I love this…

Tee hee. Kate Roiphe writes about how stripper memoirs are supposed to be shocking but are actually just vapid and boring. This article is hilarious: it’s similar to what I was trying to get at with my post about Ayelet Waldman, but much better and much funnier. Oh well. We all start somewhere. I particularly like number 8:

Our heroine has a feminist interpretation of the strip club world that she would like to share. This feminist interpretation may be hopelessly confused, often contradictory, and sometimes incoherent, but the author will nonetheless drape her experiences with women’s studies jargon. Elisabeth Eaves writes, “Stripping reinforces the stereotype of women that came to bother me the most: that they can be bought.” Lily Burana claims, “Anyone who thinks being sexually objectified is the ultimate degradation has never been politically objectified.” Lacey Lane writes, “It was truly empowering. I felt proud to be a woman.” What to make of all this? Burana quotes a stripper who, faced with an anthology of stripper writing, groans, “oh great, more Lusty Ladies and their precious thinky thoughts.”

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