Performers of Colour Deserve More From The Adult Dance Community

During the past ten years, adult dance has flung itself into the mainstream. The history of both burlesque and pole dancing has become recognised as something of unapologetic sexuality, staunch solidarity, feminism and diversity. However, when you look at the general adult performance space in Australia, you wouldn’t have a clue about that last part. 

I have been a pole dancer for five years, a burlesque performer for one and a Wakka Wakka woman for twenty five.

Although my performance CV is not the longest, I have experienced racism and foolishness at the hands of white people I share this industry with, and I have seen it impact performers of colour I share solidarity with. These incidents go mostly unnoticed, perhaps a result of the industry itself relying heavily on who-you-know and who-will-continue-to-book-you. But incidents of blackface are still, somehow, happening at both national and international levels. 

Blackface has never been okay, and yet somehow Australia is still late to that fact. The purpose of blackface is to ridicule black people, their dances and appearances. It comes from a time when mainstream performance didn’t include black people. To use it – or allow it – is to clearly send a message. 

In 2018, at Pole Art Italy, a performer placed 5th with a Sister Act “tribute” in which their entire body was painted black. Closer to home, at the 2018 Australian Burlesque Festival’s (ABF) “New Follies” showcase, a performer took to the stage in blackface. The festival was quick to address the situation and affirm that they did not stand by the performer, and show runners admitted they didn’t see the blackface coming as they already had stringent guidelines in place to deter such situations. In a statement on Facebook, the ABF alleged that the performer had left the blackfacing out of both their act application and their tech run. 

Still, in both Italy and Australia, performers were able to paint themselves without anyone saying anything to them – and then reach the stage without being stopped. 

Brown and black skin is to be celebrated, but these spaces continue to struggle to comprehend the beauty black and brown performers hold. I’ve heard white pole students and instructors refer to skin a fraction darker than Snow White’s with the n-word on more than one occasion. An Aboriginal pole dancer I admire, Lil Miss Sammie, was once told that her skin looked like a “bad bodybuilding competition spray tan”. 

“I had just come back from a holiday in Bali and my skin was darker,” she told me. “I imagine, like most people, my skin colour had changed due to being in the sun. I just happen to go darker due to my heritage.” 

Similarly, Kamilaroi burlesque dancer Vudu Doll published a piece in 2021 describing how, after taking advice to be quiet on Indigenous issues and then lightening her skin, she was booked more often for the same acts and treated better.

I’ve personally tried to address these issues before. Once, I wrote a piece about my experience with racism in the pole dancing space. I wanted to highlight how finding other pole dancers of colour, especially black women, was what kept me performing. But I was left feeling censored when the piece went to print, with any mentions of negative experiences completely removed. When I pushed for answers, I was told what people of colour hear all too often: I was too aggressive. 

When discussing the role of race in pole and burlesque, it’s hard not to notice that the names of trailblazers in these communities are typically non-white. They are winners of the top competitions abroad, and they are the people who brought stripping into American clubs and studios. But as these industries move further away from their roots – and try to distance themselves from their stripper and sex-worker origins – non-white people are removed as well. 

In my experience, studios and schools lack diversity, with the teachers more than often predominantly white women. And while some studios may make an effort to be diverse, as a whole the burlesque and pole scenes are led entirely by white women who glamourise harmful periods of time – despite the diverse histories of these industries. 

When I asked Vietnamese Kaurna-based pole instructor and club dancer Gia about her own experiences, she told me that incidents like these, along with instances of cultural appropriation, are a result of complacency and lack of dialogue in our industry. 

It’s hard enough to get into pole and burlesque as a performer- there’s upfront costs involved in almost every part of it. Classes, photoshoots, props and costumes all pile up expenses. And this, coupled with self-doubt or low confidence, can deter people from taking the step from casual class attendee to solo performer. 

But these issues - in addition to cultural appropriation or insensitivity - are rarely listened to, or even voiced, due to the large amount of whiteness in these spaces.

