Much like the bartending realm (see this month’s article by Miss Tini), the strip club industry is its own world—while mostly invisible to the rest of society, we operate within it on a daily basis. It is perfectly normal for us (stripper, DJ or otherwise) to pay our rent in one-dollar bills. We come home from work when the rest of you are clocking in and we’ve seen many of our best friends naked—this is far from a 9-to-5 lifestyle. From this, one can safely assume that, should you decide to get involved with someone who works in strip clubs, you may not be prepared for what awaits you.
There’s no shortage of "How To Date A Stripper" articles floating around out there and even though most are garbage (no, Chad, you’re not gonna get her real number by bribing the door guy), very few address the subject of dating the men who work in the strip club industry. I’m not a stripper (at least, not in public—my exercise regimen is none of your business), but I have been a strip club DJ, on and off, for over ten years. So, with that said, I’ll specifically address what it’s like to date a piece of trash like me. Of note, this column applies to burnt-out straight dudes approaching forty, so if I’ve excluded anyone, feel free to write your own column and send it over (Editor@Xmag.com). With that said, here’s what you need to know about dating a strip club DJ (and, to some extent, a strip club bouncer, male club owner or bartender).
Strip club DJs are guilty of being the one thing that many women on the modern dating market fear: a guy who doesn’t care that much about looks, but who needs a genuinely decent personality in order to get turned on. I know, right? It’s terrifying, because Covergirl doesn’t make a product that can cover up a shitty attitude. We’re surrounded by "tens" all day long, and more often than not, most of our co-workers (and, a majority of our female friends from the industry) are drop-dead gorgeous. Strip club DJs get as excited over a hot girl as, say, a cannabis dispensary owner gets over a bong hit of some top-shelf weed—yes, we appreciate the quality, but it’s a requirement, not a perk. The worst part? Most of us are mildly unattractive, at best. We don’t go to work to show off our sexy faces—we go there to play dubstep remixes of Scorpion songs and pretend to know what an A$AP is.
I’m a sold five, extra medium, with zero redeeming physical qualities...outside of being a below-average white dude approaching forty. Still, last month, I canceled a date with a nineteen-year-old fashion model because she was boring and I decided I’d rather stay inside and play Red Dead Redemption 2. My teenage self is already kicking me for doing this, but they make new nineteen-year-olds every year and Rockstar only releases new, detailed, open-world games twice a decade or so. Besides, being immune to a big butt and a smile is, according to the Bel Biv Devoe school of thought, a reflection of one’s ability to trust others and properly evaluate the characteristics of a mate. In a strange twist of irony, being surrounded by gorgeous women who are treated like objects, only makes a guy appreciate what’s on the inside, that much more.
Although the requirement of a great personality is a must, being attractive is still a factor. But, by "attractive," we don’t mean in the fake sense. Strip club DJs are used to seeing dancers before and after their shift, so we won’t fall for visual smoke and mirrors. We see dozens of women pull a Clark Kent in the phone booth, excuse me...dressing room, every night, so we know all the tricks and how to spot them. We also have the ability to mentally remove mascara, fake lashes and the whole nine—allowing us to properly predict what a woman will look like the next morning. Fake boobs? That’s cool—I actually dig ’em. But, you’re not gonna convince a strip club DJ that they’re real. Nine pounds of fake-up? Again, do you, girl. Go nuts. But, understand that you’re about as convincing as a first-time drag queen from Estacada.
Now, on the other hand, if you can rock a hoodie, some sweatpants, a tank top and a pair of Converse, with no makeup—and look halfway decent—you’re a shoo-in for a date with a strip club DJ. We want to know what we’re going to be waking up next to, both physically and emotionally. Every night, we see the mask fall off of our beautiful co-workers, as soon as the club closes and the customers leave. "You’re such a sweetheart, Steve..." turns into "God, I hate that fucking guy" the second the door closes. So, we like to keep things simple, and unlike most dudes, we actually don’t require you to be dripping in Versace and soaked in expensive makeup. Just look cute in your ex-boyfriend’s band’s shirt, be honest about how you feel around/about us and we’re good.
