Photo by Johnny Crash Photography

Reflecting on 2011 (yes, still!) I have wanted to write a post about the top five things I learned about myself through burlesque in the old year. Yet, going over the year in my head, I am unable to come up with a suitable list, always coming back to just one thing: That I have rhythm. Not earth shattering, I know, but delving deeper I realize the significance. The story goes like this:

In 2006 I lived with a depressed housemate. Not mopey, puppy dog eyed depressed, but angry, poison spitting depressed, the type that turns self loathing outward toward others. In this time of my life I also loved to dance- free, unstructured, pure movement dance- the only type of dance you can do without self-consciousness or worry. One slow night my friend and I decided to put on some music and dance, just for the fun and sheer joy of it. And dance we did, from rock to hip hop to tribal electronica, we danced and danced and danced. It became an impromptu dance party in my kitchen, other housemates coming to join, including angry depressed guy. After one particularly spirited song he turned to me and said, “It’s really a shame. You have all the right moves, but no rhythm. You could be a good dancer.”

I stopped dancing. I dreaded dancing. I refused dancing. I avoided places where I knew I would have to dance. That moment drained all the joy, fun, and magic dance held for me and turned it into an enemy, one that became a constant source of anxiety and shame.

In the beginning, I never danced. I stood on the sidelines at parties or clubs until I was drunk enough to stop caring and move. The next day I would chide myself for what a fool I must have seemed. Next, I went through a rebellious phase, where I danced, dammit, whether I was off beat or not. These were my fuck-the-system-of-rhythm days. Finally, I went through what I believed was enlightenment, where I accepted that I was without rhythm and a bad dancer. I believed this the final chapter in my bad dancer saga, that the ultimate acceptance of myself was the final frontier.

The hardest thing for me about starting burlesque was allowing myself to be seen dancing. For years I internalized what angry depressed guy said to me. And for years I let somebody else tell me who and what I was. The final twist in my bad dancing story was that through burlesque I realized I did have rhythm and was not a bad dancer, I had only let someone else tell me I was. This moment came when I watched the video of my debut of my cow fan dance. This was the moment I finally saw myself as a dancer through my own eyes, letting go of someone else’s idea of me and embracing my own.

Last weekend I attended a screening of Miss Representation, a documentary examining the ways in which the portrayal of women in the media creates unrealistic standard of beauty, disempowering women on multiple levels. These images are used, instead, to create an influential consumer group of women who invest in beauty products, clothing, surgeries, and diet supplements in an attempt to meet these standards.

Watching the film, I asked myself how susceptible I am to this cycle. Certainly my femme identity adores my wardrobe, makeup brushes, nail polishes and hair dye, and the performer in me even more so. I enjoy mimicking an idealized type of woman and worried that this meant I was a puppet of advertising. I realized, however, that if I had asked myself this question 5 years ago, I would have struggled to accept my answer. Yet now as I watched the film I felt a growing sense of control over my femininity and presentation, both on and off stage.

When I began coming out as queer I was unsure of how to approach my gender. I knew I was femme- but I didn’t know what femme meant. Reading through queer-femme theory, I realized that, to me, a queer femme identity meant I was controlling my femininity.  I had a consciousness about what I was presenting and, although my tendency toward sequin berets remains unknown, I am in control of how I portray myself as femme. From high femme in spiky heels and mini skirts, to dirty femme in torn jeans and knit sweaters, each portrayal comes from a thoughtful process about my gender.

Burlesque is much in the same. We perform characters thoughtfully crafted and presented. Many of us perform femininity in a way that is well developed, a way that chooses the most powerful aspects of the female experience and highlights them. Although we may mimic images we see in the media, we are taking back assumptions about femininity and reframing and reshaping them to reclaim our power.

I once took a workshop with Scotty the Blue Bunny who said on stage we are in ultimate control. We invite, if not demand, the gaze of the audience and our consciousness of holding this gaze is what gives us power. Media and advertising pimp out the image of a woman and create a gaze to which we have not consented. Yet, as performers and femmes, we take back this image, redefine it on our terms, and choose the gaze we wish to invite. We are in power and we are fighting power- one rhinestone at a time.

Photo by Johnny Crash Photography

While traveling through Bolivia I had one of the most harrowing experiences of my life. I caught a flu that turned into a sinus infection, then into an ear infection, and finally into a ruptured eardrum and serious infection. For seven days, while I should have been exploring dinosaur fossils at the famous Parque Torotoro or cruising in through Bolivia’s expansive salt desert, I was holed up in a tiny, windowless room in La Paz. Each day, barely able to breath or hear, I watched as blood and pus oozed from my ear, my appetite diminished, my ability to get out of bed weakened, and my spirit shattered. I was broken for those days, lonely, panicked, and scared- in one of the darkest places I have been for years. Finally, having found an ear, nose, and throat specialist, I received proper medical care and was placed on three types of antibiotics, including one that I had to inject into myself.

