Axis of Evil

The blond woman grabbed the shiny brass pole and, with a single
athletic move, flipped her body upside down, her legs splayed—toes
pointed, mind you—on either side of the pole. As she slowly slid down,
she stared at her audience with confidence. Christina Aguilera’s
“Dirrty” blared from the sound system. Heading down to the hardwood
floor, the instructor talked over the music. “All it takes to do moves
like this is practice and being comfortable with the pole.”

Nicole Zivalach teaches “Pole Basics” at a new studio and gym for women
called Stripped. Bedecked with red velvet curtains, the studio is
situated on the delivery side of a Plymouth strip mall, behind Domino’s
Pizza, Hairtopia, and It’s a Pet’s Place.

According to experts who keep track of these sorts of things, pole
dancing is a popular new fitness trend for women, both in this country
and in Britain. In Plymouth, at least, the classes are outwardly
chaste—think chakras instead of skank. The dance style is supposed to
be “exotic” and “sensual” rather than sexual, and is aimed at women
“from 18-98,” according to Stripped’s brochure. Elsewhere, Bally’s
Total Fitness is offering “Cardio Striptease” and the Learning Annex
has a class on “The Art of Exotic Dancing.”

Back at Stripped, Zivalach righted herself and explained that this
brand of dance is “a way to get fit and enjoy our bodies.” It does not
involve getting naked. Sensual dance is “not to share with strangers,”
she said, “because that squashes our soul.” She is adamantly opposed to
women stripping for money, and there is absolutely no male ogling of
her students as they attempt to get sensual. Men are barred from
classes; however, Zivalach smiled as she whispered that students don’t
seem to mind the opposite sex shopping in the “Goddess Lounge”
boutique. It’s a good thing to have “a little male energy swirling
around occasionally,” she said. The rest of the studio is a comfy,
supportive women’s-only enclave. With stripper poles.

A chime tinkled when I opened the glass door to the Goddess Lounge for
my first “Pole Basics” session. Nine women stood around the room, their
arms stretched out, fingers nearly touching. “It’s okay if you touch;
it’s all about connection!” Zivalach said. Next, it was all about hip
circles. The class pushed its collective pelvis front, right, back,
then left, following the movement of Zivalach’s slim hips, which were
wrapped in tight black shorts that said “Stripped” across the butt. She
told students to pretend they were spatulas scraping a mixing bowl. As
they scraped, Aguilera sang, “You are beautiful, no matter what they
say … .” Then they were snakes, slithering and undulating from down low
to up high. They were almost ready for the pole.

The students started with a hip-swinging walk, and by the end each was
grabbing at her pole and swirling to the ground. Here, it was all about
the chest, butt, or hips: “One of these leads every move,” said
Zivalach. Walking around to check on each student, she was met with
looks of intense concentration. “Come on!” she remonstrated. “You’re
sexy kittens!” But learning to be free is hard work, and it did seem
strange to be dry-humping a brass pole in a well-lit studio and
receiving encouragements like, “Wow, you’re a natural at ‘the
waterfall.’”

Zivalach said, “What we’re suggesting to women is that they can reclaim
their sensuality and their feminine spirit in American sensual dance,
and they can bring it back out and dance in their homes and dance in
the streets just like they do in other cultures.” Plymouth may not be
ready for pole dancing in the streets. Yet.

After class, I became curious about how the pros do it. During a
relatively off-peak weeknight happy hour, I visited a local strip
joint, whose stage was outfitted with a red velvet curtain and two
poles. A handful of men sat around the bar, played pool, and generally
stared at the performers; their male energy was not just swirling
around the place, it was stifling. One performer ventured nowhere near
either pole, but instead squirmed on the floor, almost face to face
with patrons seated around the bar. “Super Freak” blared from every
speaker. Her name was Paige, she told me after her performance.

Paige is a single mom, a student, and a saleswoman at an upscale
clothing store. She spoke in a caffeinated, rapid-fire manner, and
everything she said ended with, “Okay, what next?” She was adamant that
stripping is not her profession. She does it for quick cash. “Men will
pay a hundred bucks for a lap dance,” she said. She wrinkled her nose
in disgust when she was asked about the pole. “I used to use it, but
never again, not after I realized how dirty they are.” (Let’s just say
that the typical stripper pole is less hygienic than your average bus
seat or subway strap.) Paige did confirm that the secret to success is
“confidence,” but suggested that this is often achieved by way of a
stiff drink or two, rather than an awareness of one’s inner sensuality.

Paige’s successor on stage did work the pole eventually, using some of
the moves that Nicole taught. But after about thirty seconds, she was
back on the floor. I took another chug from my beer and felt like I was
a million miles from Stripped’s Goddess Lounge. Even though I wasn’t
sharing my sensuality with strangers for cash, Nicole’s words echoed in
my head and clashed with the garish eighties rock. My soul did feel a
little squashed.—Kelli Ohrtman