitions were developing, it was simply accepted that if you wanted to compete, you had to do so on a 50mm pole.

When I started taking classes at Pole Fitness Studio (Fawnia Dietrich’s studio) in Las Vegas, NV, most of the brass poles were 50mm, but she had installed 2 that were 45mm (rumored to be for the use of Felix Cane). Petite women often prefer the smaller pole due to a better-proportioned grip. A lot of girls at the studio began gravitating towards them. Then they started praising the magical virtues of the 45mm. According to the talk, tricks were easier to learn on the 45. Being the stubborn traditionalist, I turned my back on the 45 and stuck loyally to the 50. It was my teacher’s suggestion, while I was flailing pathetically with a trick, to give the 45 a try. I would love to report that I nailed the trick…but I didn’t…and I hardened my heart against the skinny little pole.

Almost three years later, I found myself taking the best private lesson of my life…on a 45mm Xpert X-pole with Estee Zakar. I would say that most of it was the superior instruction from Estee, but that pole was definitely my friend that afternoon! Tricks that I’d never thought I’d ever get really did seem suddenly accessible. I actually felt stronger, strangely enough. Estee assured me that the 45 was going to become the pole used future competitions. I instantly thought of my friend, Laura, who asked for my opinion on the 45 vs. 50, and I emphatically stated that I would recommend the 50. Did I give her bad advice?

In all actuality, if you learn on a 50mm pole, it’s pretty easy-peesy to switch over to a 45mm. The same cannot be said for the reverse. I can see that the first time I tried the 45 in Vegas, my hand strength was not nearly as developed as it is now.  As a matter of fact, my over-all strength, stamina, and technique were at a much lower level than today. For me, I feel like I’ve finally graduated to using the 45. But I would not have gotten to this point without using the 50. While I’m grateful to all the 50s that I’ve encountered in my life, I’m at last ready to embrace the 45. Yes ladies, it's true...size does matter.

Indomitable Dolls

Friday nights are party nights and this Friday at DollHouse Pole Studio was no exception. The Organizer and seven friends were there to help Birthday Girl celebrate in style. For 75 minutes, these sexy ladies laughed, learned pole tricks, practiced a lap dance, and then free-styled to rocking 80’s tunes. The dress code for this portion of the evening was strictly feather boas and stilettos. At my suggestion, one Guest donned a pair of our “practice” shoes and delightedly whirled around the pole in 6-inch Lucite heels worthy of Pammy Anderson. Flashing digital cameras and cell phones captured moment after moment. The ladies whooped and whistled as Birthday Girl, who later revealed to us that she has a pole at home, broke into several daring spins, showing off her skill and strength.  The temperature rose and the feathers were flying.

Ms M and I were impressed by what we saw: these women had muscles clearly defined by Yoga and/or Pilates and/or circuit training and/or running. If Birthday Girl was any indication, then most of these crazy, confident women were in or around their late 30’s to their early 40’s. Unlike parties I’ve taught where the crowd was younger, these ladies seemed very secure with themselves and where they were in their lives. Most were moms balancing a career. The energy in the room was intoxicating and extremely powerful: everyone was there to support Birthday Girl and remind her how special she is to them.

As their party at DollHouse Pole Studio drew to an end, they changed into clothes suitable for the cocktails awaiting them at a chichi lounge in Boulder. DollHouse Pole Studio does not serve alcohol and these ladies had worked up quite a thirst. While waiting for Banjo Billy’s Party Bus (http://www.banjobilly.com/), Organizer confided in us that Birthday Girl had been going through a stressful time. She said that it was the first time in a long time that Birthday Girl was relaxed and happy.

I was suddenly reminded of the potency of friendship amongst women. Yes, there is that stereotype that females can be catty and stab one another in the back (i.e. any of the Real Housewives), but our girlfriends are our true lifelines who can often understand us when our spouses can’t. They will listen to us rant and rave, without offering a “solution” to our problems. We can discuss deeply personal issues as well as happily indulge in some mind-soothing retail therapy together.

We waved goodbye to the Party Bus and proceeded to sweep up the feathers and put our studio back in order. “Don’t you think that they’d be such a fun group to go out with?” Ms M asked. I smiled and nodded. I had been thinking the exact same thing.

