I Tried a Pole Dancing Class

I didn’t need to feel sexy.

I also didn’t need to send that Snapchat of my bunions or eat 2,000 calories worth of pancakes at breakfast, so in light of the things I shouldn’t have done but did anyway, I signed up for a pole dancing class.

Why not spin? Or yoga? Because been there, done that, and my browser’s sidebar of “suggested ads” kept pushing something on me called Body and Pole — a hint to stop searching for Magic Mike XXL updates, perhaps.

Body and Pole’s website recommended we wear “booty shorts,” preferably spandex, and definitely short enough to expose the inner thigh; bare skin is needed in order to get a grip on the pole. Then, after digging up an old pair that said “dancer” on the ass/booty, I scoured the Internet for an hour looking for any reason not to try the class.

[*Google*]

Common to slip off pole while pole dancing? Beginner

Beginner pole dancing bad accident

Are STDs pole-borne?

Strip club freak accidents

Aside from the last search, most sources turned up photos of average looking women with average looking bodies in well-lit studios, smiling in spandex shorts. They looked like they were going to pick up their sons from soccer practice after class.

They looked like women who needed to feel sexy.

[*Google*]

Drunk pole dancing bachelorette horrible injuries

My friend and I turned up to the class ready to laugh. We would begin by “warming up,” which meant tacking on a pelvis pop at the end of each “yoga-esque” movement. Our instructor, a 20-something blonde with covetable thigh muscles, led us through the movements. She spoke s-l-o-o-o-w-l-y-y-y, extending each vowel while she demonstrated the various poses. While most of us avoided looking at ourselves in the mirror, the instructor locked eyes with her reflection. She stared at herself as she chaturanga’d on the floor, as she shook her “money maker,” as she ran her hand down her chest and torso. I wasn’t sure who she was entertaining, but I was grateful to have something to look at other than myself.

The mirror made me notice all of the parts of my body that don’t lend themselves to pole dancing: my flat chest and my chicken legs, my short hair that couldn’t be whipped back or forth and if I had some, hips that would lie. I looked around, eager to meet the eyes of someone I could laugh with, but all participants earnestly attempted each movement, locking eyes with themselves in the mirror, too.

And everyone looked awkward, but no one cared.

The instructor purred, “Strut your stuff! Walk with purpose! Don’t just hold the pole, own the pole.” The class responded; they sauntered around the pole, they let their hair down. The instructor continued with her encouragement. She politely complimented my body roll, but I knew I looked like a fish convulsing out of water. She shouted phrases, crafted to empower:

“You are YOU! You are sexy! You are beautiful and strong!”

I gave in; she was motivating! I sashayed – not walked – around the pole. I latched the inside of my hamstring onto the metal rod to perform a spin and my leg turned to jelly. “Try again!” My friend took a tumble and still, the instructor complimented us on our finesse. She then took to her own pole to demonstrate the proper way to propel ones body around a pole, making eye-love with her toned physique in the now-foggy mirror.

At the end of the 90-minute class, we all made our way to the locker room. One woman changed into a Dickies medical uniform, another exotic blonde walked out into the brisk night, still in her spandex bootie shorts. The instructor wiped down the poles and reset the playlist. As I exited the studio, I could hear the instructors voice welcome the 7:30 crop.

Welcome to Body and Pole! Mark your spot and let’s get this party st-a-a-a-r-ted! Who’s ready to feel sexy?

I made my way out and took a subway back to my apartment, feeling as ordinary as ever.

[*Google*]

Body roll, step-by-step instructions.

Image shot by Camilla Akrans for Numéro #79, December 2006