I have never been short on inspiration for a burlesque act. Like most performers I have too many ideas, too many acts, too many costumes to meet my time and budget. Burlesque is an overflowing goblet of creative inspiration, it comes, it comes, it comes, and I become lusty and drunk off of its plentifulness. Yet, I have never choreographed an act that came from a personal narrative. The buzz I receive from burlesque comes from creating a visual outside of reality, being able to imagine and embody a fantasy- my fantasy.

As my health strengthened and I joked that I would eventually create a burlesque act out of the experience, and, as I listened to a song that embodied those sick days, I felt the act emerge. Still in bed, I moved slightly to the music, but as days went on, I moved more and more, feeling, remembering, reliving that week of being so ill I had given up. Moving through the music was immensely cathartic. Just movement alone released the terror and panic the experience had created in my body- that I was still holding in my body. It felt liberating. I was letting go.

Next, as I began to work out the expressions and reveals I felt vaguely guilty about making a serious experience sexy. It wasn’t that I was making light of my illness, in fact, the act was the darkest I had ever choreographed. But I realized by channeling the darkness of the experience into art and beauty I was transforming the way I related to the experience. I was rewriting my memory of it, taking away its dark power and reclaiming my body and health for myself.

The act took shape and each time I practiced I felt myself going back to that windowless room and feeling more and more in control. Now I was dictating the story and finally felt ready enough, perhaps strong enough, to share it.

Before going onstage I asked myself if anyone would really understand what I was saying through this act. I didn’t want to be one of those performers so self-absorbed with my vision that I had lost the audience. Yet, this act was for me, it was for me to heal, for me to let go of, for me to rediscover my strength and for the audience to go through that journey with me. In some ways it was self-absorbed, but in other ways it was a gift. It was sharing a piece of myself as, yes, entertainment but as something more, as a vulnerable human being.

And whether or not the entire audience understood at the end, when they applauded – I was free.

View “Sick and Beautiful” on Youtube! 

It is amazing the powerful effect the items we wear can have on our personalities, our self projection, and our overall focus. In Peru, the burlesque performer in me is subdued, dormant, laying blissfully on a beach somewhere waiting patiently to erupt again. I am the dirtiest here, the most un-femme, the most unconscious and uncaring of my appearance. I am in a neutral space, feeling neither feminine nor masculine, I simply am- in ugly clothes.

However, my self-esteem doesn’t falter here, my internal knowing and respect for myself is the same in a gorgeous sequin dress and rhinestone earrings as it is in hiking boots and torn jeans. There is an internal style, an inner fashion, that, albeit invisible, I carry with me, tucked away in the seams of my backpack.

Yet, I arrived in Lima yesterday and felt the femme roar, clawing at her cage, begging to be released. Perhaps it is, once again, finding myself in a metropolitan city, laden with stylish people. Perhaps I am surrounded by too much money, too many pebbled leather boots, and shiny miniskirts, that it feels mandatory. Or perhaps I simply cannot deny a piece of my personality for too long, because as the grunge breaths here, the femme needs to long, deep gulp of air as well.

In a desperate attempt to feel fashionable, and dare I say it, feminine, I cuff my jeans instead of letting them drag on the ground. I fiddle with the collar of my fleece, seeing if zipped down, half way down, or up looks the best (although I secretly know not even rhinestones can save a grey fleece). I trim my nails, put lotion on my ankles (that’s all that’s really visible) and even wear my thinnest, least baggy t shirt out in 60 degree weather. But to no avail, I simply feel like a mess.

Finally, I give in, and go to a fancy department store to try on a pair of sequin pants and hot pink blazer. I admire the outfit in the mirror, stand on the balls of my feet pretending I am in heels, take stock of my closet and ponder over what would go best, and then, I hang them back on the rack and leave. That was all I needed. A moment of glitz, a moment of fashion, a moment to appreciate my femme. I bury myself back in my grey fleece, uncuff my jeans, and return to my hostel, happy that, at least, I am warm.

Leroi the Girl Boi, projecting their style and my favorite performer of the weekend

Saturday night was the Tournament of Tease, where 31 performers and groups from all over the world competed for the title of Best Debut, Best Group, Best Boylesque, and Miss Exotic World. After Thursday’s focus on neo-burlesque and Friday’s classic performances by the Legends, Saturday night encompassed a range of styles as each performer gave us their version of burlesque.  During the intermission it was fascinating to ask people whom they enjoyed because the answer varied from person to person. People identified with a performer whose style stirred something in them, however this stirring happened on a unique and individual level.