Playing in Someone Else's DollHouse

     My sisters love to ski. Their husbands love to ski. My nieces and nephew love to ski. Me? I'm lukewarm about it, at best. My husband enjoys snowboarding, but not enough right now to do it more than a couple of times per year. And because we're not very enthusiastic about the sport, our 5-year-old son has the same response. Despite this, we still look forward to our annual family ski trip to Park City, UT. It's a 4 or 5 day vacation where the cousins get to know each other again and play, and the adults eat (quite well I might add as my sister is an astonishing cook) and drink, and drink, and drink. This year, I decided beforehand that I was only going to ski (ie. fall down a lot) only once, and use the rest of my time to take classes at Studio Soiree in Salt Lake City.

     Several days before the trip, I checked out the Studio Soiree website to see what their schedule looked like. I had seen some Soiree girls at Jamilla Deville’s workshop in Vegas three years back and was astonished by their strength and dedication, so I knew that Studio Soiree wasn’t one of those places that only taught girls to pose against the pole.

     I was pleasantly surprised to see that they offer a class in Park City at Park City Yoga, but unfortunately it was not during the days of our ski trip.  Salt Lake City is about 35 minutes or so from Park City and I was so excited about taking a pole class from a new teacher that the distance wasn’t an issue. I was determined to make use of my limited time there so I chose three classes: Intermediate Pole Dance Fitness, Open Soiree, and Intermediate Fundamentals. I was particularly looking forward to the last two classes as they were taught by Lizz, the founder of Studio Soiree. I had heard many wonderful things about her. Their online web scheduler wouldn’t allow me, as a new student of the studio, to register for an intermediate level class, so I ended up calling Studio Soiree and speaking with a very nice person who overrode the system and made the reservations.

     The day the three families arrived at the rental house in Park City, Bean jumped off the upper level of the bunk bed and hurt his foot. Dr Sister’s diagnosis was most likely some soft tissue damage with a tiny possibility of a hairline fracture. Lawyer Sister stood on hand in case we needed legal advice (just joking!). Bean’s ski trip was over. And so was my eagerly awaited sojourn to Studio Soiree. The kids were supposed to attend ski school from 9am to 3:30pm while the grown ups had the whole day to ski or ride. Since Bean couldn’t ski, someone had to stay with him at home.

     Bean’s situation had not improved by the morning so I went about frantically trying to cancel my class reservations. On the Studio Soiree website, they recommend sending an email rather than calling, so to cover my bases, I called as well as emailed. I explained to them what had happened, apologized profusely and asked that someone please call me back so I could give them my credit card over the phone to pay for those three late-cancels. About an hour later, Lizz called me. She was sympathetic; she kindly asked about my son; she told me that she appreciated the fact that I made several attempts to cancel; she absolutely REFUSED to accept my credit card information; and then asked if I would be interested in attending class the following day. So basically, not only did I inadvertently screw them over, they actually invited me to come into their studio. Was this a Utah thing? I mean, I did read somewhere that Utahans were overall the happiest people in the nation…

     Despite planning on getting to SLC with over an hour to spare, I ended up walking 8 blocks in the wrong direction and ran into the studio at 12 noon on the dot. I breathlessly asked if I could take care of my payment at the end of class because I was already late. The sweet woman at the desk (who turned out to be Lizz) reassured me that I wasn’t late and that, of course I could. I walked into the packed pole room and proceeded to get my butt kicked by the amazing Lorinda.

     Lorinda is a woman who commands the space around her. It’s not only her beauty or her strength or her sense of humor (all of which are quite formidable), but it’s the fact that somehow, you can tell that she actually cares about you. She made me, the new girl, feel right at home. I remember one time she laughed at me laughing at myself, which of course, made me laugh even more. Her class was extremely challenging and there were plenty of elements that I’m still trying to work through.

     After class, I thanked Lorinda for the amazing class and when she asked me where I came from, I told her about DollHouse Pole Studio. She and Lizz comp-ed my class, gave me their email addresses and sincerely urged me to contact them if ever I had any questions about the business of running a studio. Lizz is the one of the founders of The Pole Fitness Association and one of her missions is to unite and empower studio owners. She is smart and savvy and truly understands the joys and the rigors of being involved in the pole community.