This is something Gia highlighted perfectly.

“Personally, I would conflate the terms ‘complacency and lack of dialogue’ in this context as ‘whiteness’, as there seems to be a lack of ethnic diversity across pole dancer populations, pole studio owners, club managers and owners.” she said.

“When the majority of dancers in a pole dance class – or strip club – are white, is it such a surprise that racism and cultural appropriation slip through the cracks and make it onto the stage?”

When people of colour do speak up about cultural appropriation or racism, we’re often shunted out of the space or told we’ve obviously “misinterpreted” the performance.

Chinese burlesque dancer Ruby Corvette told me that the conversation often becomes about the perpetrator’s mental health, rather than about what they did, why it was wrong or how they can do better in the future. This is especially aggravating: why does the mental health of the perpetrator matter more than the wellbeing and mental health of the performer whose culture is insulted and appropriated?

Every performer I spoke to noted that there is a lack of diversity in these spaces, which is what leads to these issues. It’s draining to constantly see posters and lineups for events featuring only white girls, or shows created by white people with a small number of performers of colour on a smaller stage as a consolation prize, rather than booked for main shows. There’s no lack of talent from us, so there’s no reason for you not to book us. We deserve to be in the spotlight and as headliners just as much as the white performers. Often, it feels like we’re overlooked purely because we don’t look like Dita Von Teese.

The strength and power people of colour get from each other is beyond explanation. When I considered leaving pole dancing entirely because of racism, it was dancers like Gia and Lil Miss Sammie who kept me going. They had both created powerful displays on stage, at state and national levels, and told me they were inspired to create and perform these pieces by their own journey to cultural pride. They could say “this is unapologetically me” without the shame so often thrust upon them by a scene where whiteness is the standard.

Solidarity is something performers of colour have had to find and create ourselves. From initiatives abroad like Black Girls Pole and The Cocoa Butter Club, to Thalia Novela’s Point of Change. Hashtags like ‘#asianpoledancers’ have allowed Asian pole dancers to find and follow each other on social media, and finding others in this space, with similar experiences to yours,  is something endlessly reassuring. There’s nothing comfortable about being the only non-white person in a room. You notice it, always. 

A desire to celebrate her culture in a way others never could is what led Naarm-based, Chinese pole dancer Andrea James Lui to finally integrate her culture into a routine after a decade-long career. Andrea told me her initial motivation to perform the new act was spurred on greatly by a desire to do it before someone non-Chinese tried to do it first.

The reality is that performing an act inspired by your culture on stage allows you to dominate that scene and prevent white performers from taking that space from you. Yes, Chinese performers feel urgency in creating pieces that celebrate their culture, purely so an uneducated white performer doesn’t nab the concept first and perform in yellowface. 

From performers of colour, the message is loud and clear: This space needs to do better.

White performers can't keep being afraid of our feedback and taking up the space that people of colour deserve. It's not hard to educate yourself, ask questions, and seek clarification. People of colour in this community are screaming to be heard and it is time that everyone else started listening. We shouldn’t have to create our own spaces, or write about our experiences to educate other performers on these things – kindness, compassion and being educated should just be the norm. But for now, the least others in these industries could do is listen, pay us equally and, not, God forbid, be racist.

Performers of colour deserve to be seen and heard in this space. We deserve the shows, the posters, the headline spots. Booking the same white performers over and over again sends a clear message: We don’t matter to you. 

If you don’t know a performer of colour, 1) yikes, and 2) look harder. 

White people do not need any more stage time, and neither do performers that have appropriated cultures or been offensive in the past.

The history of burlesque and pole rests entirely on the backs of women of colour.

The least you could do is pay us our dues. 

Bizzi Lavelle is a Wakka Wakka woman living on Quandamooka country. She is an educator, performer and writer who specialises in sociology, gender and sexuality and race-based works.