As a new performer I often I feel self-conscious about my style of burlesque. I have a deep appreciation for performers who pay homage to classic burlesque and dance, however performing it does not move me. I fantasize about performing classic burlesque but always there is a twist that takes the elegance and juxtaposes it with the absurd. I often wonder if my version of burlesque is authentic or valid and worry I am perverting the art of burlesque by twisting it.

Saturday night’s lesson did not come from watching a showcase of different styles, it came from watching performers stand by their individual style and announce to the community- this is who I am as a performer. Performing is one thing, but allowing yourself to be judged as a performer and making your vision vulnerable is a whole other level of self-assurance. As I restrain myself from going as far as I want to in my acts, these performers were going the farthest they ever had- yes, to win, but to win as themselves.

Watching Saturday’s performers I learned that a quality of a great performer is to know (and accept!) who you are and to project that person on stage. It doesn’t matter what the style is, and who does and does not “get it”, it matters that the style is yours and that you stand by it with pride.

On Friday I took a rhinestone jewelry making class from Legend Big Fannie Annie and not only learned to solder rhinestone jewelry, but also learned countless tricks to the trade. These sage words of advice slid easily off her tongue- “Oh did you know you can clean your eyelashes like this?” “Honey, all you gotta do is pin it like that” “If you make it like this, it will be ten times bigger and brighter”. Some of the advice may seem simple at first, but the wisdom of the Legends stems from common sense knowledge that can only come from years of experience.

Friday night’s show featured the Legends and as they graced the stage, each act made me rethink what I thought I knew about burlesque (which fortunately isn’t much!). Judith Stein’s blend of humor and dance showed me that the right expressions could enchant an audience forever. Marinka’s use of the curtain, which she caressed, stroked, and grinded against, taught me resourcefulness. Tiffany Carter’s effortlessness coupled with her enthusiasm proved that to own the stage, you must love it first.

After intermission was the Burlesque Walk of Fame, where Legend after Legend was honored on stage to a roar of applause. Watching these bold women graciously take the stage, and remembering their laughter, lightheartedness, and wit back stage, it occurred to me that all these women took the strength and power needed to forge a movement and projected that to the audience, while remaining true to themselves. Each Legend was her own performer, yet woven through them was a groundedness and confidence that radiated on stage and are qualities I hope, someday, to have just a little bit of.

When we arrived on Wednesday the hotel sparkled, but not yet glittered, with performers. We were there, but we weren’t quite everywhere. Thursday, it seemed as if someone had taken the cap off the glitter, gave it a good blow, but hadn’t shaken out the bottle yet. Today, Friday, I imagine, the bottle will be shaken, flung, and strewn all over the hotel, as more and more performers, fans, and supporters arrive from all over the world.

Thursday’s performance was Movers, Shakers, and Innovators of Burlesque and it featured some of the best of neo-burlesque pushing boundaries and breaking ground in the modern burlesque movement. What doesn’t someone learn from watching experienced performers on stage? Everything from costumes, facial expressions, makeup, dance moves, props, entrance/exit, and character whirled through my head, but what last night’s performance really taught me was joy.

Performing burlesque is joy to me. The entire process, from conception and costuming, to character development and choreography touches a creative nerve that brings me to a new kind of life. While I am developing an act some deep reservoir of happiness explodes and the whole world is seen through rhinestone-studded eyes. Watching performers who I know were under the same spell as I am was a whole new level of happiness.

In the beginning I cheered, I talked the girl next to me, I was on the edge of my seat, feeling like a small town girl seeing a Broadway marquee for the first time. As the night went on my admiration, appreciation, astonishment, and awe for everything these performers brought to the stage moved me into a new form of joy. I understood what it was like to truly be an audience member. To watch, feel, and receive from the performer and to take what the performer gives me.  It dawned on me that the joy I put into creating an act is the joy the audience receives, that the feeling of supreme happiness is a performer’s gift to the audience.

I realized I want to give it, I can’t wait to give it, and when I give it- I’m going to give it hard.

Andi Stardust/ Photo by Green Le Fleur

Tonight my friend and I had planned to go out and get down on a much-needed date with the queer scene. Only problem: after a day of dental surgery and babysitting my friend was burnt. Facing the option of going out alone (and meeting some people I knew vaguely) or calling it a night, I felt myself crawl into the same hole of anxiety I felt when I first came out. Did I belong there? Would I be welcomed? Is it crazy (or cruisey?) to show up alone? Will I look like a loser if I dance by myself?

