Tales From The DJ Booth: Dating Techniques You Can Learn From Strippers

I’ve spent more time in strip club DJ booths than the entire Portland Trail Blazers roster has spent in tattoo shops and second-round drafts combined. During this time, I’ve often wondered if applying the techniques that naked women use in order to extract money from men, would also work for people attempting to extract emotional and physical resources from others. From this, I discovered that capitalism plus Marxism minus clothes equals knowledge—at least in terms of single life. Here are three very, very obvious (but, surprisingly untapped) strategies that can be just as easily applied to the clothed-and-off-the-clock as they can gainfully employed nude dancers.

Listen, Even If You Don’t Care

Watching dancers entertain customers has taught me that the physical aspect of a tease is often the least important. Listening— an activity I am terrible at, as any woman I’ve dated can attest to—is often a bigger aphrodisiac than anything one can do with their mouth. Given that the average strip club customer doesn’t spend their day working for a secret government agency or touring in a famous band— but, they all want to feel as if they do—it is the job of a stripper to merge the roles of "therapist" and "girlfriend" into something that resembles a "Wow, that story about your lame-ass job and/or ex-wife is absolutely fascinating." And, this works. If a dancer even pretends to enjoy something I do, such as horror movies, Ween or organic hallucinogens, I will drop a few hundred bucks on conversation alone. This is what I call the "smoking patio hustle," wherein a stripper lines up an excuse to remain fully clothed, while still sucking money from a lonely dude (again, I know—I’ve been that dude).

Surprisingly, this also works in relationships outside of the club. For instance, I have learned to listen to girls talk about their favorite bands. Now, that shouldn’t seem like that much of a chore, but the type of chick to date a strip club DJ usually has the daddy-issued CD collection— complete with Bright Eyes, Radiohead, one of the A$AP rappers and a really bad 311 album, that they swear came with the car. Do you know how fucking hard it is to pretend to care what Conor Oberst cried about this week? Well, not only have I learned to care, but I’ve also obtained all the sex that Conor could use to fix his problems and from just as many 32-going- on-15-year-old women. Beyond music, it’s important to pretend to care about that thing her roommate said, that concert she wants tickets to, her dad’s name, etc. You don’t necessarily learn a lot by listening, but you will gain a few "Wow, you’re the best"s and a lot of sex.

Physical Appearance Matters

I know that this should be just as obvious as the part about pretending to listen. But, in 2018, we have all but outlawed judgment of others. To me, it’s sort of odd for the "my body, my rules" sentiment (which I fully subscribe to) to be paired with "everything about me is beautiful and if you disagree, you’re a fat-shaming, slut-shaming, mole-shaming, shame shamer." Actually, no. If you find me repulsive, you get to say "no, thanks." And, if I find you physically repulsive, I also get to say "no, thanks." It’s ironic, that we pretend that being pretty won’t get you anywhere, then wonder why the fuck Tomi Lahren has a job. Looks matter and anyone who tells you otherwise is lying.

Now, the one group of people who can’t hide their ugliness with a Buzzfeed article, are strippers. If you show up to work, as a dancer, looking like shit, you’re only going to lose business to your competing co-workers, as long as they’re more put-together than you are. As a result of this, even the most fifth-wave of "everything masculine is toxic" feminist strippers will trim their armpit hair and make sure their green lipstick isn’t smudged. BBW dancers learn how to hold their weight. Skinny dancers learn to be seen eating chicken strips and talking about how much they like to sleep in their messy apartments (i.e. the "not a tweaker" vibe). Basically, even if a stripper doesn’t believe in the media’s definition of beauty, they at least keep up with some standard of beauty—whether blonde and Barbie-like or tattooed and Joan Jett-ish. Feeling comfortable in your own skin doesn’t mean that you should feel comfortable about it the same way you would an over-flowing ashtray—do what you can to look your best, hope that you have a customer or two that appreciates your type and leave it at that. You won’t make money on the pole by guilting a dude into accepting your (insert "Portland sexy" quality here). End of story, no argument. And, if a customer only likes black chicks, for instance, let him tip the black chicks. If they like tattooed girls, let them tip the tattooed girls. Shaved? Hairy? Old? Young? These are preferences, not hate crimes. There is no room for shame-shaming, when you work in an industry based almost entirely on what a specific customer deems attractive.

