Content warning: This piece discusses sexual assault.
In 2016, I scoured the internet for stripper advice after getting sexually assaulted in the champagne room, a curtained-off area where customers can spend private time with strippers. I had just moved to New York and I didn’t know a single dancer in the city. Upset, confused, and in need of information, I discovered Stripperweb, a forum of strippers sharing knowledge on every aspect of their jobs, including their honest experiences working in an industry that can sometimes be harsh and hazardous.
Before I found the site, I tried not to complain about my job. I was living in Australia, dancing beside a handful of friends who rarely expressed frustration and who always seemed to exude warmth and excitement. New to the industry, I wanted to earn a thousand dollars each night like they did. So, whenever a client squeezed my nipples too hard or a manager became furious if I didn’t pay my house fee on time, I either minimized my discomfort or quickly apologized and moved on. I was there to make money and pay off my student loan. Not dwell on anything negative.
When I got hired in Manhattan, however, it became harder to ignore the challenging parts of my job. Before my first shift, the manager said I owed $125, a hundred dollars for the house fee plus a twenty-five fine for being late. At first, I stammered. That seemed like a lot of money just to work…but I paid and forgot about it until the same manager encouraged me to take my customer into the champagne room. Inside the private lounge, he pulled out his dick, reached into my thong, and locked his fingers inside me. I froze, unsure of what to do, and wondered if the manager would see us on the camera and intervene. When she didn’t, I wiggled away from his hand and danced on his lap, trying to quell his growing agitation. After the hour was finally up, the manager came in, handed me 200 dollars, a 30 percent cut of the original price, and then walked away.
I felt gross walking home that night. Gross and humiliated and dumb. Were extras (sexual services) common at that club or did the client just prey on me? Did management really take 70 percent from the private rooms (my previous club took 25 percent) or did she hand me a small amount because I did something wrong earlier? When I got home, I felt too agitated to sleep, too worried about my behavior to relax. I grabbed my computer and searched “stripper advice,” “pushy customers in champagne room,” and “high house-fees,” and within a few minutes, I found Stripperweb.
What was Stripperweb?
Decorated with bubble font and multiple shades of pink, Stripperweb was a perfect time capsule from the early aughts. Launched in 2002 by an anonymous owner, the website was never redesigned nor altered to achieve a different purpose. For twenty years, it remained a place for strippers to learn and chat about their jobs, share first-hand knowledge and acquire money-making skills. Then on February 1, it shuttered without an explanation, depriving dancers of a space to warn each other about the conditions in the industry. Alongside the various chats, Stripperweb had a section for dancers to rate and review each club. Over time the site evolved into a gathering place, a hub for dancers to meet like-minded colleagues and exchange ideas on how to demand better treatment from the world.
With its colossal amount of threads and sub-threads discussing everything and anything, from masking poop smell in the dressing room to dating the DJ, the forum was overwhelming and difficult to navigate for me. The Strip Club Reviews and Directory was a more organized section though. Within a few minutes, I spotted a listing about the club I had just worked at. In 2013, a user described the management as “absolutely awful” and “greedy” and claimed they had the worst champagne room cut in the city. I perked up, intrigued. I never heard a dancer speak so frankly about her job before, nor seen my experiences reflected in someone else’s words. I felt relieved. I had assumed that I must have done something wrong, that I must have somehow done my job incorrectly, but I could see that it wasn’t my fault.
I never heard a dancer speak so frankly about her job before, nor seen my experiences reflected in someone else’s words.
Feeling lighter, I kept searching the site. I read complaints about nasty managers and rising house fees. I read posts about women trying to deal with loneliness. I read a thread about boyfriends who can’t accept their partner’s job. There were countless other discussions on how to manifest confidence and sell lap dances, as well as mundane topics like suggestions for long-lasting eyeliner, but what I couldn’t stop reading were strippers’ negative experiences. I liked dancing and I didn’t want to quit (and I certainly didn’t have the money to either), but I didn’t want to just blindly accept every condition anymore. I wanted to know about the realities of the industry, so I could decide about what I’m willing and not willing to accept.
I pored over the site for three months and used it to find a club with a better private room rate, all the while absorbing everything I could about erotic entertainment. I would have continued to use it if a new acquaintance at work hadn’t invited me to two private Facebook groups for strippers — both user-friendly online communities, filled with up-to-date details about the job.
From forums to Facebook
Similar to Stripperweb, both Facebook groups gave dancers the space to review clubs, ask questions, and share personal experiences, as well rave and rant and receive support. But unlike the early aughts site, they were imbued with a much stronger sense of social justice. It was there that I learned that house fees are illegal and considered a form of theft. It was there that I learned that I am actually entitled to minimum wage, and without formal employment, it’s not only prohibited for managers to implement late fines, but it’s prohibited for them to demand that I do anything at work. It was there where I began to see poor working conditions in the club as a form of discrimination. It was there when I started debating other dancers on the best ways to improve club environments. And it was there where I started identifying as a sex worker.
Where will a baby stripper who doesn’t know anyone find advice? Where will an isolated dancer go for validation?
These conversations began and were still happening on Stripperweb, but they were front and center on Facebook, bumped by algorithms promoting popular posts and spurred by a new generation of dancers ready to advocate for sex worker rights. But over the five years that I’ve been in these groups, Facebook has continually flagged the content and forced dancers to use words like $tri**er or Cloob to evade censorship, as well as make the group unsearchable to outsides and implement a referral program. Even with these precautions, Facebook still shut one of them down, erasing club reviews, survival tips, and hustling advice in a single swoop.
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The moderators created a new forum the next day, but social media has become an unreliable and hostile place for sex workers since SESTA-FOSTA, an anti-sex trafficking legislation passed in 2018, which holds websites criminally liable for content that may promote forced labor. The set of laws didn’t draw a line between sex trafficking and consensual sex work though, leaving websites fearing that any discussion of stripping could be perceived as promoting trafficking. To avoid any legal repercussions, social media increased censorship of all sex work related content. A fact that scares me yet doesn’t deter me from posting about my job.
While I will continue to use these sites for as long as I am dancing, it was a comfort knowing that Stripperweb was always there, ready to take us in if Facebook decided to bar us for good.
I was devastated when I heard Stripperweb’s mysterious owner planned to shutter the site. Where will a baby stripper who doesn’t know anyone find advice? Where will an isolated dancer go for validation? There’s of course Reddit and Twitter, but it’s unclear how much longer they’ll allow sex workers to talk about their work due to SESTA-FOSTA as well. I’m happy the Wayback Machine managed to save most of the forum’s decades-long history but it’s still a huge loss. What brings me comfort, however, is knowing what the site inspired. Strippers have learned to demand respect. And that can’t be erased.
If you have experienced sexual abuse, call the free, confidential National Sexual Assault hotline at 1-800-656-HOPE (4673), or access the 24-7 help online by visiting online.rainn.org.
