“Ever since we invented clothes, we’ve been looking for sexy ways to take them off,” Evana De Lune says. It’s Sunday morning and about 20 of us have risen early for De Lune’s burlesque 101.
We’re all here for different reasons. A few women in their 50s want to step out of their comfort zone and rediscover who they are. “I just want to reclaim my confidence again as a woman because I’ve really lost that,” one says. A woman in her 30s says she was inspired by the Christina Aguilera movie Burlesque, and a beginner pole dancer wants to learn what to do with her hands.
And I’m here because the idea of raunchy dancing is terrifying, as someone who is so bad at regular dancing that a friend once said, laughing: “That was so funny how you were on the dancefloor making fun of people who can’t dance.” But I was just … dancing. How well could someone like me do the hoochie coochie, or what De Lune calls, with a twinkle in her eye, “whorish vagina dancing”?
It begins with how we stand. “We’re going to think ‘titties to Jesus’,” De Lune says, making the entire room titter. “Shoulders back, chin up, take a breath. Hold yourself nice and strong.”
In heels, De Lune turns her left foot, drops her right ankle, tucks in her tailbone. She is instantly commanding and oozes grace. I stand in ankle socks and copy her. I look like I need to pee.
We bring our arms up, all the better to absorb the power of affirmations. “It is so effortless being this glamorous!” says De Lune, hamming it up. We repeat after her, giggling, women in shorts and crop tops, leggings and T-shirts.
“My nipples are so expensive!” declares De Lune. “That’s why I cover them! In these little hats.
“You could never afford me! I mean, look at me. I’m so, so sexy. I feel like I’m losing money just standing here.”
Her tongue-in-cheek assertions do their job to break the ice. Which is great, because soon we will be thrusting. “Some people feel a little bit shy about thrusting,” says De Lune. “I want you to thrust with the force that you could kill a man with your pelvis. Bump like you mean it.” I look around and see some intense action – definitely some murders on the dancefloor. In comparison, I look like I’m at a train station trying to nudge a turnstile to move.
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After thrusting, there is fingering. It’s part of the glove peel, where we remove the glove in a teasing way. We each select a pair from De Lune’s collection of black and red satin gloves. I copy her and move my left hand down the shaft of the right glove to its entrance and slide in my fingers one at a time. “It always feels better with two,” quips De Lune. “And then it gets to a point where you can take three.”
Then gradually I peel the glove off my hand. When De Lune throws it coquettishly, only one thing … comes … to mind. It’s clear why she was voted best burlesque performer at the Australian Adult Industry Choice awards. I, on the other hand, in my bright red gloves, look like I’m on Play School demonstrating how to wash dishes.
Despite my efforts being burlesque-esque at best, the 90-minute class is perhaps the most fun I’ve had on a Sunday morning in a long time. And it’s not just about nailing a two-and-a-half-minute cowboy routine. Bumping and grinding is hot, but so much of feeling sexy is psychological – how we feel about ourselves.
At home that night I find myself dancing to Rihanna. I’m yet to kill a man with my pelvis, but it’s a start.