     I have never felt more welcome at any pole studio than I did at Studio Soiree. Lizz and Lorinda taught me that it’s possible to be graceful and compassionate yet still run a successful business. Their students are fiercely loyal and devoted to the art of pole. It seems that they’ve created a sense of friendship and sisterhood that has given the studio a unique personality. I can only hope that DollHouse will blossom in a similar way. I have the hopeful feeling that this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

Dolls & Choices

It’s been over three weeks since I last blogged. In some ways it feels like it’s been forever and in other ways it seems as if I just blinked my eyes.

The studio is seriously on its way. And I mean seriously! We’ve primed and painted, we’ve mapped out where we want to set up the poles, Mr. J and Husband are installing the flooring as I write these words, and I just found out that Miss M put in the order for the poles. Holy moly—I guess this is really happening!

While it hasn’t been a painless path, it does certainly seem that the Universe is holding my hand and skipping me down the road.  Everything just makes sense. When I’ve made choices that weren’t right for me, the struggle was endless. I’ve been with “bad” boyfriends for years, and although I don’t have many regrets, I look back at all that angst and wish I could have slapped myself awake. I’ve stayed at horrible jobs and spent every afternoon dreading going to work later that night. I’ve even temporarily put Bean into a school that I was apprehensive about, and for 6 months had to endure total chaos and lack of discipline. As soon as I remedied myself of those situations, the anxiety miraculously fell away and life was lovely again.

It is my honest belief that the Universe only wants the best for each and every one of us. All the signposts are there to lead us in the right direction. When we are wise enough to see and silent enough to listen, we’ll find that it’s all laid out for us—that all we have to do is take the first step. But when we go against what is actually the most constructive thing for us, we start running into issues that often hurt, and more than likely forces us back to square one. That’s okay, too. We’ve all been there, probably more often than we’d like. The best thing about going back to the proverbial drawing board is that it gives us the opportunity to start renewed and refreshed.  And that is exactly where the Universe is hoping to find us so it can flash us another user-friendly map.           

I don’t want to sound all esoteric and new-agey on you, so I’ll put it into pretty plain language: listen to your gut and trust your instincts. The Universe is on your side. Examine what’s in your heart and act upon your findings. Follow your bliss and respect yourself and others. Life is so much easier that way.

A Doll's Realization

I thought I'd be hung over for sure. Maybe even still drunk when I woke up. But honestly...nothing. You don't get hung over when you don't drink, and that's exactly what I did. I didn't drink to celebrate the signing of the lease and the handing over of the keys. To be honest, all I wanted to do was run like the wind out of there.

I was excited enough walking in there, with my pen ready and the LLC's checkbook in my bag. I had already exchanged a few emails with Miss M earlier that morning and we laughed about how we were both giddy with butterflies. Miss M and her husband, Mr J, were already there when Husband and I arrived. We all walked around the studio taking measurements and imagining what the space could eventually look like. Landlord and the men discussed the demolition and the more technical aspects, while Miss M and I talked colors and motif. I even made Miss M pose with the deposit check while I took pictures on my cellphone. I think my adrenaline peaked when we tested out the keys that Landlord handed to us.

When Landlord left with the check secure in his pocket, the little whispers of doubt began caressing my head. Had I made a mistake? Would I go down in financial flames? What if Miss M decided she wanted out? What if I wasn't good enough? What if we threw a party and no one came???? This is why I was an independent contractor for so long: I could come in, teach my class, and then leave. I wasn't involved with the day-to-day business side of things; I wasn't responsible for anything other than teaching a good, quality class. My stomach tightened and I fought the urge to sink down to the ground in fetal position.

Fear of failure is a laughable concept to someone who was never expected to succeed much in life. But fear of success is a real bitch. I think what scares me silly is that DollHouse Pole Studio really has a chance to make it. I'm not talking about world domination (although one can only hope...) but I'd be thrilled with creating classes that might inspire women to find their own power. And Boulder is ripe for the experience. My old friend, Bootsie, once said "if you keep on doing what you've always done, you'll keep on getting what you've always gotten." Well, what I've always gotten doesn't seem very fulfilling anymore. I've always played it safe with the comfortable net of failure to catch me. So with that in mind, it's time to pull my head out of the sand and take a risk. I could run frantically after Landlord, rip up the check and dissolve my partnership with Miss M, or I could grow up and see where this ride is going to take me.

I sat down on the floor of the soon-to-be DollHouse Pole Studio with Miss M to calculate the days until a Grand Opening.