Facing these all too familiar jaunts at my, normally, healthy self-esteem I took a moment to really remember how it feels to be on stage, the music lifting me, the dance pushing out of my finger tips, and all eyes on me because I am dancing by myself.  I remember my muppet head, my astronaut helmet, my udder fans, and all my acts that have pushed the boundaries of sexy and remind myself that burlesque is pushing boundaries. Whether you take off a single glove or strip down to pasties and a g-string, taking your clothes off as art is outside of what most people are capable of. So why was it so easy for me to push boundaries on-stage but not in my own life?

I would like to think being on stage is wearing the ultimate mask; the separation between the audience and myself makes it feel safe to be vulnerable. It is easy to push boundaries because I tell myself it isn’t me. But, in truth, being on stage is the ultimate unmasking; when I perform I am showing people who I am beyond what they see day to day. The “separation” between the audience and myself is truly only a physical one and it isn’t Andi Stardust pushing the boundaries- it is me.

The Stardust part of myself is still teaching me, showing me, and pushing me. Tonight, faced with an old path or new direction, I decide to call Ms. Stardust in and let her take the lead. Whatever she is made of is mine, and let me tell you, when Andi Stardust dances by herself- she is no loser.

My first set of feather fans in action!

When I decided to do a fan dance I was shocked at the cost of pre made fans. Sure they were pretty, but it’s got to sing, dance, and pour me a shot of whiskey for $130 a fan. Although always up for a craft-challenge, I was intimidated by the prospect of making fans, especially because I had never even seen a feather fan up close! Now to make one?

After many hours of research I finally found beautiful, yet affordable, materials to make a set of fans I have received many compliments on and have already used in an act and photo shoot. All with only a glue gun and bit of creativity!

My hope is that this information will make it easier for other thrifty performers to make their own feather fans. The prices I quote are the ones I paid- I’m not sure if this is tacky, but at least you’ll get a sense of your budget!

Part 1: Gathering Your Materials

Find Your Feathers!

The recommended feathers for fans are male ostrich wings. These apparently have the best shape and texture for fans- but they are pricey. I also read fans look fuller and more luxurious with several layers of feathers. For my first fan dance I made two sets of fans, one set from high quality male plumes and the other from defective drabs. I will present both options that can be tailored for your budget.

High Quality Plumes- www.ostrich.com

This was the best price for the quality I found.  To keep my costs low I ordered 13-17” inch feathers (a bit smaller than typical fan feathers) and paid $2.55/feather. The feathers come in a range of colors and I was extremely happy with the quality. The price is based on the quantity of feathers you order, so if possible, order with a group and the price will go down.

Pro: The company cut the feathers so they were all the same length, making it far easier to position on the staves and gave the fans an overall polished look

Con: Shipping is expensive (almost $20!) and it took over 2 weeks for my feathers to arrive. They were, however, worth the wait.

Defective Drabs-  Lamp Light Feathers

For my second set of fans I ordered defective drabs, size 12-19”, $15.00 for 25 feathers ($0.60/feather). Although not nearly as soft and full as the male plumes, with some creative placement, the drabs looked surprisingly full. If you are willing to invest the time, you can trim, shape, and layer the feathers to create a nice looking fan. The drabs can also be used as filler feathers behind your higher quality feathers for a fuller fan.

Pro: Great price on shipping ($6 flat rate) and I received my items within a week!

Con: These feathers are defective. Translation: they have bits missing from them, range in size and shape, and a few had color variations. You will have to spend more time grooming the feathers to be fan ready.

Oh the choices!

Step 2: Staves!

For staves I went to Chinatown. After neurotically combing the neighborhood for an hour for the perfect fan to tear apart, at the relief of my poor girlfriend, I found my dream staves at Far East Flea Market Liquidation Center (729 Grant Avenue) for $0.99 each.

Be sure to count the number of staves on the fan. They are not consistent and can range from 11-13 per fan. Also, check the length of each stave, I found inconsistencies in the length and width of the staves.

Side note: If, after stave hunting, you find yourself craving a delicious treat, I highly recommend Golden Gate Bakery (1029 Grant Avenue) for egg tarts, a pastry originating from Hong Kong. Enter at your own risk- you will leave with a box of pastries.

Step 3: Boas, satin, paint or glitter!

Stylistically you will need to decide how you want to finish off the fans and cover the empty space left on the staves. I used marbou boas (you can get these at any craft store or online at Lamp Light Feathers) to cover the ugly bits. Others ideas are covering the staves with satin, velvet, or fabric (then adding rhinestones or gems!), painting the staves, or even glittering them for an sparkly punch! It all depends on your act and what type of personality you want your fans to have.

Step 4: Buy lots of glue sticks- you will need them!

Coming up: Making Feather Fans Part 2: Assembling Your Fans