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This ain’t your regular bump and grind
by Kate Zimmerman for the North Shore News
TWENTY-TWO years in journalism and still, I can’t think what to wear to interview a stripper.
Nowhere in my closet can I find the drab, voluminous habit of a nun. A nun is what I feel I most resemble as I —a short-haired, middle–aged, bespectacled drone — prepare to interview someone who takes her clothes off for a living. To applause, not screams of horror, I might add.
I could be Mother Superior to the Flying Nun, for all the resemblance my life has to that of “Sinful Sindy,” my interview subject. Just two of the crucial points on which we differ: I can’t hump a pole to save my life, and to me, a “Brazilian” is somebody from Brazil.
Why are the two of us even talking? Because Sinful, as I like to call her until I actually meet her and grow up, is one of the subjects of an excellent new documentary being aired on the Life Network April 17 at 7 p.m., which I am writing about for another publication. Called Bump & Grind, it’s made by Vancouver producer-director Lynn Booth and explores the backstage life of several strippers who work the circuit between Vancouver, Victoria and Edmonton.
It’s not all g-strings and white platform boots, I assure you. Yet I wonder, as I select my ensemble for our interview, if I ought to dress to reflect my subject.
I think I have one gold lamé stocking somewhere that I could clasp to my thigh with a rubber band. I also have a black mini-skirt dating back to the olden days when I still dreamt that someone might like to look at my legs. If I hopped into the office of Make Believe Video to talk to Sinful and producer Booth, maybe no one would notice that my other gam was sporting a tube sock.
The trouble is, the documentary reveals to those of us who don’t frequent strip bars that burlesque artists have all sorts of on-stage alternatives to their just-plain-stripper routines. Their alter egos run the gamut from Russian “ice” princess to swaggering pirate, complete with triangular hat. In the case of these voluptuous women, the men around them seem eager that they get rid of the character’s costume as soon as possible. In my case, men usually want to help me into an additional overcoat.
Nevertheless, would it be apropos for me to dig up a low-cut Snow White outfit from the kids’ old dress-up bin and, my cups running over, sashay in to Make Believe’s headquarters for our meeting? Sinful’s fellow stripper, Kitty — who came up with the idea for Bump & Grind — masquerades as Snow White in one of the performances that appears in the documentary. Believe me, even Grumpy would get happy at the sight of that get-up. On Kitty, I mean. It would make me look like Donald Rumsfeld in drag.
But the thing is, at this interview I don’t want to look boring and judgmental, which eliminates all of my usual fashions. Boring and judgmental will not inspire confidences and revelations from people in the adult entertainment business. On the other hand, the clothes in my closet that are not lacklustre are the clothes that scream “She’s thrown caution to the winds.” Is that the professional stance I wish to take?
Anyway, I learned years ago that one shouldn’t try to compete with one’s interview subject. In my former life as an entertainment writer for the Calgary Herald I chatted up a lot of comedians, from Jay Leno to Jim Carrey to Milton Berle (incidentally, quite a jerk). It was always tempting to try and prove that one was enough of a wisenheimer oneself to appreciate anything they could dish out. Bad plan.
It was already a huge challenge to get anything print-worthy out of professional jesters. Firstly, many comedians are totally unfunny in an interview situation. They can’t do “off-the-cuff.” They’d be better if you gave them the questions in advance so they and their team of writers could conjure up amusing responses. Physical comedians like Carrey are especially stumped by a telephone interview.
Secondly, as far as any comedian is concerned, he’s the funny one. The only funny one. Perhaps a generation previous, there were other funny ones, but right now, he is it. The interviewer, then, is allowed to laugh. She is not allowed to crack wise.
Thirdly, and this is irrelevant but I’ll tell you anyway, professional comics’ jokes are such well-rehearsed shtick that they’ll trot the same ones out to interviewer after interviewer. The entire discourse is essentially comedic recycling.
All this is just to point out that one must always remember when interviewing entertainers that they are the star and you are merely there to chronicle their radiance. In the case of actors, many of whom like nothing better than to ramble on about themselves, you’d be best to just program a computer to ask questions, record the thespians’ responses, and look enchanted. Your own presence is not required.
Not so, strippers. In fact, when I finally got over myself and showed up in the sort of frumpy rags that get me from here to the bank machine most days, “Sinful” Sindy proved an articulate, friendly, forthright woman who was happy to interact. She didn’t appear to care that my outfit was as trendy as your average Mennonite’s.
And — surprise — she was not clad in an Egyptian costume with sequins and a headdress, as she sometimes is onstage, but in a tasteful beige top, a short skirt, and ankle boots that showed off her well-toned dancers’ legs. She did not look like a stripper; she looked like a beautiful young woman, which is what she was. A beautiful and interesting young woman who was proud of her sexuality, comfortable with her power, and pleased with her income, no matter what you, I or the Taliban might think about it.
Once again, I learned something, which is one of the great things about my job. If you’d like to find out about what strippers are like on the inside, despite outside appearances, you’ll want to tune in to Bump & Grind. It turns out that they are no more the sum total of their nudity than I am the sum total of my clothes closet. What a delightful revelation.
Writing > Humour
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