Dolls in Space

It is said that nature abhors a vacuum. If so, nature must have been extremely annoyed with me these past few years and recently sent me an avalanche as a retort!

It all happened so fast: Miss M and I decide to open a pole dance studio, we form our business, we take a class at SBDC, we look at properties, we're discouraged by said properties in relation to the asking prices, brokers don't return calls or are plain rude, and then, boom, we found it--a great spot with a rent that could not possibly be beat. We are thrilled, we are nervous, we are giddy, we are apprehensive. Every emotion on the chart ran through us in the course of a week. And then we got down to business.

Four revisions of the Letter of Intent later, our Commercial Real Agent (CRA, for short) sent us a lease. Miss M and I were flabbergasted. It was a simple document of nine pages but we poked it gingerly, as if it were a bomb ready to detonate at any minute. Perhaps this was the influence of SBDC Lawyer. She scared the bejeezus out of us and rammed a fear of the IRS and the Bar Association down our trembling throats. Surely we were not capable of signing a lease until a legal professional picked it over with a fine-tooth comb! So we sent it off to a legal service and crossed our fingers that whomever it was assigned wore a skirt longer than Ally McBeal. In the meantime Landlord was literally drumming his fingers on the table. There was nothing to do but wait to hear back from the legal people. We thought we'd be productive and go get our business license from the City of Boulder and also see what we'd need to do in terms of permitting and zoning. Oy, what a headache.

We learned from the Permitting office that we'd need to do X, Y, Z and that we'd need a licensed Contractor or a registered Architect to stamp the work. It was a harsh hour of building codes and mechanical codes, and occupancy loads. In all actuality, the information was harsh, but the permitting guys were a blast. They got a particular kick out of picturing men pole dancing. I'm not sure what they were seeing, but they both turned three shades of red each. Miss M and I left there with our heads spinning but with a fairly clear idea of how to proceed. It was going to be a ton of paperwork, dotting i's and crossing t's, as well as a bigger build-out than we had anticipated.

Yesterday was when the avalanche really starting gaining momentum. We unexpectedly got an appointment with SBDC Lawyer (it was offered for free for anyone who took the class) and while I'm pretty illiterate in legalese, I think she indicated that we were definitely on the right track with the work we've already done and she seemed pleased with the questions we were asking. She generously gave us two hours pro bono and we couldn't have been more grateful to her. Then the legal people called and said that we were in good shape with the lease. Then CRA called to ask whether we were ready to sign (not too subtle there, CRA). Then we contacted Landlord to make an appointment with him for tomorrow to sign the lease and exchange the deposit check for keys. Then we ran to the bank to establish our brand new business account.

Last night I was numb. For three hours after Son went to bed, my mind was buzzing but in a really nebulous way. I couldn't focus on anything but I couldn't quite relax either. It wasn't necessarily unpleasant.

If avalanches are the result of pursing your dream, I'm happy to be buried temporarily.

We're signing the lease today at 1:00pm!

Building a DollHouse: Blueprints

As a first generation American, the third child of immigrants, many ideas were drilled into my head. The three most, shall we say "constructive", ones are: 1) be your own boss and own your own business (although being a physician in a hospital was allowed), 2) if you must borrow money, better to do so from family than from a bank, and 3) own your house free and clear and nobody can take it away from you. Despite some other more colorful world-views, these three concept still ring true after all these years.

I've always wanted to own my own studio whether it was dance, Yoga, or Gyrotonic®. I've worked as an independent contractor in so many of them, I thought that it was high time to strike out on my own. In 2010, I decided that I would open a pole dance studio. The only problem was: where? We were living in Santa Fe, NM, knew we weren't going to stay, and we were trying to decide where we wanted to put down some roots. Aha! Boulder, CO! There was lots of hiking, we all loved the mountains, there are roughly 300 days of sunshine, the public school systems were excellent, and maybe best yet, the market for pole fitness was virtually untapped.

And then I hooked up with Miss M! She is a dynamo of a woman, with super duper brains, the body of a goddess and the face of a model. She shares my vision of creating a space for women to discover their self power through the funnest medium we know: pole dancing. Miss M and I are a great fit for one another. Areas in which I'm weak, she's strong, and vice versa. I think this is going to be a beautiful partnership.

Now all we need is space...