I have long been a burlesque fan. I have admired and appreciated the beauty, wit and creativity of burlesque performers and loved being part (albeit as an audience member) of the increasingly popular, but still somewhat underground, burly world.
Even during a brief fling with the idea of becoming a make up artist, and assisting on a photo shoot of upcoming starlets, I never thought I'd want to be one of them. An admiring assistant, that's what I thought myself to be. Yet, a couple of years later, I just booked my first performance slot... in less than 2 (2? oh shit, I hadn't even counted till now- June seemed much further away! Fuck!) months time. Eeek.
Just to make it clear, I have never, not in all my 30 years, taken my clothes off, or even put them on, on any kind of stage, or in front of any more that one person at a time. Eeek again.
I did for about 6 weeks go to Burlesque evening classes, and although my house mate, P, and I had fun, and learnt the basics of Burlesque movement and posing, the class was somewhat amateur and unproductive. Saying that, the hour long sesion every Monday at the YMCA did definitely make me fantasise that this could be something I might do. And up until yesterday, when I emailed someone I'd never met before to request a slot in an upcoming 'newbie' show, a fantasy was all it was...! Eeeeeeek!!!
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