Stemming from the previous point, we’re not out to obtain arm candy or make our guy friends (or exes) jealous (this shit falls into the realms of "games and drama," which I will address soon). Sure, when I date strippers, we both keep it a secret—it’s good for business. But, even if the secret gets out, strip club DJs don’t need arm candy. We’re overly validated on a nightly basis and compensated for it in cash. Our job title alone invokes jealousy, rage and disdain from the majority of other men (and women), as "strip club DJ" falls somewhere between "pit boss" and "pimp," in terms of appropriate vocations for quality dudes. We know that society thinks we’re sleazy, so if anything, we’ll put in extra effort to not treat the women we date like objects on display. And, unlike "real" (quotes emphasized) DJs, we don’t thrive on being liked—we thrive on making money. Social validation and Instagram followers are for festival DJs, not dance commanders who play Rob Zombie from behind a wooden half-wall in the corner. Finally, we don’t show off women we date, because that’s literally our fucking job—to show off women. I have as much interest in flaunting my date as a piece of arm candy, as she does in being outed as a girl who dates strip club DJs.
The best thing about dating a strip club DJ? He won’t get jealous or play games. The worst thing about dating a strip club DJ? He won’t get jealous or play games. We’ve seen it all, heard it all, have done it all and really don’t care at this point. But, we also won’t play into it. An example—I was dating someone recently who assumed that, since I "work with naked women," I wouldn’t be bothered that she still sleeps over at her ex’s place. Well, it didn’t bother me, but I politely stopped calling her. Flash forward a week, and the rumor mill is churning out the usual drama, i.e. "He dumped me because I was friends with a guy, but, meanwhile, he works with naked girls, blah blah blah, etc." To me, I just decided to casually walk away from a situation involving a woman who doesn’t like my job and can’t get over her ex. To her, I’m probably a "poly-shaming, anti-feminist, misogynist pig." Cool. Why would you want to date me? Point is, we won’t get heated about anything, until it affects our income or Playstation Plus subscription.
Of note, I fucking love watching stereotypes dissolve when I compare my dating experiences with dancers to those with women who have "real" (quotes emphasized) jobs—because strippers are just like DJs in this area, in that they know the games inside and out, can spot every line from a dude (well before he says it) and they can see through bullshit. They’re almost entirely zero-drama and easily the most honest women I’ve had the pleasure of dating. Take that one to your dating coach.
If you’re planning on dating a strip club DJ, don’t bother trying to get him into your friend’s nightclub or impressing him with drugs. Most DJs can drink, smoke, dose, snort or trip on anything they want, at work, with little consequence. We play our favorite music (more on that in a second), at full volume, until the wee hours of the morning, surrounded by screaming people and a party atmosphere—sometimes, on a Tuesday. So, for the average DJ (strip club or otherwise), the idea of getting high on shitty Portland coke and attending a rave, local show or even a karaoke night sounds about as fun as, well, going to work—I can’t even go to festivals anymore, because it’s equivalent to hanging around my job on my day off (plus, the drunk, topless women at festivals don’t tip).
Wanna lock down a strip club DJ boyfriend? Invite him over to your apartment, make him basic dinner (pasta or bacon—nothing extreme) and put on The Office, while you smoke a joint and relax. Blowjobs are boring, but a back rub is fucking orgasmic—I’ll go down on a woman like Comcast service during a storm, if she suggests staying in on a weekend night and catching up on video games or Netflix. Sex, nudity, drugs and mayhem come around often, but relaxation and silence are fucking golden.
This is usually the deal breaker. I call it, "the aux cord discussion." Most couples worry about when to say "I love you" or if children are a possibility. Me? It’s a four-hour lecture on the importance of talk radio, obscure Tom Waits records and a particular YouTube video titled "Six Hours Of Relaxing Alpha Waves For Studying." Yes, I know every....single...word...to the latest song by Nikki B feat. Lil’ A$AP. Yes, I enjoyed (insert semi-hipsterish, but still good artist, i.e. M.I.A. here) the first eleventy-thousand times I was forced to play (insert played-out single here). But, strip clubs have ruined their music for me. Do you like Snoop Dogg? Ever seen a group of dudes in MAGA hats drop hard-R N-bombs while rapping along to him? I have. How about Lana Del Ray? Isn’t she the right balance of aesthetic and pop? Well, how about six hours of her, in a row, while trying to stay awake? I’m pretty sure that Tool is a good band, but I wouldn’t be able to tell you after working as a strip club DJ, for the same reason as Lana, but add to that forced discussions with out-of-money patrons, who hang around by the DJ booth and argue the band’s merit. Every DJ has war stories like this. Please don’t make us re-live them by flipping through your Skrillex-filled iPod. Let us enjoy our talk radio on long drives and, wait...where you going?
