In 1980, when I started stripping, the term classy strip joint was considered an oxymoron. By 1985, it was a marketable one.

In my career I’ve moved through strip joints large and small, pretentious and homely, across the country and around the world, and rarely have I encountered a word more weaponized against dancers (and even clientele) than classy. That word, and its close relatives upscale and gentlemen’s, were used to delineate a crushingly competitive set of standards for appearance and behavior and to drive up the revenue for clubs through cover charges, inflated drink prices, and extortionate tip-out practices.

I began working my way through college (it’s stereotypical because it’s true) at the Classy Cat (RIP) in Atlanta, Georgia. The name said “classy” but the place was literally tacky—the carpet sticky with spilled drinks, sugary shooters deliberately and surreptitiously tipped over by dancers attempting to entertain customers without...

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