Stripping is a thing of taboo. It carries a negative stigma and puts a bad taste in the mouth of the privileged woman. I am a privileged white woman who has never had to strip to survive, but I am also a woman who has the privilege of being best friends with someone who hasn’t had such a luxury. She has taken me into her life as one of the truest friends I have ever known and invited me to see a glimpse of her nightlife under the spotlights. This is that story.

Rose came into my life as a fellow server at a high-class but terribly run rooftop lounge. We instantly bonded over having climbed the restaurant slope from Hooters to 5 stars. I was already integrated into the restaurant click of beautiful young female servers and I stuck up for Rose when one of the other girls decided she was beneath us for no other reason than her own personal turmoil at the time. Ever since that moment, Rose was there for me through panic attacks and drunken blacks. Four managers later and after a mass firing of the wait staff we stayed bosom besties.

Rose didn’t grow up like I did, sure I had my share of family issues as everyone does, but I grew up in an upper middle class family with married parents and a stable home dynamic. Rose grew up under a single mother on the poverty line with 3 siblings who almost all had different fathers. She was introduced to stripping by her mother, who supported her kids by her nights on the stage. At this point we’d all lost our jobs, Rose was in esthetician school, had new car payments to make, and was helping her mom financially support her siblings. She had no one to help her, so she had to help herself.

It was surreal the first time I went to visit her in the strip club. I went there with the intent to write about the experience and sat myself in the corner with a gin&tonic, pen and paper in hand. The girls welcomed me with open arms asking me to write a rose-colored (no pun intended) review of a night in the life from their point of view. I intended to do just that, but in order to do it justice I knew I couldn’t write all about roses and daffodils painting a picture of ecstatic young girls dancing to sexual empowerment and “fuck the man” rock ballads. Sure, that was a lot of it, but that wasn’t why they were there.

The first girl to approach me was Apple. She was barely 18 and truly could’ve passed for a couple years younger. She left a drug-infested home and had to make her own way, but had high hopes for her future. She said there was no way she would be able to afford living costs and also be able to save up for college if it wasn’t for dancing. She was bubbly and seductive, but had a go-getter attitude hidden beneath her fishnets.

It wasn’t much longer until Peach came to sit by my side. She needed to rest her feet- she was 5 months pregnant and wearing 5-inch heels. I was concerned… and impressed. It didn’t seem like the club was anywhere for a visibly pregnant woman to be working, but who am I to judge? Once we started talking, the gates opened and I was soon walking beside her on her life’s journey: absent father, abusive step-dad, neglectful mother, teenage runaway, homeless, drugs, abusive boyfriend, arrests, and accidental pregnancy. She was determined to be a better mother to her child than her mother was to her. She needed to save up money for when the child came. She had no help, no support. She felt she had no choice. And damn that girl could do jump split like Prince.

Dancers make a hell of a lot of money. Ridiculous amounts of money and if you’re flailing to stay above the poverty line, it’s a sure thing that baring all for a room of sexual thrill seeking onlookers is going to put more money in your pocket than any temp or serving job could ever hope to. These girls aren’t here because they love the job, but they make the most of it. They take pride in their moves and sensuality. There is certainly a sense of confidence building to the whole ordeal, even despite being battered by society’s insistence on its indignity.

My Rose is graduating from Esthetician school tomorrow! Without erotic dancing she couldn’t have managed to get through it and pay her bills while only working a few days a week. And for that I say, “Go girl! Survive! Make your dreams come true!” Starting this January she will be employed full-time at a medical spa and so create a brighter future for herself than her childhood ever let her imagine. She was a shining star on the club stage and now she will be a shining star on a stage of her own creation.

Lesson Learned: We need to stop stigmatizing stripping as a society, and instead make it a safer industry for the girls who utilize it as a means to survive. It is legal after all, and in Amsterdam it’s legal to take it even further! Rather than making these women feel like “less than” members of society, we need to understand where they are coming from. I am not in denial that there is a huge chance of dangerous risk factors in this business, but therein lays the issue. By making a point to support these women, we put pressure on club owners and mangers to make sure they run a safe business in which the safety and comfort of their employees comes first. These woman are not sirens or menaces to society, they are survivors. They deserve to be respected as such.