Yet, this idea—that, if you look good, people will hit on you—seems to end as soon as you leave the club and turn to the dating scene. First of all, hookup apps are shit. Holy mother of every religious figure and/or scientist—if the law treated cat- fish on Tinder like they did any other form of identity fraud, there would be a lot of ratchet-ass Beckys and gutter trash Chads in the prison system. Look, if you’re fat and ugly, just say so—I’d swipe right on that in a heartbeat. But, there have been actual sexual assault charges brought against people (mostly men, but I’m sure the lawyers out there have found a way to include women) who have lied about their financial status, penis size and/or physical health, in order to get laid. If your profile makes it look like you have long legs and round boobs, but you have long boobs and round legs, that’s a goddamn crime (or, it should be). And, ladies (or bi/gay men), here’s a tip: a dollar bill is six inches. Make sure they include one (preferably, a $100 or above) in that dick pic, before you go any further.

Now, aside from dating apps, I’ve been shocked at how many times within the last year or two that I’ve been the most attractive person on a date—I don’t mean this in a narcissistic stance, as I’m runof- the-mill, extra-medium, average-white- guy in terms of looks. What I mean is, I comb my fucking hair, brush my teeth, sniff the socks to make sure they’re not rancid and show up in a matching outfit. For some reason, this has made me a fucking fashion model, in comparison to the Shameless extras that I end up going out with. Yeah, I’m down with the girl-who-has-never-actually-listened- to-the-Ramones-but-enjoys-their-shirts. But, for fuck’s sake, if you got that at an actual Ramones show, back when the whole band was still together, and you haven’t washed the stains out of it yet, don’t bother showing up for dinner reservations. And, this goes for guys, too. To quote comic and emcee. Eric Cash (who may not necessarily endorse the opinions of my column, by the way), "every dude in Portland looks like they were shot out of a free bin." There is so much fucking truth to this statement. that I will just leave it as such—only adding that it’s only fashionable to leave tags on clothing if said clothing cost a month’s income—yellow tags that say "Goodwill" are a turn-off.

Alcohol Isn’t Always A Good Look

One or two drinks at the club, while talking to a naked stranger and trying to ignore the latest Cardi B single? That’s totally fine. Four or five shots? You’re walking on beer shells. More than that? Welcome to Drunkville, population: you. This applies to customers, strippers, DJs...mostly DJs, actually. But, that’s a different column. Alcohol makes you dumb, stinky, sweaty and sloppy. This is fantastic, if you’re rocking out at Sinferno or spending the wife’s inheritance on dances. Strippers love behaved drunk customers, for sure. And, thanks to the wonders of physical exercise, the chances of a too-drunk-to-entertain stripper are heavily regulated—mostly because spinning poles and vomit are siblings, bound together by flavored vodka and kept apart by moderation.

But, on a date? Again, one or two pints to loosen up is great for conversation, but more than that is a problem. Sure, noting current-year politics and legal ramifications, I will not sleep with a woman if she’s had even a drop over the Salt Lake City legal limit for driving. However, I also don’t fuck on the first date, so taphouses and clubs with cheap wine are usually in the first-to- second date scenario. With that said, I can think of no better time to reduce (if not completely quit) drinking, than when attempting to get to know someone for purposes of potential naked sexytime. People drink to forget, to relax and to numb the pain associated with debt collectors and tax deadlines. Yet, did you know that sex can be great for this, too? If the sex is good enough, you should feel dizzy, in need of a glass of water and suddenly feeling the urge to drive to Del Taco, even though you know it’s a bad idea. Good head is good head—beer, human or otherwise.

Even worse than drinking to excess during the honeymoon phase, if you drink to overcompensate for the anxiety of a new relationship, you may find yourself developing a day-to-evening drinking schedule— to the point that you sober up about six weeks into a relationship and wonder how the fuck you met this person. Wondering why you’re dating the girl you met in court or the guy who drove the taxi you took to your last abortion is not something you want to do. They say that, when drunk, people show the true selves that they hide when sober. But, that’s not the person you will end up arguing with, at noon, over some bullshit that wouldn’t matter if you weren’t drunk in the first place. It’s your job to fall in love with the fake, outward-oriented, ego-driven self that your potential partner will end up showing off most of the time. Thus, I recommend staying sober for the first six weeks of a relationship. Then, when things inevitably begin to deteriorate, you can either pick up the bottle or move on to the next one.

TalesFromTheDJBooth.com